#i began on the drawing ill have out later today for like a week ago when i began rereading said fic
Note
I have an ask? What if Liam got Riley pregnant when they first met in New York? Would he still have to go through the social season? Would she have to raise a baby on her own would Liam find a way to help?
Ooooohhhh. Interesting. That would be quite the conundrum for them, wouldn't it? Especially since the social season starts the very next day after he visited her bar. Hmmm. Let's see what I can do with that time frame. I'm going on the assumption that the social season lasts at least three months with all the parties and traveling they do. Which will help out with the pregnancy part 😉 I think she would still go and take part in the social season since she wouldn’t know she was pregnant yet, but it would definitely alter how things end in book 1.
Masterlist
@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @twinkleallnight @amandablink @neotericthemis @mm2305
Aftereffects
Three months earlier...
"Well?" Riley tilted her head to study Liam's profile. "What do you think?"
He cleared his throat. Lips parted, yet no words were formed. Liam had so many emotions hitting him all at once that a mere stranger had made his one wish come true.
His eyes went from the Statue of Liberty to the woman responsible for him being able to see it.
"I'm speechless." He lowered his head, lips curving in a shy smile. "I've never been so moved in my life than I am in this moment with you."
She smiled and turned her attention toward the iconic monument. "She's really something, isn't she?"
He turned toward Riley. His eyes traveled down her beautiful face softly lit by the dull light coming from the ferry they were on and the sliver of moonlight from above.
"Yes," he moved closer to her. "She really is."
Riley looked up at him. Her heart raced at the tender longing she saw in his eyes. He seemed so lonely. So in need of encouragement. So in need of affection.
Before he could step away, she snagged his lips in a tender kiss.
He froze for two seconds before crushing her to him. He allowed all the feelings he kept to himself pour out as a fuel to draw moans from her. The desperation he had been feeling since his brother abdicated didn't seem to exist around this woman.
His kisses traveled down her neck.
"Liam." She sighed when he returned to her mouth.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pressed her back against the railing.
"I don't want this night to end." He murmured.
It took a physical effort to stop.
"Neither do I." She cupped his cheek. "I know you leave tomorrow."
He nodded, already feeling the heavy yoke that was about to be thrust upon his shoulders.
"It's not quite tomorrow though." She kissed along his jaw as she whispered. "We can still enjoy the rest of tonight."
"Riley, I--you know I must choose--I couldn't do that and simply leave you to search for a bride." He felt guilty just thinking about it.
He would be the worst sort of cad possible if he were to spend the night in her arms.
He shouldn't have pursued her. The moment she had turned around and greeted him in the bar, he had thought of nothing else except getting to know more about her.
"I want you." She whispered. "If tonight is all we have, then let's make the most of it."
"You have no idea how much I want you." He kissed her once more, completely unable to resist her.
******************
Two and a half months later...
Maxwell winced when he heard the noises coming from Riley's bathroom. Bracing himself, he timidly knocked upon the door.
"You okay in there, blossom?"
"What--" she heaved into the toilet, "do you think?"
"Maxwell!" Bertrand snapped. "What is the hold up. She should have been downstairs fifteen minutes ago."
His eyes widened at the sounds of vomiting.
"Is she ill?" He whispered.
Maxwell shrugged.
"She seemed fine last night." Bertrand thought over the past few days.
"She has been more tired than usual." Maxwell narrowed his eyes in concern. "And this isn't the first time I've heard her throwing up."
Bertrand's stern demeanor turned to worry. "You don't think she's..."
"Think she's what?" Maxwell asked.
"We have been pressuring her to wear the right clothes. I hope we haven't caused her to think she needs to lose weight." Bertrand explained.
Maxwell's eyes widened. He would never be able to forgive himself if he had made Riley think less of her natural beauty.
"Riley!" He anxiously knocked again when they heard nothing but silence. "Can we come in?"
"Sure." Her weak response was followed by her unlocking the door.
The brothers walked inside and saw her sitting in the floor.
Maxwell wet a rag and crouched beside her. He gently cleaned the sweat off her brow, his worry was now off the charts at the half hearted smile she gave him.
"Thanks." She lifted her eyes to Bertrand. "I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to be outside for the--"
"Don't concern yourself with that." He tempered his usual gruff tone. "We must take care of you first."
Tears filled her eyes at how kind he was being. He wasn't berating her or telling her that House Beaumont needed her to win Liam. She wondered where this Bertrand had been hiding. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as the brothers discussed ways to help her feel better.
He ordered Maxwell to pick her up and carry her to her bed.
As she settled back against her pillows, he called down to the kitchen and ordered a tray of soup, crackers, and tea to be brought up.
By the time he was finished, she was crying in full force.
"Riley!" Maxwell sat down on her bed and tried to hug her. "Please tell us what's wrong."
Bertrand reached for her hand. "You do know how lovely you are, right?"
Her eyes widened at that odd question.
"We think you shouldn't change at all." Maxwell added.
"Indeed. Many of the dresses in the boutique are," Bertrand's frown firmed as he tried to think of a way to keep her from thinking her body was at fault, "they aren't properly made. One can never go by sizes there."
"And you're size is perfect. Liam can't keep his eyes off you." Maxwell added. "In fact, you could probably add on some weight and be even more beautiful."
"Indeed." Bertrand latched on to that. "Size does not matter. It is what is on the inside that counts."
Riley lifted her head. "What are you talking about?"
"You're," Maxwell mimed vomiting.
"You must stop." Bertrand added. "You do not need to lose weight."
"I'm not doing it on purpose." She shook her head.
It touched her heart though that they wouldn't want her developing an eating disorder.
"I don't know what's caused this." She explained. "The weirdest smells and motions seem to set it off. Like yesterday, the smell of tomatoes had me running for a bathroom and I've always loved tomatoes."
"Could it possibly be your nerves?" Bertrand sat down at the foot of the bed. "The social season can take a toll on even the most seasoned noble."
"I don't think so." Riley mumbled. "It's like my energy has suddenly been depleted. Of course that could be because of the vomiting."
"So what caused it to start?" Maxwell asked.
"How long has it been going on?" Bertrand added.
"I don't know what set it off. It's been going on for a couple of weeks, but it is getting worse."
"Hmm." Bertrand and Maxwell shared a glance.
"Riley, I hope you don't think badly of me for asking," Bertrand struggled to inquire into something so personal. "But, have you, er...did you..."
She lifted her eyebrows in silent question.
"Before you joined us, were you involved with anyone?" He closed his eyes in embarrassment.
"Involved?"
"Any previous boyfriends or hookups before Liam?" Maxwell clarified.
"Oh!" Her cheeks heated with color. "No. I actually haven't been in a relationship for almost a year now." She lowered her eyes. "I had a bad relationship with a guy and decided to focus on myself once I got out of it."
Bertrand relaxed some. "A wise decision."
"So no one night stands?" Maxwell prodded.
"I've never been that type of..." Her eyes widened. She had been that type for one incredible night.
It was the driving force in making her decision to come to Cordonia in the first place.
"Oh no." She breathed. "The night I met you," her eyes held Maxwell's shocked gaze, "Liam and I sneaked away and..."
Bertrand shot up off the bed. "Wait here."
*****************
"We must be certain." Bertrand stressed. "The bloodwork must confirm what the test showed." His frown was fierce as he stood before the physician. "Discretion is a must in this situation."
"I'll have the results by this evening." The doctor replied. "And only I will run the lab work for Ms. Brooks."
"Here's my number." Riley scribbled it out quickly. "If I don't answer, please send a text and voicemail."
Once he was gone, she sagged back on the bed.
"What do we do now?" Maxwell asked.
"We have a ball to prepare for." Bertrand held up a silk dress. "We missed today's events, but we must make an appearance tonight. Everyone will begin to talk if we don't."
Riley nodded. Her mind though was whirling with the knowledge that she was pregnant.
How will Liam react? Will he be upset? Will he hate me for allowing it to happen? Will he think I'm trying to trap him?
How do I tell him?
Taking the dress, she forced herself to get ready.
***************
"Have you seen Riley any today?"
Drake shook his head. "No. Why?"
"That's strange." Liam folded his arms.
He wondered if something was wrong. He hated that he couldn't spend every single moment with her. What if she had reached the end of her patience with this suitor situation?
He shook his head when Drake offered him a drink.
"You've got it bad." Drake teased.
"Got what?"
"Love."
"I do?"
"Are you saying you aren't in love with Brooks?" Drake smirked. "I've seen you with her. Ever since she showed up at the masquerade ball, you haven't looked at any of the other ladies trying to win you."
Liam couldn't help but smile over that. It was true. His night with Riley in New York had been the most magical of his life. Each moment he had spent with her since then all but reaffirmed that she was the only one for him.
He was thrilled at how the people of Cordonia had fallen for her. The press had only positive things to say about The American that had come to win his hand.
He could picture her smile when she approached him at the masquerade ball.
"I think we both know we have something special. One night together will never be enough for me." Riley whispered as he kissed her hand.
"I agree." He held her hand a moment longer than was deemed appropriate. "It isn't enough." His bright blue eyes shined against the silver demi mask. "Are you certain I'm worth going through these next few months? What if--"
"We end up with our happily ever after?" She finished for him.
He knew he had completely lost his heart in that moment. Our happily ever after. Her optimism that they could have that helped him through every step of this social season. She was the prize he knew he could claim once he passed the final hurdle to be king.
He spent his time in dull conversations daydreaming about their future. How beautiful she would be as a bride. How comforting she would be as they dealt with his father's illness and troubles of their small nation.
Then he dreamed of the family they would have. He hoped they had many children, each with her infectious smile and kindness.
He hoped she would say yes when he asked her to marry him. Even if they never had all these other dreams of the future, he would at least have her and her love.
Then all of this would be well worth it.
He did worry about his father's reaction to the time he spent in her company. Whenever Liam attempted to discuss his feelings about Riley, Constantine would point out another lady of the court. He wouldn't allow his son to go ahead and make a decision.
"You better head downstairs." Drake finished off his drink. "Can't have a ball around here without the prince."
****************
"Any word yet?" Bertrand whispered.
Riley shook her head.
He softly cursed, causing her to burst into laughter.
"I'm sorry." She giggled when he shushed her. "But I would have bet a lot of money that you would never say that word."
He rolled his eyes. "Be that as it may, you should go mingle."
****************
"Lady Riley?" Liam gently tapped her shoulder. "May I have this dance?"
She turned around with a start. "I'd love to."
He took her hand and placed it within the bend of his arm. "You look beautiful tonight."
She gently squeezed his arm. "Thank you." Her eyes lifted to his. "And you're as handsome as always."
"I don't know about that." He winked at her. "But as long as you think so, then I'm content."
He took her in his arms as a waltz began.
"Let's not spin as much as we normally do." She pleaded when he twirled her.
His brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"
"No!" She said quickly. "Just, um, a little motion sickness from time to time."
"I see." He kept his gaze upon her face. "I missed you today."
"You did?"
"I always do whenever you're not around." He admitted with a sheepish grin.
"That's so--" she felt the vibration of her phone.
She stopped dancing, causing Liam to nearly trip
"Riley, is something--"
"Excuse me, I have to--that is--this is from--" she ducked out a nearby door before all her revelations came tumbling out.
***************
She plopped down on the edge of a small couch and read the message from the doctor.
Hitting the link, she read the results of her bloodwork.
Her breaths came in and out in short gasps.
I'm really pregnant.
"Riley?"
All the color drained from her face as she looked up at Liam.
He shut the door to the ballroom and knelt before her.
"What is it?" He took her icy hand in his. "Is something wrong?"
She licked her dry lips and tried to tell him.
"Yes. No. I'm not sure."
He pressed a kiss to her hand. "Whatever it is, I will do all that I can to help you."
She blinked back tears. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything." He laced his fingers with hers.
"Do you," she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "do you love me?"
"I do." He admitted. "I had planned on telling you during the Coronation Ball."
"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "I need you to be completely honest with me right now."
"I am." He lowered his gaze to their clasped hands. His thumb brushed against her skin. "I know I'm not supposed to say anything until then, but you are the one I will pick to marry," he looked up at her, "if you want to."
She bit down on her bottom lip. "Do you want children?"
"Yes, and not just for the continuation of the Rhys holding the crown." His smile gentled. "I want a family with you, selfishly for myself. I want all the holiday memories spent with them, watching them see the world with wonder, and seeing our traits passed on, especially yours." He chuckled. "Heaven help me if we have a daughter like you. I will be completely wrapped around her little finger."
Riley couldn't believe she was hearing all she needed to from him.
He really is Prince Charming. My Prince Charming.
"Do you remember the night we met?" She asked.
"How could I forget?"
She grimaced at the worry that still gnawed at her mind.
"My love," Liam sat down beside her. "Please tell me what troubles you."
"I had not been with anyone in a long time." She began. "I mean, no one for months when we spent the night together."
Liam merely listened, wondering where she was going with this.
"I didn't think in the heat of the moment. I should have. It was irresponsible, but I was so swept off my feet..." She took a deep breath. "And I found out today that I'm pregnant."
His fingers tightened around hers.
"I'm sorry. I know with the--"
"Pregnant?" Liam interrupted her. "You're certain?"
"The doctor just sent me the results of my blood work. That with the test I took and the physical exam confirms it." Her eyes widened when he suddenly stood up and took her into his arms.
The kiss he gave her weakened her knees. His arms held her as if she was the most delicate piece of porcelain.
"Marry me." He said between kisses.
"That kinda was the whole point of me coming here." She teased, once she saw how happy he was.
He smiled against her lips. "Is that a yes?"
"It is."
He stepped back and took hold of her hand. With quick strides he had them back in the ballroom.
Waving the conductor to stop the music, he held his hand up. "May I have your attention please!"
The court stilled as all eyes turned toward him.
Ignoring the hushed questions coming from his father, he settled his arm around Riley's waist.
"Lady Riley has made me the happiest man this evening. She has accepted my proposal of marriage and has told me that within a few months or so," he turned his adoring gaze upon her, "we will have an heir to the throne."
Constantine staggered back at this announcement. He had no idea the couple had become that close.
Regina called for champagne to be brought to all the guests as she embraced the young couple.
Liam held his glass up. He decided to force his parent to officially accept Riley in front of the entire court. He suspected that if he had not announced the fact they were expecting, that Constantine would find a way to break their engagement. He didn't know why he felt such unease with his father when it concerned Riley, but he wasn't going to leave anything to chance when it concerned her.
"Father? Would you like to give the toast?"
Constantine cleared his throat. Seeing no way around it, he stepped forward and lifted his glass. He hoped for Liam's sake that this woman would not be detrimental to his rule.
"To my son and the lady he has chosen. May they have all the happiness that I have found with my own queen and may their new family continue to serve Cordonia with grace and honor." He turned toward them. "To Liam and Riley!"
147 notes
·
View notes
Note
I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.
Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.
It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas.
It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.
This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.
The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.
Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago.
The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.
Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too.
I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more:
My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister.
That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out.
The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.
The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks. A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.
Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell.
In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota. Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys.
From Sheepish:
We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle.
And:
Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.
The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:
My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.
The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.
Well. No wonder.
Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other.
The book says: We made it. You will too.
283 notes
·
View notes
Text
You are the music in me
Pairing: Alive! Luke Patterson x Julie Molina
Request: SICK FIC JUKE: “Juke live together (but not dating yet) with Alex and Reggie all in apartment, both Julie and Luke wake up sick as dogs (flu/strep up to you) and force stay home from classes,sick by Alex. While being alone basically all day they finally admitted they like each other more than friends and get together when they start feeling better few days later.”
THANK YOU FOR YOUR REQUEST ANON🤍
This is not how Julie and Luke saw each other spending the weekend. They took care of Alex for a whole week together and just when the drummer began to feel better, his friends fell to the flu. To stop the chain of illness, Julie decided that it was best for Reggie and Alex to stay in Willie's instead of the apartment the four friends share until she and Luke recovered, but two stubborn patients taking care of each other is a somewhat chaotic combination.
"I can't take those pills, they are huge!" The guitarist has his arms crossed, his lips completely closed in a grimace almost impossible to undo.
"Luke, I've seen you eat two meatball sandwiches at the same time, I’m pretty sure one pill is not going to kill you."
He was about to continue fighting when Julie turns to cough. Every minute that passes she looks weaker and probably what she needs the least is to be carrying with his tantrums. So he takes the pills from her and passes them after maybe 15 tries and 3 possible chokes. Julie laughs slightly with each attempt, satisfied that at least he is trying for her.
Once they both finally finish taking all of their meds, Luke uses what little strength he has left to carry her in bridal style to her room. Julie tries to resist but her lack of strenght is way too much.
"Let yourself be taken care of, Molina." He whispers in her ear as he draws her closer to him. When they finally get to the room Luke gently lays her down on the bed and covers her in blankets to the best of his ability.
He feels bad for her. Because yes, he was there during Alex's illness, but the truth is that he didn't do much. The only reason he got sick is because he shares a room with him. On the other hand, Julie was faithfully taking care of her friend, taking his temperature, reminding him at the correct time about his medicines to the point of setting alarms at 4 in the morning just to make sure he got up to take them, made him hot meals and tea, she was the perfect nurse.
And what does she have instead? Him. The one who hates taking pills, doesn’t know how to take the temperature, much less what time the medicines are due, and he definitely doesn't know how to cook much more than a sandwich.
But something the aspiring musician does know how to do and sure as hell will do for her is giving her all the cuddles she might need (and probably want).
Luke walks to the other side of the bed and sits on the empty side, bringing burrito Julie into his arms, her resting her head on his chest.
He takes a few seconds to enjoy the situation. Yes, it is not at all what they expected to do today, on Saturdays they usually write all morning and rehearse all afternoon to go to some small club to play at night. The band was completely their priority on weekends as they had to study and work to support themselves, so the guitarist couldn't remember a Saturday where they stayed like this, doing nothing but enjoying each other.
Luke had become so immersed in that routine that he had simply sunk to the bottom those feelings that usually shine bright as the sun when they write or sing together or in rare moments like this one when he has her all for him, their hearts beating as one.
Realizing that he liked Julie was as easy as discovering his passion for music. When is her, everyday situations like hearing her rave happily about something that happened during the day feels like listening to his favorite song at full volume. And there’s the other side of it, those special moments like performing on a stage together. The sensations he gets are on a league of their own, their chemistry growing and enveloping in this mesmerizing explosion of energy. She’s this beautiful bright star that for some strange miracle, he is blessed to admire closely without burning.
The love and admiration he feels for her is so big that it terrifies him. In his experience, these types of sensations are not free. His passion for music completely cost him the relationship with his parents, not even the effort of continuing in school has made them give his dream of being a musician a chance.
What will it cost him to chase Julie in a romantic way? Their friendship? The band? What if things don't turn out as he would like and they end up fighting and separating the one thing that has cost them so much to build? Sleepless nights, hunger, blood, sweat, raising this dream has not been easy, could he really dare to risk it in this way? Could he be so selfish?
He often forces himself to think he couldn’t, but at that moment, Julie Molina swings her body to the side so she can look at him head on. Her big, beautiful dark eyes fixed on his.
“You aren’t usually quiet for more than 5 minutes, are you alright? Does something hurt? Do you want me to check your temperature?" With some effort, she manages to free the arm that is not resting on the bed and gently touches Luke's forehead, making sure he is okay.
He can't help but grin in response. She’s just so perfect. She shares the same passion as him, she fully understands the magical feeling of being on stage and it provokes on her the same excitement and adrenaline. She is sweet and cares about everyone, even loves his friends as much as he does. She is determined, smart, funny, beautiful. A lot of times he can't even understand how someone so perfect exists. And she not only exists, but is there next to him, wrapped in his arms.
“I- I’m fine, everything is fine, I promise. Focus on resting that angelic voice of yours.” She blushes as if that is not an already well established fact. He can’t help but look adoringly in response. He just loves to make her blush, being able to cause those reactions in her so easily.
You're right, I can't risk being replaced by one of the many groupies that have been after you lately." He can’t help a cocky grin, she blushes even more and decides to sink her head into his chest.
He takes advantage and hugs her even closer to him, bringing his head closer to her face to whisper in her ear.
"I could never replace you." He feels her expression changing in his chest, probably a smile. Her small hand squeezing his back in response.
“Liar.”
“Are you jealous, Molina? Because that’s hot.” She lets out a nervous laugh and Luke pulls her away just enough to be face to face.
“I’m not jealous.” She murmurs trying to sound sure, the image of those girls way too close to Luke at last weekend’s gig clouding her vision.
“Good, because you don’t have a reason to be.”
The singer looks down, she understood the opposite of what the guitarist was trying to say.
“H- Hey, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” With one of his fingers he carefully lifts her chin so he can see her eyes again.
There's a part of Luke that tells him to take a moment to think about what to say. The logical and sinic part. The one who knows that what he is going to do is going to cost him.
But the other party, the one who has been in love with Julie Molina for 2 years, is already tired of waiting and ready to take a leap of faith. And today that his mind is tired and weak, heart conquers logic.
Neither has spoken aloud about their special relationship, but they know something is there. It is a wordless fact between the two. And maybe it's time to add words to the melody.
“I meant you really don’t have to because all I hear, is you. I have tried to find peace in my soul with hundreds and hundreds of melodies, Julie. And it wasn't until I heard your voice that I found the right one.
Why would I even want to think of anyone else when I have so much more than I could have imagined across the hall every day? It’s always you. You, making sure I eat when I’m in my obsessive writer mode. You, stroking my hair when you think I fell asleep. You, spying me with your beautiful eyes between classes to make sure I’m actually on school. You, watching musicals with me till 5 am on Saturdays even thought we had one hell of a difficult day and a tired night just because you love to see my reactions. You, worried about me feeling bad when you are clearly sicker. It’s always you, Julie.”
In a moment of bravery, Julie brushes her lips against Luke's, waiting for him to make the final decision, which he doesn't take two seconds to make by capturing her lips on his, savoring finally being able to know what it feels like to kiss Julie Molina.
That it tasted like honey was not something that surprised him after seeing her eat several tablespoons of honey with lemon before bringing her to rest.
“Luke, remember when we watched High School Musical 2?” She grins, clearly happy with what just happened.
“Yeah, like a month ago.” he seems surprised with the random question but smiles to encourage her.
“Well, I mentally dedicated you ‘you are the music in me.’ Huh, It feels good to get it off my chest.”
He laughs. Anyone else would be offended or at least scared that the other person won't talk about what just happened, but they have a different connection. Music is the one who unites their souls and for she to tell him something as powerful as ‘you are the music in me’ is almost as strong as an I love you, maybe even stronger. Practically her subtle, awkward and wholesome way of saying he’s her person too.
And that’s more than perfect for him. She doesn’t need to say a speech, much less now that she is not feeling well. The love she shows him in a thousand ways every day is more than enough.
He knows that when they both improve and logic regains territory they will have a lot to discuss about their new relationship, but the most important step has already been taken. For now, all he has to worry about is that the tea turns out drinkable enough and keeping her warm enough with cuddles and kisses on the forehead... maybe some more on the lips too.
THANK YOU FOR READING✨✨
#luke patterson fanfiction#juke#juke imagine#luke patterson imagine#luke patterson fanfic#jatp juke#jatp luke#charlie gillespie imagine#charlie gillespie one shot#charlie gillespie x reader#jatp imagine#jatp#julie and the phantoms#luke x julie#julie x luke#julie molina#luke patterson fic#luke patterson oneshot#luke patterson
121 notes
·
View notes
Note
So glad to see your feeling better. Could I request 12 and 31 where it's movie night in the Evans household just some classic fluff? 💜
Every Night is Movie Night
12: “C’mon! It’s movie night. You can’t skip movie night!”
31: “ Stop eating the raw cookie dough.”
Description: In the Evans household, every night is movie night. Literally.
Warnings: Being picked up against one’s will, mentions of the pandemic and underlying health conditions
Word Count: ~780
Two months ago, during the beginning of what you like to call “The End of the World as We Know it,” you were in Boston shooting a movie with your co-star and longtime family friend, Chris Evans. Your guardian had gotten stuck in your home, and by the time shooting was called off, you couldn’t go home because of your guardian’s underlying illness. You went to Chris crying because you didn’t know what to do. He offered to take you home with him. When you declined, he called his mom, your Aunt Lisa. You, Aunt Lisa, Chris, and your guardian worked out a plan: you would stay with Lisa, Chris, and Scott until life could return to normal.
Even though each of them stated multiple times that they don’t mind and that they love having you around, you still felt bad. No matter how many times Aunt Lisa said “I miss having older kids in the house, darling. You don’t need to feel bad at all,” or Chris said “Don’t worry about it, kid.” or Scott said “I love not being the youngest child anymore,” it still bothered you.
But within the first couple weeks, you began to feel better. A routine was established for you: wake up, breakfast, lessons, training with Chris, lunch, playtime with Dodger, dinner, movie time.
Yes, movie night happened every night.
Every.
Single.
Night.
Now, it wasn’t that you hated movie night; it was quite the opposite actually. You loved curling up under the biggest comforter you could drag out from the basement and cementing yourself under it for the duration of a few movies. You loved the cookies Aunt Lisa would bake for the monthly movie nights you had when you were a little girl, you loved the candy and sweets, the popcorn, the soda, and you especially loved falling asleep on the couch halfway through the last movie.
But every night was overkill for you.
You had managed to avoid the movie nights for three days in a row, but Chris and Scott were determined to get you to spend the night pigging out and watching Star Wars with them. You were holed up in Shanna’s old room, hiding under the blanket and scrolling through instagram when they knocked on the door.
“C’mon, kiddo! It’s movie time.” Scott said, opening the door.
“Oh, no thank you.” You responded, still scrolling on your phone.
“Mom made those cookies you love. We’ll eat them all if you don’t come out.” Chris warned, sitting on the end of your bed, shoving your leg. “We know how much you adore those cookies.”
You scrunched up your face. Those cookies did sound tempting, but so did staying in bed. “Enjoy them for me, will you?”
Scott and Chris share a pointed look.
“Y/N, movie night means we spend time together.”
“We already spent time together.”
“As a family.”
“We already spent time together as a family today. I’ll join tomorrow, promise.”
“You said that yesterday,”
“And I mean it today.”
“Mom said you have to.”
You stopped responding, pulling the blanket around you tighter.
“Y/NNNNNN...” Scott draws out your name. “C’mon! It’s movie night. You can’t skip movie night!”
When you don’t respond, Chris takes action.
“All right sour puss, let’s go.”
Without much warning, Chris gathered you and your blanket in his arms, lifting you out of bed without so much as a grant. You yelp as he throws you over his shoulder. The phone slips from your hand and clatters to the floor.
“Hey-”
“I got your phone, N/N. Don’t worry.” Scott winked at you.
“No, put me-”
“I’ll put you down on the couch!”
“Boys!” Aunt Lisa yells. “What are you doing to your cousin?”
“They’re kidnapping me, Aunt Lisa, help!” You shout as they take you to the living room.
She let out a hefty sigh. “I told you to convince her, not drag her out kicking and screaming…”
You pout as Chris sets you on the couch. He grinned at you, hair messy and face scruffy. Rolling your eyes, you stand up.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Scott teased, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Snacks. They’re in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get them for you. What do you want?”
“The cookie dough.”
It was Scott’s turn to grin. His trip to the kitchen was swift. He returned moments later with the mixing bowl and three spoons. He plops between you and Chris. Chris queues up the first movie and then reaches for his spoon. Just as you were all about to eat the dough, Aunt Lisa’s voice rang out from the kitchen.
“Stop eating the raw cookie dough!”
#chris evans x teen!reader#chris evans fluff#chris evans x reader#scott evans x reader#scott evans#teen!reader#movie night#quarantine#every night is movie night#drabble#mcu cast x reader#avengers cast x teen!reader#avengers cast imagines#avengers imagine#mcu imagine
435 notes
·
View notes
Text
And the next one as promised :)
CALL OF THE RAVEN
PART 6
The day i got released form hospital finaly came. I was happy about it, taking a breath of fresh air will be a welcoming change after over three weeks in here. Some bruises wer still visable, and my head hurted from time to time, but other then that the doctor gave me a green light. And having too much free time makes your toughts wonder in wrong direction too much. Thinking about Jake was my daily routine, and i hoped once i get out other things will get me occupied. Jessy wanted me to stay with her, but i managed to persuade her that i'd be better of at the motel. She reluclantly agreed, but I argued that i would still be resting most of the time, and promised her we will see eachother every day, wich made her respect my decision a bit more. She called me that moring, telling Dan will come and drive me to the motel, because she was bussy planing a surprise for me. „Oh, Jessy, pleas dont go overboard, it is my first day out, i wont be up for much.“ I protested, but she quickly reasured me its nothing big. Knowing Jessy, i was sceptical about it, but she sounded so happy that i just agreed to whatever she had in plan. I was about done packing, when Doris came bringing me my dischrage papers. She gave them to me, embracing me in a tight hug „You be good now, hun. And remember what i told you before.“ She said, giving me one more of her winks. „Thank you, Doris.“ I replied, handig her a chocholate bombonier i asked Jessy to get me. „For everything.“ I hugged her once more. „No need to thank me, hun.“ „Ahh, Doris, im jelaous, i didnt get a hug from you when i was leaving the hospital.“ It was Dan, being dramatic again. I laughed, as Doris went for the door „Schmacks dont deserve hugs!“ she grinned at him, and left. „She likes me...she just wont admit it.“ Dan said, grining. „So,you ready to leave this shithole?“ „Definatly!“ i said, taking my discharge papers and putting them in my pack. Dan took it from me, and we left the room, taking the elevator down. Stepping outside was so refreshing, i stopped at the exit for a brief moment, wich made Dan turn „You allrigh there?“ „Im good, just appriciate being outside again.“ I smiled. We continued to the car. Dan opened the door for me, putted my stuff on the back seat, and we drove towards motel. I rolled the window down letting the cool morning air blow to my face and through my hair. The drive wouldnt last that long, and Dan informed me that Jessy booked the room for me already and took the rest of my stuff there, and my car also waiting for me at the motels parking. „Dan, whats Jessy planing for me today?“ i asked. „Oh, no,no, im keeping my mouth shut!“ he replied, but i groaned at him pleading „Please, Dan, at least give me a hint. I just got out of hospital, and to be honest, im not up for big fanfaras, but i dont want to dissapoint Jessy either. And lets be honest, its Jessy wer talking about here, nothing is small or meaningless with her.“ He laughed at that „Your right about that! Alright, ill tell you, but if she realize you knew something..“ „Dont worry, i can act being genuinely surprised with no problem.“ I asured him. „Well, its nothing much, rellay. We're taking you for dinner.“ he said. Ok, thats not so bad, i tought, i do have to eat. „And she invited the gang to Aurora this evening, to celebrate your release from hospital.“ Ugh, i hoped that wouldnt happen so soon, that i would at least have a day or so for me before seeing everyone. „Ah, crap, i guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.“ I said, adding „Later would be better, tho.“ „Dont worry, Maya, ill be there to rescue you, AGAIN.“ He grinned at me, and i grinned back „Good, because i just might need some rescuing, again.“
Dan left me at the motel, and i entered the small checkin office. The woman behind the counter was eldery, and she smiled at me „Good morning, miss, what can i do for you?“. „Morning'“ i replied, smiling back „I had a room booked for me by a friend, i guess you know her, Jessica Hawkins?“. She smiled more now „Ah, ofcourse, miss Cole i presume?“ i nooded in agreement. „Yes, Jessica brought all your belongings already. I would just ask for you to fill this, please.“ She handed me that check in paper you get at every motel. I filled it, and she gave me the key.“You're at room 11, its on your right once you leave the office. And i'm Ms. Walter, fell free to ask if you need anything.“ „Thanks, i will.“ I replied, taking the key.
The room looked cozy enough. It had a big bed, with a little nightstand next to it with a lamp on it. There was a midium size table in front of a big window, wich i immidiatly felt greatefull for, since some natural light is what i prefere for my drawing work, and a closet next to it. Across from the bed was a TV, and a little refrigeratore under it. The bathroom was small, wich is more then enough. I left my stuff on the bed, when i noticed a note on the nightstand. 'The car key is in the nightstand drawer. Get some rest, and see you later! Xoxo' It was from Jessy, and that made me smile. I took the key and went to the car to get the rest of my stuff. The day was nice and sunny, and i tought i souldnt spend the whole day in the motel. I went back to the room, unpacked, grabed some clean clothes and went for a shower. When i got dressed i sat at te table and turned my laptop on. I checked my mails, and some job offers. Its good when you're a freelancer, you can work from anywhere, and I actually felt some work might keep me occupied and not let my mind wonder to Jake. The tought of him leaving my hospital room two weeks ago still pained me, but i cant sit here and despair all the time, so i decided to grab my drawing stuff and head exploring. I hoped Jessy wouldt mind me going to town alone, she did promise me a grand tour of it once im out of the hospital. I took my phone and texted her „Hey hey, setteled at the motel. Going for a walk arround, but dont worry, im still looking forward for my tour arround Duskwood with you! xoxo“. She replied soon „Oh, nice, have fun! Just stay out of woods! xD See you for dinner J „. Great, now i could leave without feeling any guilt. I grabbed my backpack and left the motel.
I decidet to walk towards the marketplace, i had plenty of time since it wasnt even noon yet, and Jessy and Dan wont pick me up before 19. I passed a small bakery on my way there, and bought me some food and a bottle of water. The streets leading towards marketplace wer small and narrow, mostly with older buildings and pretty quiet. After some 30-40 minutes of slow walk, i emerged to the marketplace, and it was comepletly different. The crowd thickened, and the place hummed with life. In the center was a nice funtain, with benches in circle arround it. Few wer occupied with people: one had an eldery couple, just sitting there on the sun and talking, on the other wer two mothers, drinking coffee while kids wer running arround, giggling and enjoying a nice day. I sat on one of the free benches, and took my drawing pad out. The warmth of the sun felt nice, and i began drawing. I can get quite zoomed out of my surroundings when drawing, so when i finaly noticed someone was standing in front of me, i jumped, and my penciles flew all over the floor. I started to stan up from the bench, at the same time that someone started to bend down to help pick them up,our heads coliding. That sent me sitting back on the banch, as both of us groaned from the impact. „Auch.“ I flinched, looking at the person stnding there. It was Jake. „Sorry, i didnt mean to sneak up on you.“ he said, still rubbing his forehead. „No, no, its fine, i was really focused, i didnt see you there.“ I barely managed to say, my voice shakey, clumsely picking my penciles from the floor.He was the last person i expected to run into. I really wasnt ready for this, the knot in my stomach starting to form, as i finaly collected all the penciles and sat back on the bench. I knew we wer gonna run at each other eventualy, but not so soon. He sat next to me, and i could notice by his body language he was a bit nervouse, too. „You look better.“ he said after a moment of silence, giving me a small smile, wich made my heart skip from joy. „Thanks, i feel much better,too.“ I replied, smiling back. He was looking at me so tenderly, and the heat from the sun made me so hot, i had a feeling my cheeks wer red as a lobster. He run his hand through his hair, and all i could think is how much i wanna do that. His look became more serious now, his eyes becoming darker, but that tenderness was still present. „Maya..“ he started „That day at the hospital.. I didnt..I'm sorry..“ but i interupted him. „No need to appologise, Jake, really.“ And he really didnt have to. I continued, before he could say anything else. „Look, its like this: you had every right to act like you did, and even tho it wasnt easy for me to hear you say those stuff, you wer right, in a way.“ He looked me a bit confused. „You wer probably right, I didnt think quite hard about every possible thing that could go wrong, and God knows i had more luck then im willing to admit. But thats just who i am: i act, i go with the flow, i make mistakes. And i appologise when I realize I was wrong, wich I would do to you if you just stayed for a while more. And i mean appologise for not telling you, or anyone about my plan, not for what i did at the end, hence me saying that you wer right in a way.“ I looked at him, he was still calm, not a trace of that anger i saw at the hospital anywhere on his face. That made me relax a bit. „Maya, just let me...“ he started again, but i interputed him once more „Please, Jake, just let me finish, then you can say whatever you wnat.“ He nodded in agreement. „ I know saying 'sorry' at that time seemed so pointless, but you have to know that i really am sorry, Jake, a thousand times sorry. Yet, i still stand by what i said, i would do it all over again, no matter the qonsequences.“ I paused for a moment, before i continued „I really hope you can forgive me. I got so used at having you in my life, and for it to end here and now...“ He looked at me, but i couldnt bring myself to look back at him. I just stared at my hands, not realizing this whole time i was clasping them so tightly. „I hope you wont shut me out of your life comepletly.“ We sat there in silence for what seemed like eternity. I got my courage and looked at him. He was staring in the distance now. „I felt helpless.“ he said, looking back at me now. „It got me...scared.“ he confessed, and i ached to just hug him. I could see this was being hard for him, saying it. „I've had that happen once before in my life, and it didnt end well.“ His eyes became so sad. „I'm not sure im ready to go through it again.“ That knot at my stomach tightened as he said it, but i took a deep breath „I understand. I'v let you down, i know. But i hope with time, you will be able to trust me again..let me be your friend, at least.“ Friend...that word felt so wrong to me. I didnt want to be just his 'friend', i wanted to be more, so much more. But, i guess at the moment i would be happy with anything. He stared at me for a moment, and before he said it, a smile formed at the corner of his lips „One step at the time.“ „Thats all im asking.“ I said, smiling shyly. He sat there in silence for a brief moment before slowely getting up. „You're good, by the way.“ He said, and i looked at him puzzeled, wich made him smile. He had such a sincere and wonderfull smile. „Your drawing, its good.“ He continued, pointing at my drawing pad. „Oh, that, thanks!“ i replied. „I better be good, i doubt i'll get paid otherwise .“ i grinned. He shook his head at me smiling, walking slowely away from the bench „See you arround, Maya.“ „See you, Jake.“ Watching him walk away this time didnt leave me in pain and agony. I felt hope again. Maybe Doris and Jessy weren't talking nonsence, afterall, I tought, not realising i was grinning like crazy.
After Jake left, i just sat there, letting my heart stop beating insanely. I was really happy for how our unexpected meeting went, i tought there really was some hope for us again. Oh man, Jessy will go crazy when i tell her all about it, she will so rub me her ' i told you so's' in the face! That got me laughing out loud, a few passerbys looking at me like i was crazy. And they wer right, i was crazy! Crazy for Jake. Everything about him drow me crazy: his gorgeous eyes, that ruffeled hair, and that beautifull smile. He shoud definatly smile more, i tought, his whole face smiles when he does it. The churchbell chimmed five , and i cursed under my breath. I better head back to the motel, i need another shower for sure. I quickly grabbed my stuff from the bench, deciding to grab coffee before headiding back. My toughts wer still running wild about Jake as i was walking back towards motel, i colided with a man. I almost dropped my coffe, quickly appologizing. „Be carefull there, miss, you never know who you might bump into.“ He said, a bit grim, like he was makeing a threath. I looked at him a bit astonished „Uhm, i will mister, thanks for your advice. And, sorry again!“ I slowly turned and continued my way. Strange guy i tought, but didnt pay any more toughts about it continuing back to the motel.
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
Victor - Pudding
Just pure Victor fever
No smut but suggestive
4000 words of pure love
You sighed, admiring the stunning bouquet of flowers on your desk as you opened the black box, a diamond encrusted necklace sent sparkles through your eyes. You shut the box and placed it on your desk, pressing your fingers to your temples.
“Another sorry present?” Anna asked, leaning over and looking inside the box, a gasp coming from her mouth, “Dear god this man knows how to say sorry,”.
“This is the third time this month Anna,” You sigh, “My husband shouldn’t be apologising by sending gifts and priceless jewellery,”. You take the necklace box and push it into your bag to keep it safe. Taking your phone you hit the 3rd speed dial button for Goldman, you best believe you have him on speed dial.
“Hello?”.
“Heya Gold’s it me! Look I need a favour,”.
“I’m not paid enough for this,” He mumbles under his breath.
“Look can you just tell me if Victor’s schedule is busy now or if he’s free please?”. A few clicks come from the other side of the phone.
“No, he should be finishing up a meeting now, want me to keep the rest of the afternoon free for you?” He says.
“Yes, thank you Gold’s, you're a gem I'll tell Victor to bump you up a few zeros,” You laugh and hear him laughing down the phone. You knew how much he was paid, he was paid a hefty amount for his work. Grabbing your bag, you angrily storm up to Victor's office, determined to give him a piece of your mind. You smile at his receptionist, her giving you the nod that his office was empty and you push open the doors slamming them behind you.
You look as your husband sits at his desk, buried into stacks of paperwork, a stern look on his face. His cologne hit your nose instantly, it was the same as always but something about it today made you almost drool. Your chest began to rise at a heavy pace as you watched him, he still didn’t look up at you.
“You just going to stand there dummy?” He chuckles as he finally looks up and makes eye contact with you. You don’t know what is was but something about him felt different today, you just wanted to climb into his lap and ride him until you was both spent. You couldn’t even remember what you came up here for, all you knew right now was you had to have him. You hurried make your way to him, undoing your shirt as you make your way to his lap, a slightly blush on his face.
“Whats all this about?” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you as you placed kisses against his neck.
“Can’t a wife just come and give her husband some much needed love and attention?” You purr, running your hand down to palm him over his trousers. He lets out a low growl and spend the next hour embracing each other's bodies.
“What was that all about?” Victor heavily pants, leaning back in his chair, holding you close to him,
“I came up here angry at you, Victor. You don’t need to keep sending me gifts when you have to cancel our dates, I just want some time with you is all,” You pout, your husband taking your left hand and rubbing his hand over your wedding ring.
“I’m sorry, I just feel so guilty about it, I hate not being able to spend time with you,” He whispers, pressing kisses to your forehead.
“Do you know what will make it up to me?” You hum. You know he already knows what your thinking of. Pudding.
“I promise I will make you a pudding when we get home, but you have to be patient okay,” He presses a soft kiss to your nose and you look up at him with your bambi like eyes.
“Victor,” You breathlessly whisper, giving him that look.
“Again? Did I not satisfy you my love,” He grins, pushing you backwards onto his desk.
That night Victor kept his promise and made you pudding but he wouldn’t let you have it until the next day, claiming there was too much sugar for you to consume that late at night. He even had the audacity to hide it on the top shelf of the fridge where you couldn’t reach it. Pouting after your failed midnight snack adventure you climbed back into bed, sleeping Victor embracing you in his arms.
“Couldn’t reach the pudding could you,” He mumbles against your neck making you giggle.
“I’m literally craving it Vic, like I need it,” You whine and he chuckles against your neck, him arm holding you close to him.
“Such a dummy, so pouty over pudding,” As he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck making you hum against him.
“Victor don’t,” You whine, turning in his arms as his eyes open slowly to look into yours.
“What's up,” He whispers against your lip, his arm around you drawing small circles over your waist. You run your fingers through his arm, your nose rubbing against his.
“I’m feeling really sensitive, if you start doing that I won’t be able to keep my hands off you,” Feeling the arousal within you kicking in again. You felt like when you and Victor first got together, purely unable to keep your hands off of him.
“Are you telling me after all that in the office you still want more?” A light smirk on his face.
“I honestly feel like I could go all night,” You giggle, a very very poor choice of words. You didn’t get to sleep a wink that night, Victor ravishing your body with his hands, mouth and body all night. Thank god it had been a friday. You were finally able to get some sleep as dawn was breaking through, you slipping into a peaceful slumber.
The aroma of breakfast and the sizzling sound wafter into the bedroom, stirring you from your sleep. You drifted into the kitchen, almost like a cartoon character whose feet didn’t touch the floor as you enter into the room. Greeted by your husband as he stood shirtless, fixing up something in the kitchen. You stopped to admire the sight, the red scratches over his back from your previous session this morning, he was just breathtaking.
“Are you going to keep staring or come help?” He teases, flashing you a smile. He opens a packet of meat as you make your way over but the smell hits you with a wave of nausea, your face going green.
“You okay?” Victor asks, noticing the colour draining from your face but you shake your head and run to the bathroom, violently spewing. You can hear Victor pacing outside the bathroom, he wasn’t good with illness.
“Bella?” His voice is full of worry as he knocks on the door after a few minutes.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” You manage, gripping the toilet bowl once more as you feel yourself retching up. You clean yourself up after a few minutes later, before leaving to see Victor sat on the edge of the bed, worry plastered over his face. As soon as he saw you he stood up, pressing a hand to your head as if checking your temperature.
“I’m fine, honestly, the smell just made me queasy,” You reassure him.
“Is it… you know,” His face flustered and he rubs the back of his neck, “That time?”. He got so embarrassed over your womanly issues, the day you had to ask him to go to the shop and buy you pads was a day you would never forget. He was too embarrassed to ask for help in the shop so he brought multiple brands and sizes, returning home with a red glow over his cheeks.
“No, no, you should know after yesterday!” You tease with a giggle until you stop.
“What?”.
“Bella what?”. You stand there for a few moments, blinking in silence, trying to work something out. You run to your bedside draw, you take out your container holding your birth control and check over it, each one taken… all except one that you had missed two months ago. You take out the little notebook you kept with it, feeling the bed dip down beside you, Victor looking confused at what you were doing. You trace through the past few months, your last period was well over a month late and you drop everything.
“Bella, will you talk to me?” Victor asks once more, he had been asking you but you sat there in stunned silence trying to piece everything together.
“I-... I missed a pill over a month ago…” You manage, your face still dumbstruck.
“That's fine?” Victor chuckles, taking your hand, not realising what you was suggesting.
“And I haven’t had my period…”. There's silence as the penny drops. Your heart races as you turn to face Victor, his face matching your stunned one from moments ago.
“Please… please don’t be mad, it was an accident, I didn't-” You start, feeling tears in your eyes. Victor shuts you up with a deep kiss, pulling you close to him.
“We might have had a baby?” He smiles, running his hands through your hair. You nod, “You dummy, how, why, why would you even think I would be mad?”.
“Its just- we haven’t spoken about it before, I thought you might be upset,” Your eyes looking up to meet his loving gaze, a warm smile on his lips.
“Your my wife, I love you, of course I want children with you, this… this is everything,” He softly cradles your face with his hand. He leans down and kisses you deeply with passion, your loving husband almost bursting with happiness at the fact you could be pregnant. He pushed you down to the bed, beginning to undo your shirt when the smell of smoke rose and a sharp beeping noise filled the house.
“Shit,” Victor drops you from his hold and runs out into the kitchen, both of you forgetting the breakfast that was cooking. The smell makes you queasy again and you dash once more into the bathroom.
“I can’t believe you burnt the food, I’ve never seen you burn anything!” You tease, sitting cross legged on the sofa, a big smile on your face as you tuck into your pudding finally.
“I can’t believe your eating pudding this early in the day,” He chuckles back.
“I told you!” You pouted, “I’m really craving it,”.
“Just because you're pregnant, this doesn’t mean you can have pudding all the time,” He makes his way to sit in front of you on the floor, taking one of your hands preventing you from ravishing your food.
“Might,” You emphasise. You didn’t want to get your hopes up too much, just in case it’s not true.
-
Victor had been called on an urgent business call for two weeks the following day after your initial pregnancy realisation.
“I’m not going,” He protested, throwing the clothes out of the suitcase you were packing.
“Victor! It’s important, you need to go!” Repacking everything he was throwing out.
“What’s important is you, that maybe you're carrying our baby,” His hands moving to press against your stomach. You were about to head out and get a pregnancy test when his phone rang, informing him of the urgent matter he needed to go away on.
“And we’ll know when you come home,” You say pressing kisses to his knuckles, “I promise you I will wait, it’s two weeks,”. He knew he was going to lose this argument with you, in return for your support he made you enough pudding for a few days but you was so emotional over the unknown you ate them all the first night he left.
Everything was going fine, until you started experiencing morning sickness at work, throwing up on the dot every morning at 9:30. The smell of peoples lunch was unbearable, it got to the point you went and sat in Victor's office during lunch. It wasn’t until Goldman walked in on you crying your eyes out at a puppy adoption advert that people started to ask questions.
“So Goldman said you’ve been throwing up? I’m getting the next plane home,” Victors voice was music to your ears that night as you lay in bed.
“It’s fine, it might just be morning sickness you know,” You smile, you missed your husband deeply.
“I can get the earliest flight tomorrow morning,”.
“Victor no! It’s okay, just some smells make me feel really sensitive,” You mumble, “I sit in your office eating lunch now,”.
“Dummy…” He softly whispers, “I’m so worried about you, how are you doing?”.
“Honestly, I’m fine,” You take a bite out of your snack, “I just feel a little tired more than usual,”.
“Are you eating pudding? It’s midnight there…”.
There's a moment's pause.
“You already ate all the pudding didn't you?”.
“I couldn’t help it! I need it,” You whine.
“What are you eating now then?” He asks.
“Ice cream with pickles…” You mumble.
“Right that’s it I’m coming home, my wife is seriously ill,” He chuckles, knowing how much you despise pickles and how much you hate mixing sweet and sharp foods.
“Victor, I really think this might be it,” You can’t stop yourself beaming down the phone.
“I think you need to take a test,” Him always being the reasonable one.
“No, not without you,” You reply instantly.
“Bella-”.
“No Victor, this is our baby, we’re doing this every step together,”. Victor knew you was just as stubborn as he was, “Besides you’ll be home in 5 days, I can wait”.
Dear god it was a long five days, each day your symptoms felt like they was getting worse, you felt so fatigued by the end of the week you had forgotten about Victor coming home. Too tired to walk home you jumped into a nearby cab, almost falling asleep in the car. Getting out as it pulled up at your home, a familiar scent lingered in the living room as you opened the front door.
“Vic?” You called out, walking in and seeing him standing there. You ran into his arms as he twirled you around his arms, pressing kisses all over your face.
“I missed you so much, I’m never leaving you again,” He says between kisses making you giggle.
“I have a present,” He says, setting you down. PLEASE BE MORE PUDDING, “No, it’s not pudding,”. You pouted at his comment, he could read your mind you swear. He reaches into a bag and hands you a pregnancy test. You blink and look at him.
“Goldman got it for me, I- I didn’t know what one to get,” A blush on his cheeks as you giggle.
“You ready?” You ask, squeezing his hand as you walk to the bathroom.
“Always,” He replies.
-
A week on and you sit in the leather reclining chair, the cold gel being spread over your bump as Victor sits by your side, holding your hand tight.
“And… there we are,” The doctor moving the wand over your stomach, “There's your baby,”. Roughly 9 weeks pregnant, the screen giving you and Victor the first glimpse of the life growing inside you, tears running down your cheeks.
“It’s so tiny,” You cry, focusing on the black and white image on the screen. You had to strain to see the tiny bean that was developing inside you but there it was. Victors hand tightened over yours, a small tear falling from his eye he focuses on the screen.
“Lets see if,” The doctor says, messing with something on the screen and a faint sound of a heartbeat fills the room, “I know this can be very emotional, I’ll give you a minute”. The doctor stepping out.
“Our baby Victor,” You sob as Victor tears his eyes away from the screen to hold you close.
“I love you so much, thank you, thank you for giving us the most perfect gift,” He whispers cradling you close to him, you could feel a tear from his face drop onto your cheek.
You didn’t have a dream pregnancy, you suffered severely with morning sickness to the point you had to announce your pregnancy early due to the growing concern of your colleges. But the best part was what you craved: pudding and Victor. You literally couldn’t get your fill of either. Victor refused to make them you anymore in the house as you literally sat with a spoon ready when he began making them, instead he would make them in a batch at Souvenir and would bring home one a week. Although he didn’t complain once about your increased sex drive, morning sessions, after work, at home, anywhere and time you could get him alone. It got to the point where he had to book out afternoon meetings in his calendar just to satisfy your needs. He also never once complained about your breasts practically doubling every week.
At first you didn’t want to find out the sex of your child but one you was massively impatient and two you wanted to begin buying baby clothes, you couldn’t stop once you started. You had an extravagant gender reveal, everyone having to guess what they thought the baby was going to be. You were adamant it would be a boy, Victor a girl, but neither of you cared as all you wanted was a healthy baby.
“And it's...blue!” You cry, cutting the cake to see the inside of the sponge blue making you sob like the hormonal wreck you were.
-
“You're doing it again,” Victor was watching you as he sat in his armchair. You were busy cleaning everything and anything you could see, you were currently polishing the knobs on door handles for the fourth time.
“I can’t help it! It irritates me,” You whine, Victor standing up and wrapping his arms around you nuzzling his face into your neck from behind. Your bump was huge, at first you were worried you were having twins. You had just under two weeks until your due date.
“Come on, I’ll run you a bath, massage your feet and you can relax,” He hums as he leads you to the bathroom, waddling your way over.
“He’s so restless,” You say with a slight hiss in discomfort as you feel the foot press against your stomach.
“Just like his mother,” Victor chuckles, helping you into the bath as he rolls up his shirt sleeves.
“I hope he likes pudding like me,” You tease, emerging yourself into the water. You take one of Victor's hands and intertwine it with yours, placing it over your bump where your son was kicking fiercely. A smile glimmering over his face, he looked like the definition of content and happiness.
“Now… If I remember something about a foot rub?” You giggle, attempting to lift your foot out of the water.
-
“I can not believe you came with me, you should be at home,” Victor was still protesting that you came into the office with him to collect some documents. It was the day before your due date but you refused to be alone in the house incase you went into labour.
“It’s fine! We’ll be here for, what, an hour max?” You say, making your way to sit on the plush sofa of his office. Victor quickly buries himself into the work, wanting to rush everything so he could get you back home where you belonged.
“Ah,” You hiss lightly, Victor running straight to your side.
“You okay?” He asks, panic on his face.
“No, I’m fine it’s just my back, can you help me up I got to pee,” You whine, physically unable to stand up by yourself. He helps you up slowly but you still in his arms.
“Did you sit in something wet?” He questions looking at the seat as you shake your head, feeling the wetness spread down your leggings.
“Victor…”.
“I can’t believe someones been in my office!”.
“Victor…”.
“God I bet it was Goldman and too not clean it, this is expensive leather!”.
“Victor! Shut up about the damn sofa, my waters” You cry with a gasp, shutting your eyes tight as a dull ache starts in your pelvis.
The next few minutes are a blur, Victor frantically calling the hospital as he helps you to the elevator, trying to keep calm. You was so glad you had already put the overnight bag in the car. You grip tightly onto the elevator railing as it stops on multiple floors, Victor frantically trying to stop it from going anywhere but the car park.
“I am not having our baby in this god damn building,” You hiss, a stronger contraction begins to wave over you.
“I mean he was probably conceived here,” Victor cant help but look smug in response but shuts up with the look you glare at him.
You finally got to the car, Victor breaking the speed of time to get you to the hospital, running through your breathing techniques with you, trying to keep both you and him calm. By the time you reached the hospital your contractions were minutes apart and you already at a peak dilation, you was rushed straight into the delivery suit.
“Come on, you got this,” Victor holding your hand as your body curled with a scream as sweat dripped off your forehead. You too dilated to have any medical assistance, your baby boy was ready for you to meet him. He stood by you the whole time, letting you crush his hand, pull him close, push you away, whatever you needed he was there. He didn’t moan when you cried out you hated him for causing this.
“I can’t do it, I can’t,” You cry, falling back against the bed, tears falling from you.
“Yes you can, you can do this,” Victor reassures you, kneeling by your side and stroking your hair.
“It hurts,” You sob.
“Mrs.Li, you need to push, your baby’s not waiting,” A doctor urges you.
“You are so brilliant, just a little longer, I promise I’ll make you all the pudding you want for you and our boy,” Victor chuckles, trying to help you in any way he can.
An agonising, body splitting, few moments and the sound of a whining baby fills the door, Victor now grabbing your hand as tightly as you had been his.
“Congratulations Mr and Mrs.Li, it’s a perfectly healthy boy,” The doctor smiles, cleaning up your boy before slowly cradling him against your chest as you collapse back against the bed. You can’t help but cry looking down at your bundle of joy, Victor wrapping his arm around you and pressing kisses to your head.
“You did so well baby, so well,” He repeats as he nestles to sit beside you on the bed. You move your tiny boy to the other side of your chest, him cradled between you as Victor cradles you.
“Hi baby,” You whisper softly, admiring the purest thing you had ever seen in your arms. You hear Victor sobbing slightly above you and you turn to look at his tear filled eyes.
“I love you so much,” He manages before leaning down and kissing you.
“I love you too,” You reply, a tiny coo coming from the life you had created in your arms.
“And we love you,” Victor adds, gently caressing a finger over your son's face. The feeling of love and cherishment could burst from your room as Victor held his two most precious things in his arms.
Enjoy my work, visit my masterlist here.
#mlqc#mlqc victor#mr love victor#mr love queens choice victor#mr love queen's choice#victor fluff#mr love fluff#mr love victor fluff#mr love#mlqc fluff
131 notes
·
View notes
Text
Step 5: Establishing a Relationship
From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger
Establishing a Relationship
Now that your relationship has begun, you must learn how to truly become a partner. Establishing and maintaining the relationship will require constant work, as both parties will change and evolve through life. However, committing to a growth mindset and learning how to compromise will make the relationship extremely rewarding.
_____________________________
There was a scratching at their bedroom door. Ron looked up from the fifth chapter, Establishing a Relationship, to see an orange paw gently prodding the door open. Crookshanks bounced across the room and hopped into the bed, assertively nudging Ron's hand away from the book.
Five years ago, Ron probably would have pushed the cat off of the bed. Heck, if Hermione was awake right now, he would have done the same. Instead, with a sideways glance beside him to make sure Hermione was soundly sleeping, he moved the book off of his lap so Crookshanks could curl up there instead.
The purring cat melted into Ron's hand as he scratched him behind his ears. "Hey, buddy," said Ron affectionately, as Crookshanks began kneading his shirt with his claws. He rubbed his face against Ron's hand, and Ron moved down the cat's spine, until he stuck his rump straight up in the hair. Cats are weird, he thought.
It had become their little routine. Every time Hermione fell asleep before him, Crookshanks would find his way to Ron to soak up every ounce of affection Ron would give. In the early days of their relationship, Crookshanks didn't want anything to do with him, hissing and swatting when Ron became the focus of Hermione's attention, his competition. When Ron was alone with the cat, or Hermione was asleep, limiting the cat's affection options, Crookshanks slowly warmed up, allowing Ron to pet him for a few minutes at a time. Over time, they had become best friends by night, but played each other's enemy by day. Ron hated to admit how much the creature had grown on him since third year.
Reluctantly becoming a cat dad wasn't the only indicator of their status as boyfriend and girlfriend. Eventually, introducing Hermione as his girlfriend stopped feeling awkward, and he no longer felt the need to casually mention her at work parties, simply so he could practice using the new term. He knew the shift had been made when Hermione received a wedding invitation addressed to both of them by name, rather than the former "Hermione Granger and Guest", and when his mom knit them matching Christmas jumpers one year.
There were simple things he had mastered by becoming involved with a Muggle-born witch. Learning to order food with the telephone, and to pay for it with the correct amount of muggle money was a larger project that he had anticipated- a project fit for a boyfriend-, and nowadays he insisted they order out at least twice a week, because using the phone was so much fun. Although he thought her obsession with true crime shows was mental, he learned how to record them on their television, and he now understood how to navigate the train system that connected their flat with the airport, so he could pick up Hermione's parents when they flew into London for holiday visits.
There were more complicated things too. When he became adept at using the internet and researched the symptoms of a panic attack, he learned that he was supposed to stay calm and promised himself he'd never raise his voice in fear if it ever happened again, and even though he knew it hurt her, she understood that he would never want to celebrate their anniversary because it fell on the same day that Fred died. He learned that they would occasionally screw up, and say the wrong thing, and that sometimes being Ron and Hermione meant that they wouldn't always feel like best friends. But most importantly, he learned that he couldn't push her away during difficult times, especially if he ever expected her to lean on him in return.
******
The morning after the battle, Ron and Hermione, along with Harry and the rest of the Weasleys went back to the Burrow. Even though there were more people than usual at home, the old house still felt unsettlingly empty. At first the only one who reacted to Ron and Hermione's new relationship was Crookshanks, who suddenly had to compete with another man for affection. Otherwise, they did their best not to draw attention to their new status, and Hermione seemed to fade into the background with Harry, while they tried to make themselves helpful guests so the family could grieve and make preparations for the funeral. So as thrilling as it could have been, becoming Ron and Hermione happened at a bad time to assure a smooth transition. Unfortunately, there was no chapter in 12 Fail Safe Ways To Charm Witches about navigating a new relationship while mourning your dead brother.
He didn't feel charming at Fred's funeral, when he sobbed into Hermione's arms, dripping tears and Merlin knows what else into her hair. He had hardly spoken to her or touched her in days. When they managed to find some solitude in his attic bedroom, and he tried to get lost in kissing her, he often became overwhelmed with guilt. He didn't feel charming when he pushed her away, turning his back to her so she didn't see him crying mid-snog, because all he could think about was how his brother would never get to kiss a girl again. He avoided her every time he felt like he was going to cry, because Hermione would try to make him feel better with a hug, and she deserved someone who didn't respond to her touch with anger, grief, and tears. He couldn't avoid her seeing him cry at Fred's funeral, so he sobbed violently against her as she stroked his back, and tried to ignore the small voice in the back of his head that told him he was asking too much from her.
After the ceremony he sat on the dock by the pond, because he couldn't bother to hear anyone's condolences again. She found him there, and nestled up against him, dangling her feet into the water, and didn't say anything. Then he cried again, because she didn't say anything, and that was exactly what he needed.
He never returned to the house that night. He stayed on the dock, Hermione brought him a plate of food, and they ate in silence. The sun set, and she reached into her bag, and pulled out the bottle of firewhiskey that she'd smuggled from the alcohol cabinet in the living room.
He raised his eyebrows when she unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip. She winced as it went down, then handed the bottle to Ron, who did the same. They passed it back and forth wordlessly, until it was dark, and the world was blurry, and his eyes were tapped out of tears. Then he finally talked. Without inhibitions, he told her how guilty he had felt being with her that whole week. He said he'd give anything to go back to the day before Fred died, even though it was before Voldemort was killed, and before they had even kissed. He told her he wasn't sure if he'd ever truly feel happy or complete again. She cried with him, and he was grateful he had someone who was willing to share in his burden. She cast a cushioning charm on the dock, and pulled blankets out of her bag, and they settled into a comfortable embrace before Ron drifted off to sleep, thinking that if he was doomed to a life of unhappiness, at least it would be with Hermione.
He woke the next morning to the blinding sun, a raging headache, and Hermione in his arms. She was awake, and she smiled gently at him when he turned to her.
"Morning," she said softly.
"Morning," he grumbled back. He attempted a smile but it probably looked more like a grimace.
"Do you feel ill?" she asked.
Ron nodded.
Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial. "This might help."
He uncorked the vial and dumped the pepper up potion into his mouth. It helped immediately. He looked back at Hermione who grinned again, before lovingly tucking his hair behind his ear, the same way he did to her.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" He couldn't help himself asking the question, as he'd been ignoring her, shutting her out for days.
She looked momentarily hurt. "Because I'm your girlfriend," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Aren't I?"
He felt stinging tears and he tugged her close. "Of course you are." She hugged him back, the tears spilled from his eyes, and they felt like Ron and Hermione again. He allowed himself both to cry with her and kiss her, because maybe he could grieve and love at the same time.
No one came looking for them that morning, and for that Ron was thankful. Something about the closure of the funeral, and echo of the word Hermione had used to describe herself, girlfriend, made today feel like the start of a new chapter.
"When are we going to Australia? To find your parents?" he asked her, to be met with a smile and an embrace that he returned with genuine enthusiasm.
******
They took a portkey to Melbourne less than a fortnight later. As a token of thanks for all they'd done to end the war, and his promise of a pardon for any illegal magic performed defensively, Kingsley had arranged for a team of Australian Aurors to help locate her parents. They had done so rather quickly, as there weren't too many recent British expats practicing dentistry in Victoria. Nearly as soon as they arrived, they were given a folder containing the address of their home and dental practice. After renting a hotel room near their St. Kilda residence, the only thing left to do was reverse the memory spell. Ron assumed it would happen the next day, but it didn't.
He was surprised, yet somewhat pleased, at her suggestion to explore the city first. They'd never traveled together for fun so he wasn't going to turn down an opportunity to eat kangaroo burgers by the beach or take a romantic stroll through the botanic gardens. It was actually quite nice to practice acting like a couple in a different country, where no one knew who they were, what they've done, or that they weren't together just a few weeks ago. He could hold her hand, put his arm around her shoulders, or pull her in for a kiss on the pier without worrying about a wolf-whistle from a brother, or worse, a talk about safety from his dad. They spent an entire week ignoring their agenda, and Ron started to wonder if she was avoiding the task ahead. He knew she was when she suggested they ride the wooden death trap that muggles called roller coasters at Luna Park.
"What if, instead of that," said Ron, gesturing toward the roller coaster with his rapidly melting ice cream cone, "We go find your parents."
Hermione continued to stare straight ahead from their place on the bench. She shook her head.
"What's going on, Hermione."
"What do you mean?" she asked unconvincingly.
"The museums, the restaurants, the dates," he attempted in a casual tone, as he took another slurp of his ice cream. "I'm having a great time, don't get me wrong. But you know we'll eventually have to see them."
He looked over at her, but she was still staring blankly ahead, He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to react. To say something.
"We can't avoid it forever, you know."
After a few moments of tense silence, her breathing became shallower, her face deepened in color, and the ice cream cone fell from her hand and landed in a splat on the concrete between them.
"Hermione, are you ok?" asked Ron.
She shook her head as she lowered her face into her hands, as her breathing picked up it's pace. "No….," she exhaled, but couldn't get any more words out before she was overtaken by full bodied sobs.
"Hermione?" he said hurriedly. "What's wrong?"
He tried to reach an arm around her shoulders, but she shoved him away, the adrenaline providing much more force than necessary. She continued to sob and shudder, before placing her hands on her throat, remindnig Ron of a fish out of water.
"Hermione, you're worrying me. Please tell me what's going on."
Ron's words didn't seem to register with her. He looked around him to check if they had drawn the attention of anyone, but the deafening sounds of laughter, carnival music, and screams from the roller coaster muffled them from anyone who might have stepped in to help.
"C'mon Hermione, answer me," he said a little more forcefully, now feeling panicked. Logically he knew she would answer him if she could, and that thought made him want to hyperventilate too. "Just breath, Hermione! Please-"
Her sobs suddenly became raspier, and her body continued to heave as if trying unsuccessfully to pull in more air. Her face was turning redder every moment, and then without warning, she leaned forward and threw up on the concrete before them. Ron stared at her wide-eyed, as she gasped for air and returned back to her sobs, but this time they sounded deeper and more nourishing. He tentatively reached his hand to her again, and this time she didn't flinch when he pulled her closer, so her head rested on his shoulder, smearing tears, and sick, and Merlin knows what else onto his shirt, but he didn't care. He was just glad she seemed to be breathing.
They didn't talk about it. When she finally came around, she hurried off into the nearest public loo, and Ron waited there as his unfinished ice cream cone dripped down his hand. When she returned, there seemed to be a mutual understanding that it was time to return to their hotel. So they did.
When they arrived, Hermione, still looking embarrassed, immediately opted for a shower, and Ron thought it would be a good time to try ordering room service. After all, he was part of Hermione's life now, and if he couldn't protect her from whatever just happened at Luna Park, he should at least learn how to use a telephone.
******
A few days later, Hermione finally agreed to find her parents. Fittingly, it was raining on the day they knocked on her parent's front door. They gave each other a quick glance, and before the door opened, Hermione slipped her hand into his. He heard her take a deep breath before they saw the doorknob turn, and they were suddenly face to face with the greying features of Mr. Hugo Granger.
"Can I help you?"
They had planned this moment, but like many things in their recent experience, it didn't go as expected. They didn't plan for Hermione to freeze, caught up in the emotion of seeing her father for the first time since the war. Neither were prepared for the lack of recognition in his face.
"Hi Dad," said Hermione softly, as Ron grimaced at her giveaway.
"Excuse me?" said Hugo Granger in confusion. "Dad?" Before Hermione could backtrack, the tension was broken by a large golden retriever that came bounding up to Ron.
"Hey buddy!" said Ron, as he leaned down to scratch the dog's ears.
"Herman! No!" shoulder another voice. "Hugo grab him!" Jean Granger appeared behind her husband, reaching for the dog..
"Right," said Hugo, with a lingering look of confusion at Hermione before he turned his attention to the dog.
"Hermione, now," whispered Ron. She nodded, and while her parents were looking down, she withdrew her wand and aimed it right at them.
"I'm sorry, he's still a puppy and doesn't know how big-," Jean paused mid sentence, before slowly returning upright as Hermione's counter charm took effect.. "Hermione?"
"Mom," whispered Hermione.
The expression on Jean's face turned from affection, to confusion, to anger, before landing back on affection. She opened her arms, and Hermione collapsed into her embrace.
Ron looked at Hugo, who had also risen to his feet, but his eyes were focused on Ron, not on the two women embracing beside him. Ron was unsettled by the fact that he couldn't read his expression at all.
"Ron Weasley, if I remember correctly," he said curtly.
Ron nodded.
"I'm sure there's a very good explanation."
Even though it wasn't a question, Ron nodded again.
Hugo then broke their eye contact and turned toward his daughter, reaching his hand out to embrace her too.
Ron simply stood back with his hands in his pockets and observed the moment Hermione had been worrying about for the past few weeks. She was sobbing again, but this time it didn't concern Ron at all. He felt a cold, wet nose brush against his leg, and looked down to see Herman wagging his tail. For something to do with his hands, and because Herman was pretty cute, he crouched down to pet him.
"Also… Herman?" he heard Hermione ask once she had broken free of her parents' embrace. "Sounds a lot like Hermione."
"I guess our memories were just a little too strong. They pushed through," said Hugo stiffly.
"I'm so sorry," wavered Hermione. "Will you let me explain?"
"Of course, honey," said Jean, embracing her daughter again.
Ron, who was still busy petting Herman, suddenly felt Hugo Granger's eyes on him again. "The dog sure seems to like you."
Ron anxiously looked up, but was pleasantly surprised to see that Hugo was grinning at him. "Yeah, well," shrugged Ron. "I really like Herman."
Hugo chuckled. "How about a drink?"
"Oh, I'm fine," said Ron quickly, but a quick look from Hermione made him backtrack. "Er, actually, a drink sounds good."
Hugo was already pouring him one. "Well come on in. We've got a lot to catch up on."
An explanation was due soon, but the Grangers took that night to reconnect with their daughter. To Ron's pleasant surprise, he was welcomed into their home like he was family too.
He was even more surprised when he sat on the sofa, keeping a respectable distance from Hugo Granger's daughter, and she simply inched closer to him so that they were knee to knee. She smiled brightly at him, and gratefully patted his knee in a way that she never had when they were just friends, and he smiled back before taking a sip of the stiff drink that Hugo had poured for him.
It could have been that smile, or the fact that he was suddenly thinking of Hermione as Mr. Granger's daughter. Or it could have been Hugo's suspicious eyes and Jean's excited grin when he tentatively slipped his arm around her shoulders, but that day, he truly felt like Hermione's boyfriend, and he knew they would figure everything else out later.
#ROMIONE#hpromione#hp fanfic#hp ficlet#hp fandom#romione fanfic#ronweasley#ron weasley#Hermione Granger#ron x hermione#ron and hermione
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stability
Random prompt from 8/11 [finished 8/16]: rewrite the Strive ending / create an alternate epilogue [to line up with my story project]. I may or may not rewrite the whole thing for fun lmao.
[Main story preview here (contains 6 scenes)] // [Chapter 1 now on AO3]
"I guess... that's what they meant..." She let out between huffs. Both the voice in her head and the former Sanctus Maximus Populi said the same thing regarding her potential ability.
“When the time comes, with your seed, you hold the power to save or destroy the world.”
“You can prevent the end of it all.”
Energy drained, she fought off the sluggish pace her body was moving. Looking over to her partner, she noticed he was barely hanging on to his life, staying incredibly still, and trying to regulate his breathing while facing down. While her body contained the [Scales of Juno], he had the [Flame of Corruption] ripped out from his, reverting him to a human. "On second thought, don't move." Once she closed the distance between them, she knelt and put her arms around him. Face against the scuffed leather sleeve, and she struggled to hold her emotions in. "H-hey..." Voice cracking, she lowly muttered between sniffles, "please, don't go..."
"..."
"You... you stayed true to... your word about... a-about..."
"..."
"Fighting to... s-save the world..."
"If the world was going to disappear tomorrow... What would you do today?"
"What kind of a question is that? Stop whatever's ending the world or die trying."
Her embrace tightened as tears ran down her face. "Human, Gear, or neither. The world still needs you."
With drooped ears and saddened eyes, the wolf spirit whined. Its host and companion soothed it by scratching behind its ears and reassuring the worst had come to pass. "(It's okay, Rei. We're still alive.)." She whispered to the spirit in her native tongue. Another whine followed by a lick to the side of her face, Giovanna patted Rei's forehead. "What? Are you worried about me? I'm okay, I swear." She winced as another sharp pain ran through her body. "Ouch..." Her superior, the President, placed a hand on her shoulder. Half-expecting him to say she's no longer needed, she began, "I'm sorry-..."
"None of that." Vernon's voice was firm; however, it sounded... fatherly. He may have his doubts about the agent, but he knew she was more than capable of the job. Facing off against an unstoppable force, she did prove she's worth giving a higher position. "I can tell what you were thinking, but you're not being let go. You take as much time as you need off, Gio. Goldlewis, Erica, and I will await your return."
Saddened at the loss of someone he could consider a friend, the time traveler meekly looked down at the minty green and white guitar he held in his hands. This entire time he was unaware of her true identity. If he had to lose someone like her, it didn't have to be this way. Regardless of if she recalled who he was and why he was important to her in the first place, false memory or not. He threw away his chance to return home a while ago, and now he felt that it would've been for nothing had he gone through with it. "It shouldn't have ended like this... Megumi." Axl softly said under his breath.
After regaining control over his body and revealing the wicked goddess's weak point, the vampiric samurai pierced the ground a few centimeters with his sword. He kneeled to show his appreciation for defeating the evil force that used him as a puppet. Now, he could see why his master was fascinated by the will of a single person. This same person was stripped of his powers and still faced death head-on. "May you rest for now. The next time we meet, it won't be as enemies, but acquaintances." Drawing his blade from the ground, Nagoriyuki sheathed it and took his leave.
The King of Illyria – his lifelong rival and their son-in-law – made his way over to them, stopping a few feet short to maintain distance. "It's finally over. They're gone. We can... we can go home now." Part of him wanted to hold a hand out to help him stand, yet he held back and deemed that action unnecessary. Ky's spirits rose once he noticed the man in front of him was taking steady deep breaths -- body slowly moving to show signs of life.
Right hand maintaining its grip on the Outrage's handle, his free hand lightly grasped one of hers. Face still downward, a weak smile formed. "...You think so?"
She couldn't believe it. He's hanging by a thread and using what energy he should be saving to answer her with a question of his own.
"I know so."
The past three weeks were a blur. From the day she woke up and adjusted to this new world to the present, where she aided in bringing down a god. She never would've guessed that any of these events could've transpired. In the days leading up to September 2016, she was a terminally ill scientist who refused any life-saving alternative to live past what little time she had left, insisting she spent it with her significant other. Fast forward to December 2187, and she was brought back to life and became the partner of humanity's savior -- the very same person, albeit for the last time.
_____
The next day, another patient was checked into the hospital. This time there wasn’t a commotion caused by bringing his unconscious form bursting through the front doors. She wasn’t strong enough to carry him in her arms like he held her – that’s what the gurney from the airship’s infirmary wing was for.
“I have a request. May I stay here until he recovers? I… I don’t want to leave him.”
Three days later, word had reached his family that he's – miraculously and defying all odds – alive. His refusal to follow the light after what had happened was attributed to his stubborn nature. The Grim Reaper knocked at his door, and he slammed it shut in their face. Occupying the same bed, in the same patient room as her around a month ago, the now de-powered hero lay hooked up to the vitals system.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"Hard to say, but he'll pull through. He did wake up this morning, so there's something, yeah?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen my mother? About my height, short red hair with white underneath, and wearing a blue leather jacket? She hasn't been seen since everyone returned."
"She's in the room and hasn't left at all. I had someone stop by the house and bring her spare clothes since she spent the last four days here."
"Oh, thank god." The queen was relieved to know her mother's whereabouts. She respected her parents' privacy by not asking if she was able to go in.
---
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring-ring.
Sighing in aggravation, she answered her phone. There was only one person she kept in contact with these past few days. "What do you want now? He's still not up, so stop cal-..."
"I was going to ask something else. I'm going to regret this, but are you still angry?"
"You're a smart man to keep your distance from me, but a dumbass to ask that. Of course, I am! You ruined our lives with your 'self-righteousness' and nearly brought another apocalypse."
"...Aria, I understand your rage. If only I could rewind time and prevent your illness. I shouldn't have forcibly converted him and disappeared with your sleep capsule. It wasn't my intention to have our research weaponized, but I was figuratively and literally held at gunpoint to hand it over to the US Government. I should've known better and anticipated that Chaos -- erm, the Original's creation would sabotage your activation. Your screams still haunt me... and... I'm... I'm sorry."
"Asuka."
"I can't fix this by excessively apologizing and listing off my crimes, but I hope everything goes well for you and Frederick."
"Whatever. Enjoy the moon, or don't." She ended the call before her former friend could reply. "Asshole." Aria slumped back in the chair and opened her book to the page she left off. "We should've launched you into the sun."
"Oh my. And I thought 'Sol' was a hothead. You're pretty harsh, you know that? It's more frightening than I-No on a good day." Jack-O's voice rang through. Capable of feeling and expressing emotions herself, the Valentine was taken aback at what she heard during their calls. "If possible, can we listen to his show sometime? Please?"
"...Okay."
"Thank you. ~"
---
Forty minutes after the heated conversation, a groggy voice broke the silence.
"Is the... afterlife a sterile... hospital room?" Frederick's eyes were half-open, staring directly at the ceiling.
Aria closed what she was reading and placed it on the counter. Ignoring the monitors that once kept track of her, she looked over his body to see minimal damage sustained. "Looks like you've still got some of that healing factor. Or you're just too hardheaded to die."
He slightly turned his head to face her. "Heh. Probably both."
Running a hand through his now short hair, her lips curved into an unsure smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living?"
"This doesn't look like heaven. If you're my welcome guide, then I'll stay." His body was still sore, but he extended his arm out for her to hold his hand. The warmth from the fire magic still dwelling within them made their contact feel safer.
"I should've worn that jumpsuit and halo." Her inner voice's reaction was an exaggerated throat clear. "But if I did," she held a finger to her temple, "I don't think she would've appreciated that."
"I would've been mildly annoyed at best. Mildly annoyed yet honored that you'd wear it because of what you did."
"You're really pissed off at Asuka, aren't you?"
"How much did you hear?"
"All of it. Didn't know you were capable of that."
"I felt like you after the second day." He took that as a friendly poke at his history. "Since you've saved the world for the last time, are you still up for that 'alternate life' you mentioned the other night? We don't have to stay at Ky and Dizzy's. They can arrange something for us."
His ears perked up at the suggestion. Did she remind him about his statement regarding them settling down? Having survived an act of God, living a quiet life together a few minutes out from the capital didn't sound like a terrible idea. "What did you have in mind?"
"A fair-sized home, nothing too big or small, probably just down the way from their place. I don't want to throw everything away and live in seclusion. We're way out of our own time, but we finally have a family, people who care about us, and we care about them in return. Unless you have a better idea?"
"I'm fine with anything. Can't imagine I'd be able to go out much or at all because I'm officially a dead man."
"Not too long ago, I was a dead woman walking. Besides, the world thinks that Sol Badguy is dead, not Frederick Bulsara."
"Point there. You know, now that I think about it, this situation is just like a month ago."
"With you in my place, but I didn't have to be dragged in? This is the same room where I spent my time recovering. It was also -..."
"Where you got your new start."
"Y-yeah. That's exactly it. This is where I woke up to my new life! Not as Justice, or Jack-O, but as myself. That same day, I met our daughter and her husband, and then I saw you again. Just this time... I've been here since you were checked in. Everyone tried to get me to leave, but I refused."
He noticed the duffel bag placed near the door. There was a pant leg hanging over one side of the unzipped bag, and next to it were two pairs of footwear. "Way to tug at the old heartstrings. Stubborn as always, aren't you?" If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do the same when she was still unconscious. He had the feeling that the IRMC staff wouldn't have thought about asking him to leave the premises, even though he almost kicked the doors clean off the first time.
"One of my best qualities." She winked at him, giggling at her remark.
"Hey, Aria."
"Hm?"
He slowly sat up despite the mild pain, leaning over to bring her in for a hug. "Thank you."
Aria returned the motion, both holding onto each other, not wanting to let go. She had felt incomplete up until this moment. Preventing the end was a combined effort, and she couldn’t be any happier to have been a part of that team.
A sense of déjà vu, the song playing on the radio had neared its end.
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words...
"I love you."
#guilty gear#aria hale#only tagging her since she's the main character of this little project#other characters in this mini prompt: sol axl giovanna nagoriyuki and vernon#also ky asuka and jack-o#the main fic's about 90 percent done#and i wrote this because i hit writer's block for two days#i'm ending the main fic's chapter 3 at the beginning of ggst so i may do some more rewrites#the song at the end is the brenda lee version of fly me to the moon#nat's fanfics#ah whoopsie it's 5am#by the energy drain i intended for her to jump into god i-no's body like in the actual story mode#but then she was torn out after starting the halting process
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter Two: Bayside
Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR
Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.
Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.
Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing
The Master Masterlist (link) --- Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)
Liam
Saturday rolled around again. Nothing could lift the heavy circles under Liam’s eyes or take away his yawns, and the coffee could only do so much. He took solace in the fact that he could crash hard later that day.
Emily had a harder time against this team. He kept score in his head, crossing his fingers and sending encouraging smiles whenever she glanced his way.
The final whistle blew as they started from the centre of the court. Emily looked around to find her coach, then converged with her teammates. A moment later they cheered at the score.
The crowd filed out and Liam waited for Emily to take her time with her friends. He nodded to the few spectators who looked his way. Today’s game was a late one, and the court was almost bare except for a few chatting kids and waiting parents. He yawned again, and when he opened his eyes, Cassie stood beside him. He blinked, too tired to conceal his surprise.
“Sorry,” she chuckled, “didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, that’s alright,” he replied, “long week.”
“Here I thought being king would be easy.” Cassie folded her arms across her chest. Liam breathed a laugh, but that was all he could manage. Something had happened, in the last few weeks, to throw him off balance.
“Challenging. But rewarding.”
“A standard answer.” She smiled, then sighed. Liam watched her torn expression morph into resolve.
“She’s lucky to have you,” she continued, turning to Emily a moment. Liam did not follow her gaze, but watched Cassie instead.
“Thank you,” he answered, wary of the direction of the conversation.
"My sister was really ill years back, and I moved in to take care of her boys for a while. I was only 24 at the time. I knew nothing about children, and they were so small.” Cassie smiled, and Liam waited to see if she would continue. He was glad the courts were emptying, and there was no one within earshot.
“She was living out in the country, and I’d come straight from university in Amsterdam. No one really thought I should be the one to look after them, it was hard, but it… was the right thing to do, I think. They are such dear boys.” She looked down, a little heat in her cheeks, and Liam frowned.
“You knew what they needed.” He found himself saying. “Where they’d come from.”
She nodded, lifting her head again. “Maybe someone knew better. But I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d failed my sister when she needed me most.”
Liam took in her words, feeling the memory come to him again. He blinked, and remembered where he was.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked gently. Cassie turned to him, then away again, cheeks a little redder.
“I’m not sure.” She sighed. “I suppose I wanted you to know. It’s hard when no one believes in you. When no one understands.” Her voice trailed as she finished, but a moment later strengthened again.
“I haven’t coached Emily before, but I have seen you around. I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but if you ever need someone to talk to.” She lifted her shoulders, trying not to fold in on herself. “I’m here.”
Liam pulled away from her, realising how unguarded he had been during the conversation.
“Thank you,” was his final reply. What else could he say? Something more articulate if he was awake enough. Cassie nodded, then pulled something from her jacket pocket. As he suspected, the paper she handed him had her name and mobile number.
“I’m not asking you to call me or anything,” she said with a more familiar cadence. “But if you need…” she smiled, “I’m here.” And with a nod, she walked away.
Liam pocketed the note, and tried and failed to decipher whatever subtext he had missed.
He didn't get much time to do so. A rush of colour preceded an impact against his side and he nearly stumbled. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him, grinning, eyes shining with exertion.
“Movie?” she said, leaning her chin against his stomach. Liam could hardly watch her insistence without laughing.
“That depends.” He raised his eyebrows, and Emily frowned.
“On what?”
Leaning down, Liam gently detached her from him, kissed the top of her head, and stepped back.
“On whether you can beat me to the car!”
He ran, but not to win. Odd looks followed from those around them, but Liam’s focus was on the small shape darting ahead.
Cassandra
The last of the kids departed, and Cassie continued to pack up. The work took her hands to complete but not her mind, and she whisked herself away to some place colourful. Somewhere she could go to create.
With everything packed away, she hoisted the ball bag over her shoulder and carried it to her car. She reflected on her interactions with Liam and Emily. Had she been too abrupt with her offer? She’d only known him a few weeks and spoken to him twice, and he had seemed concerned. That was the reason she had offered it, she reminded herself. All she could do was hope that her manner wasn’t off-putting, if a friend was what he needed.
And if he didn’t act on her offer, like her mother had always said, at least she had tried.
Back in her studio apartment, Cassie tossed her keys in a bowl by the door and the sports bag on the ground.
“Back to work,” she informed no one in particular. Peeling off her clothes, she threw them in the direction of her bed. Then she changed into old stained things, and twirled a charcoal pencil between her fingers.
With soft music as a backdrop, several hours and a glass of wine passed before she admitted defeat. The line work on her canvas was approximately complete but nothing in her usual colour palette captured the feel of it. The much larger canvas nearby was as blank as the day she bought it. It taunted her lack of inspiration. There was plenty of time, she told it, and pointedly avoided the calendar on her wall ‘with exhibition’ circled two months from now.
Around dusk, a miasma of sunset shades began to leak in through the window and touch her other pieces. Her stomach growled on cue as she registered the time. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. As good a reason as any, she reasoned, to take a break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed out again.
---
After dark on a Saturday, the boardwalk came to life. Cassie reclined in the corner of her favourite establishment, drink in one hand, pencil in the other. Always carry a sketchbook. And when she wasn’t in front of a canvas her hand flowed freely. The din of the bar was chatty and friendly. Two and a half walls were open to a balcony over the bay. People meandered in and out or stood or sat in groups, waving their hands in animated recounts of their life events. Warm lighting like this was perfect for sketching. Her knees were nearly against her chest at a booth in the corner and hid most of her work from prying eyes.
An easy sketch sat nearby. Rolling her shoulders back, Cassie drew his outline. He hunched over the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, denim jacket concealing muscled arms and a t-shirt. He came most weekends, she noticed -detailing the perfect frown- but never seemed to be fully here. When she looked up again he was gone.
“Having fun?” The low voice resonated from the same booth she sat at. Cassie hadn’t noticed his approach. She pulled her sketchbook against her chest as she turned to him. Too late, the regular had noticed his likeness.
“What gave it away?” she asked, reaching for her cocktail. He shrugged.
“You’ve hardly touched your drink.” He gestured to the almost full glass in her hand, ice almost melted. She grinned and took a sip.
“Likewise.” She indicated his glass. He rarely took more than a shot at a time.
“This isn’t meant to be rushed.” He gazed at his drink with reverence and she tried not to laugh.
“Uhuh.” Cassie took another sip and looked back at her sketch as she put the glass down. “What do you think?”
“Of your sketch?” He reclined. “You’re very talented.”
“Not what I was going for, but thanks.” Cassie smirked, then turned her book so he could see the drawing better. “Did I get you right?”
He shrugged, took another sip, then shook his head. “I don’t frown that much.”
Cassie spilled her drink on the table as she laughed, which only made her laugh more. When finally she regained control, he was waiting. “Yes, you do.”
The man turned away. His attempt at a severe frown fell short as the tiniest curve of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. She picked up her pencil again and started adding the new expression.
“I’m Cassie,” she said into the silence, no longer able to leave his sketches unnamed. Leaning toward her book to focus on the detail of his lips, she waited for his response. Instead, when she looked up, he had turned to her fully, and intensely. “What?”
“So you’re Cassie,” he said. She frowned this time.
“What do you mean?”
He blinked, glanced at his drink for a long moment, then shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Drake.”
What Happened Six Years Ago
Drake
Drake found Liam in the hall of the children’s hospital. The day was more than over, and the quiet was eerie.
He lowered himself to the seat beside Liam, and they sat in silence for some indeterminate time, receiving awkward glances from the few hospital staff that passed.
“Li—” Drake started, realising with a cough that he hadn’t spoken in several hours. He cleared his throat. “Liam, I think…” But there weren’t any adequate words to come after that. “We should figure out what to do next.”
Liam didn’t respond. He stared wide-eyed at the ground, fingers laced around the back of his head and elbows braced on his knees. How far into his mind had he retreated?
“We should think about—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Drake's chest tightened at the heaviness in Liam’s voice. Like he couldn’t intonate. He paused, and searched for what to say next.
“You can’t sit in a hospital corridor all night. You need to decide what to do. There’s the… her…” Drake turned from his friend, trying not to imagine the view of the night before in that old, musty room. He wasn’t successful. “I can organise our trip back to Cordonia, and you can send people back to investigate, but you need to make the call about her…” he swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. “Anna’s body.” The words came out hoarse.
“Coming with us. Bastien is organising it.”
New information to Drake, but he nodded.
“And the kid.”
“Emily.” Liam croaked, then sighed. The door closest to Liam’s other side was the girl’s room door.
“She won’t be here much longer. We need to organise where to leave her.”
“Leave her?” Liam looked up, finally, and Drake struggled to keep focus when confronted with the red, grief stricken eyes of his friend.
“Once she leaves the hospital, we need to find a home for her.”
Liam balked, leaning away from him, and the sudden movement was jarring.
“Drake she’s coming with me. How could you even suggest …” Liam stood and looked down to him. “I made a promise.”
“You said you’d take care of her.”
“At my home, yes.”
“Liam you can’t be…” Drake stood as well to be on a level. “She’s barely three years old. You don’t know anything about children.”
Liam stared at him. “You still don’t get it.”
Drake made a sweeping gesture but continued in an even voice. “Then help me get it. What do you owe her, after what she put you through?”
“I promised—” Liam halted as his volume rose, then sighed again and lowered his voice. “I promised I would protect her. Handing her over to social care or their equivalent here, however fortunate she might be in finding a family who treats her as she deserves, is not enough.”
Drake grit his teeth, struggling to find a way to bring reason to Liam’s emotional argument. He was no more prepared to raise a child than Drake was.
“Three years old,” Drake repeated, hesitant. “She won’t remember what happened. Taking her away from here isn’t fair to her.”
“And what if she does remember? Do you think you will ever for… forget…” Liam slumped back against the wall and down to his seat again. He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned, and when he looked up again he looked paler and more tired than Drake had ever seen him.
“As I said,” Liam drew in a long breath. “I made a promise. I won’t leave her fate to chance.”
No matter his grievance, Drake couldn’t force Liam to consider something he was set against. Maybe in a few days, when his thoughts cleared, he could convince Liam that finding Emily a family was better than taking her in himself. After all, there was no way he would be able to move on from Anna while raising a child who looked just like her.
------
Epic Permatag friends: @hopefulmoonobject @leelee10898 @be-still-my-aching-heart @umccall71 @indiacater @speedyoperarascalparty @brightpinkpeppercorn @riseandshinelittleblossom @bella-ca @custaroonie @thequeenofcronuts @lodberg @kuladekiwi @mfackenthal @carabeth @romanticatheart-posts @blackcoffee85
Our Own Heroes list: @blackcatkita @kingliam2019 @mom2000aggie @texaskitten30 @missameliep @princess-geek @zoehanji @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @ladyangel70 @whenyourheartskipsabeat @153-centimeters-of-sass
Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist :)
#the royal romance#choices the royal romance#trr fandom#trr king liam#trr drake#we are our own heroes#choices trr#trr fanfic#trr au#king liam#liam and cassie#our own heroes
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yes I do realize it took me forever to get to this... sorry ^^'
(read on AO3)
"Pappa, Pappa!" Snufkin's tiny voice sounded urgent to him, as if he was indulging the secrets of the very world and everything in it. Joxter opened his eyes, rolled over to catch the little one running up to him in his arms.
"Why the fuss? Have the stars fallen from the sky?"
With his two open palms, Snufkin squished Joxter's face together. "Don't be silly."
"I think you're the silly one," Joxter answered mildly. "Waking me up from my nap. I need my beauty sleep, you know?"
In their current position, Snufkin's toes were quite thoroughly jabbing into his ribs, so he reluctantly sat up instead. It was a pity, he hardly got the opportunity to sleep inside – let alone on a couch so comfortable as the Mymble's. But if his son needed him, The Joxter supposed it was his duty to oblige.
He picked Snufkin up to put him on his lap, and while the boy talked excitingly Joxter starting combing through his hair with his claws, gently getting out the few tangles that had gotten into it during their travels.
"I told your story to the other kids," Snufkin was saying, only flinching away from the grooming once or twice when he encountered a particularly stubborn knot. "The one with the Booble and the flood and the big boat that washed you all away." As he explained it he spread his arms wide. Not nearly wide enough to contain the Oshun Oxtra, but close enough. "But-" And then Snufkin hesitated, was silently for a moment while The Joxter continued brushing his hair down. "But they didn't believe me. They thought I was telling a fib."
The Joxter stopped his ministrations, schooling the appropriate amount of indignation onto his face. "Oh dear!"
Snufkin turned around to look at him. "I know! I think maybe I told it wrong?"
"That could very much be true," Joxter told him, taking advantage of the opportunity to lie down again and holding his child close against himself. There was a blanket abandoned on the armrest of the couch and he pulled it over them now, making sure to cover Snufkin so he wouldn't get cold later. "Storytelling is an art, much like any skill in the world, it can be honed with practice and example. That first one you will have to perfect for yourself, but the second one I can provide right now."
Snufkin shifted onto his back, drawing up his legs a bit. He could fit near perfectly in the crook of Joxter's elbow. "You're going to tell a story again?" Snufkin asked.
"You say that like you grow tired of them." As he said it the Joxter poked him in the side playfully and Snufkin giggled.
"No, no, please Pappa. I want to hear."
"Very well then, today I'm telling you a strange story about how hard it is to catch a bluebird, and how important it is to try anyway." The Joxter allowed the words to sink in before continuing. The first rule of good storytelling was to always keep your audience wanting for more. It seemed to work, since Snufkin was hanging on his every word.
"Long ago," he began, "there were two siblings. Their names have been lost to the eons of time I'm afraid, all we know is that they were a brother and sister. They lived together in a cabin in the woods, with nobody to care for them but their mother."
Snufkin blinked up at him with big eyes and Joxter thought the sight was just too adorable not to indulge. He patted his son on the head a few times before continuing.
"Now as it was, one cold winter day the mother fell terribly ill. The two children did anything they could think of to heal her. Made the purest tea from garden herbs. Bought all kinds of medicine for her. And even consulted with a fancy doctor from the big city. None of it would help their poor mother recover. So instead, they asked her what she wanted most of all in the world, and the mother pointed at a gilded birdcage on her dresser, that had been standing there empty for as long as the siblings could remember. And she told them: 'I would love nothing more than to have a bluebird of happiness to keep me company'."
With another slow blink, Snufkin tilted his head. "What is a bluebird of happiness?"
"It's symbolism, my dear," The Joxter explained. Rule number two of good storytelling was to have all good answers ready, for when people started asking questions about your tale. "Like flowers. Some people believe that a bluebird can bring good luck."
When Snufkin nodded in understanding he resumed. "Both of them left home after that. At first, they journeyed together, hand in hand braving all the dangers of the world. Then they split up, hoping that maybe this way they could search ever further and wider, and have a better chance of finding their treasure. But all their efforts were to no avail because, after weeks of travel, neither child had caught even a glimpse of blue feathers among the leaves, nor a tweet of birds to break the silence. Dejected, they returned home, knowing that they had not been able to grant their unfortunate mother even her last wish."
By this time the tale had been successfully spun in such a way that Snufkin would not be able to bear not hearing the end of it. Rule number three of good storytelling was to tell the tale in such a way that the best part always came last. Even if that meant shifting around some other parts.
"Dejected, both children returned home to share with their mother the bad news. The journey back took several days, during which their sadness only grew. When they finally made it home however, the windows of their cabin were open and the smell of fresh pie wafted out to meet them. The brother and sister rushed inside only to find none other than their mother sitting in the kitchen, busy sewing them new clothes for summer. She smiled at them when they entered, as her sickness had disappeared like snow under the sun."
Snufkin nodded, pleased with this development. Joxter knew his son preferred stories with happy outcomes. "She got better by herself?" he asked.
"Kind of," The Joxter answered. "Not just by herself though. She led her children into the bedroom and what did they see but a bluebird sitting contently in their mother's cage. They gasped in surprise at this odd sight. But their mother told them it had simply flown in through the open window, like magic. And it never left again, living with them forevermore."
When he had finished the tale, silence lingered for a few seconds while Snufkin furrowed his brow in consternation, thinking as hard as a child of his age was able to. The Joxter allowed him to sort out his thoughts in his own time. The final rule of storytelling was to leave some ends untied, so that the listener could make their own conclusions. An adventure that didn't leave you thinking was not an adventure worth having after all.
"Why did the bluebird come in the end?" Joxter asked eventually. The Joxter knew there were many answers to the question – as many as there were versions of the story. Everybody made up their own interpretation, intricately linked to what it could mean for themselves. But he also knew young curiosity could not be sated until it had a proper answer.
He could leave difficult expositions for when Snufkin was older.
"I believe that is up for you to decide. But I do like to think it came because it heard about the siblings and their mother. Happiness does come not to those who are valiantly searching for it, they say. It is not something that can be chased but is found. Happiness comes when you least expect it. In simple things."
The sky was growing dark outside the window, with only occasional pinpricks of light visible through drifting clouds. Snufkin yawned, scrunching up his face and balling up his fists in front of it to hide his sleepiness. Then he opened his eyes and looked at his father. "Have you found happiness yet, Pappa?"
The Joxter kissed him on the top of his head, pulling up the blanket even more so they could fall asleep together. "I do believe I have."
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
BERLERMO ALTERNATIVE UNIVERVE : ART GALLERY IN PARIS
Hello,
I’m sharing with you my first Berlermo AU in wich Andrés is the owner of a art gallery in Paris. He met Martín who came to buy some paintings for his new place.
Sorry for the mistakes, I was tired when I wrote it and english is not my native language !
***
Since his primary childhood, Andrés has always been in love with art. It is the only way he has found to express his feelings. Art helps him to feels love, joy, sadness. Painting and sculptures are the only things to which he let his true self exposed. Even if Andrés is now in is forties, he never said “I love you” to someone. Not even to his parents, or to his little brother, Sergio, or to one of the five women he married. The fact is that Andrés is also extremely ill at ease with shows of affection.
After running the world for fifteen years as a consultant in Renaissance art, Andrés decide to settle five year ago in Paris and open his own art gallery. He found a little gem in the heart of the Marais, a fancy neighborhood of the French capital. Andrés decided to name it “La Galerie Berlin” in reference to Berlin, a city full of artists and in which is sell his first drawing.
In a lovely spring afternoon, a green-eyed man opened the door and cried out in a broken French “ Bonjour !”. A big smile was now invading Andrés’ face. The man was slightly younger than him and seemed very dynamic. He also immediately recognized his Argentinian accent.
“ Buenas Tardes amigo !” Andrés said.
« I’m Martin Berrote. I am an Argentinian engineer sent to Paris for a one-year mission. I lost myself in the neighborhood and then I saw your store front. Could you help me to select some painting, I really need to garnish my apartment! “
Martin was a very talkative person. During his speech, he looked Andrés straight in the eyes with his two-sapphire iris. His accent was also very melodious, and you can hear Italian intonations.
It needed some seconds for Andrés to come back to his senses. He coughed in his fist before answering to Martin.
“Nice to meet you Martin. I’m Andrés De Fonollosa. I’m a Spanish art expert, established for five years in Paris…” without stopping talking, Andrés moved with a rare elegance between the multiples sculptures, glass boxes and showed to Martin every painting.
Even if to them it seemed like only ten minutes have passed, the two men talked about lives for two hours straight. Martin’s childhood in Buenos Aires, the violence of his father, Andrés’ travels, and his unperishable memory of Argentine, his history of art studies. They found a lot of common in each other.
After this long discussion, Martin choose three paintings all of them were abstract art. Vivid colors. Anarchic paintbrushes. It was a pretty realistic representation of his mindset and his thoughts. As nature gifted him with a great intelligence, it was also born with a brain fill with ideas and unable to rest for more than thirty seconds.
“Are you free tonight?” Martin asked.
“Hmm. I just divorced from my fifth wife some weeks ago and I have only a cat at home. So, I guess that I have nothing planned. Why?
“Would you do me the favor to take a drink? Some friends told me that The Marais was full of bars and places to go out.”
At this moment, Andrés was not able yet to put words on what he was feeling but he was mesmerized by this Argentinian guy. It was a magnetic force, something that no one could see. It was unusual, unique, for Andrés to be this confused.
“Of course. Just give five minutes to close the gallery. Let me store your paintings there and I will help you later to grab them to your place.”
A soft wind was now diving into the streets of Paris. The two men were giggling in their way to a little bar. It was crowdy and filled with pride flags and rainbow crosswalks. Even if it was a fancy neighborhood, Andrés preferred the chic of Saint-Germain-Des-Près. They both sat inside a little pub and ordered tapas with a pricy bottle of wine that Andrés recommended to Martin. If he had had the choice Martin would have only ordered a regular beer but he could not disappoint his new friend. They continued to talk about themselves, the highs and downs of each other lives. Martin confess to Andrés how disastrous and toxic was his last relationship with a Sicilian guy. Andrés reviewed his five weddings, all of them sold by a divorce. He admitted to Martin that he really loved women but in the end that he never understood them. He covered them with flowers, luxurious hotels, and jewelries but it seemed that it was not enough for them.
At several moments, they both stopped talking and stare each other in the eyes. But at no time, it became weird. They both needed calm. In these silences, both of them could red the other thoughts. It’s been less than half a day since they met but is seemed like they have known each other for years. Martin understood Andrés. Andrés understood Martin. They were born in different continents, shared a different culture but they shared the same point of view on most of subjects. For the first time in his life, Andrés opened up to someone, naturally. It was like a flood barrier had been broke.
Shortly after midnight Martin asked Andrés if he was not too tired to go back to his gallery and pick up home the paintings. Martin’s flat was 2 miles away from there. As the engineer he was, Martin had a secret plan in mind.
During the way back to the gallery and his place, Martin became quite touchy with Andrés. He touched his arm and then he started to put a hand on his back. Andrés didn’t objected and didn’t moved either. He thought that the feeling was pleasant and showed a knowing smile.
After climbing the four floors which separate the street from Martin’s place, the little Argentinian offered to Andrés a tour. Immediately, Andrés argued with Martin about which walls the paintings should be hang on. At the end, they decided that two of them would be perfect in the hall. The largest one will take its place upon Martin’s bed.
Martin was leaning to the framing of the bedroom’s door staring at Andrés four feet away. Now, they both had sleepy eyes. Today had been intense but none of them have the intention to end it now.
Even though Martin was not a shy person, his arms were full of goosebumps. On top of that, the little butterfly he started to feel sooner did not stopped to grow in his stomach. In fact, thousands of butterflies were now flying in his body. Before, Martin never believe in love at first sight. He was a bit misogynistic and, in his mind, it was for girls and for fairy tales. What he did not know yet is that the supposedly straight men, five times married to women, was also devoured with strange butterflies. And he that he was submerged by the same sensation even if he tries his best to burry it. In any way, Andrés thought that he was uncapable to have feeling for someone. To genuinely love someone.
Martin inhaled a big bowl of air and made a step. He looked Andrés straight in the eyes, smiling.
“Andrés. I wanted to thank you for this wonderful evening. Since I left my country, I felt very alone. But then, I met you and your crazy passion for art and beauty. I never get along so fast and so well with someone.”
“ I have to admit that it’s a first time for me too. Sorry if I bothered you with all my problems and everything. I never felt that connected with a total stranger. But I find in you someone who listens to me and who understand my point of view on life. “. Andrés said with glazed eyes. This, was a first time for him too. He never cried in front of someone. Maybe he even never cried since is childhood.
“ Cariño, you didn’t bothered me.”
Martin made a new step towards Andrés. Then, another one. The distance was now quite close between them. Martin gently wipe Andrés eyes with a comforting “shhh”. His hands were now wandering on Andrés’s cheeks and he brushed the back of his hair. For sure, since the moment he saw Andrés when he first entered in the gallery, Martin thought that Andrés was a very charming and seducing men. Now, he was staring at him and the distance between them was only of twenty centimeters. This close, with the moonlight transpiercing the curtains, Andrés was even more sexy and Martin craving to taste how soft was his lips.
In order to finally break the distance, Martin slowly approach his nose to Andrés’. Andrés raise a eyebrow at first, surprised by Martin boldness but then, they begun to rub each other nose. It was pure, it was soft, it was new. Time was frozen around them. Andrés closed his eyes; he was one hundred percent confident in Martin. He puts his hands on Martin’s hips and pull him closer to break the distance once and for all.
Shortly after, Martin gently kiss Andrés lips. As he imagined they were beautifully soft. Andrés responded to the kiss and their lips began to move synchronically and it became less and less innocent. No words were needed and like they both already learnt today, they didn’t had to speak to understand each other.
“There is no accidental meeting between soulmates”
#fluff#berlermo#la casa de papel#palermo la casa de papel#palermo#berlin#they are so cute 😥#AU#BERLIN#andres de fonollosa#martin berrote#what do you guys think about it ?
18 notes
·
View notes
Photo
7th February >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Mark 1:29-39 for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B: ‘Everybody is looking for you’.
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B
Gospel (Except USA)
Mark 1:29-39
He cast out devils and cured many who were suffering from disease
On leaving the synagogue, Jesus went with James and John straight to the house of Simon and Andrew. Now Simon’s mother-in-law had gone to bed with fever, and they told him about her straightaway. He went to her, took her by the hand and helped her up. And the fever left her and she began to wait on them.
That evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were sick and those who were possessed by devils. The whole town came crowding round the door, and he cured many who were suffering from diseases of one kind or another; he also cast out many devils, but he would not allow them to speak, because they knew who he was.
In the morning, long before dawn, he got up and left the house, and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Simon and his companions set out in search of him, and when they found him they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you.’ He answered, ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns, so that I can preach there too, because that is why I came.’ And he went all through Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out devils.
Gospel (USA)
Mark 1:29–39
Jesus cured many who were sick with various diseases.
On leaving the synagogue Jesus entered the house of Simon and Andrew with James and John. Simon’s mother-in-law lay sick with a fever. They immediately told him about her. He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up. Then the fever left her and she waited on them.
When it was evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were ill or possessed by demons. The whole town was gathered at the door. He cured many who were sick with various diseases, and he drove out many demons, not permitting them to speak because they knew him.
Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed. Simon and those who were with him pursued him and on finding him said, “Everyone is looking for you.” He told them, “Let us go on to the nearby villages that I may preach there also. For this purpose have I come.” So he went into their synagogues, preaching and driving out demons throughout the whole of Galilee.
Reflections (6)
(i) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
I had a friend who died some years ago. She had been confined to her bed for many years because of a debilitating illness. She had a poster on her wall which read, ‘Life is fragile, handle with prayer’. She needed everything done for her. Yet, there was one thing she could do for herself, and that was to pray. She was a woman of deep prayer. I am sure there were times when her prayer echoed the prayer of Job in the first reading. Job’s prayer is one long complaint to God, a prayer of lamentation from the depths of distress. The prayer of lamentation is a very valid form of prayer; it expresses our struggle to find God in the darkest experiences of life. Complaining to God can be a deep form of faith. Prayer can sometimes take the form of just giving vent to the darkness within, opening up our most painful struggles to God. In some ways it is a prayer of trust, because we are only that honest about ourselves with someone we can trust.
If the prayer of this friend of mine resembled at times Job’s prayer of lamentation, it took other forms as well. It certainly took the form of interceding for others. Although she could easily have become completely absorbed by her own suffering, she was always thinking of others and praying for them. She also regularly gave thanks to God. She appreciated every kindness that was shown and gave thanks to God for it. The readings today prompted us to ask, ‘How do I pray?’ and ‘Why do I pray?’ That second question is the more fundamental of the two. Some very good and loving people see little or no value in prayer. Why bother with prayer at all? Surely, there are better ways of spending your time.
Yet, if we have faith, even if it is only the size of a mustard seed, we will invariably find ourselves drawn to prayer of some kind. After all, what is faith only a relationship with the Lord, in response to his relationship with us? Like any relationship we have with someone, we need to give expression to this relationship in some way. We will feel the need to connect, to communicate, with the one we have a relationship with. It is true that when our relationship with someone breaks down, perhaps in a very acrimonious way, we no longer feel the need to communicate with them. On the contrary, we may want to have nothing to do with them. We have nothing more to say to them. Our hurt and anger can become a stone wall between us and them. Our relationship with God, with the Lord, can break down too. Life’s trials and troubles can leave us feeling angry with God and, unlike Job who openly expressed his anger to God, we can express our anger towards God by withdrawing. We stop praying, or we just go through the motions of prayer. Yet, whereas human relationships can break down irretrievably, our relationship with the Lord never breaks down irretrievably, and that is because the Lord keeps knocking on our door. He keeps pursuing us, not to burden us but to heal us. In the words of today’s psalm, the Lord ‘heals the broken-hearted; he binds up all their wounds’. The Lord keeps seeking us out in his love because he wants to do for us what he did for Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in the gospel reading, taking us by the hand and helping us up, empowering us to serve others in love.
The Lord who seeks us out is prepared to wait on our response, just as the father in the parable of the prodigal son was prepared to wait for his rebellious younger son. The Lord’s waiting is not a passive waiting because he is all the time drawing us to himself. He said on one occasion, ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. ‘Why, then, do I pray?’ I pray in response to the drawing power of the Lord’s love. In the gospel reading, we find Jesus at prayer. He had just healed Peter’s mother-in-law; he then healed many who were sick from various diseases and who had gathered at the door of the house. When Jesus went off to pray, early the following morning, Peter and his companions went looking for him and when they found him they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you’. They were asking, ‘Why are you out here praying when you could be healing more people?’ Jesus was praying in response to the drawing power of God his Father’s love. He came away from that prayer, knowing what he had to do, not go back to Capernaum as his disciples wanted him to do, but go further afield. His time with God in prayer freed him to take the path God wanted him to take. When we turn to prayer, in response to the Lord’s drawing of us, even if it is after a long time of resisting, we will not only experience his healing presence, but we will be helped to take the path the Lord wants us to take. That will always be the path of loving service of others, the path of making ourselves weak for the weak, in the words of Paul in today’s second reading.
And/Or
(ii) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
All of us from time to time can experience life as something of a struggle or a burden. This might be because of some difficulty in our family, or our work may be unsatisfying or troublesome, or in these times of recession we may have lost our job, or our own health or the health of someone we love may be deteriorating. Any one of these or similar experiences can take its toll on us. We might find ourselves struggling to get through the day; we feel stressed and, as a result, we overreact to things, getting annoyed at what we would normally take in our stride. We may even find we have little energy for life.
At such times we can identify easily with the sentiments of Job in the first reading, and with his description of life as ‘pressed service’ and ‘hired drudgery’. The temptation when life becomes a burden can be to try harder, to summon up more of our energies, to do more to tackle the problem. In reality, the better path might be to do less, to step back and be still, to open ourselves to the presence of the Lord. During the past week I heard someone say that we are human beings not human doings. We often find it easier to do than to be.
The portrayal of Jesus in today’s gospel reading may have something to teach us in this regard. Because people recognised that God’s healing power was at work through Jesus, they came to him in great numbers in their brokenness, and reached out to him for healing. He certainly had no shortage of work. He was told initially about Simon Peter’s mother-in-law who was sick with a fever. Later on that day the whole town came crowding round the door of Simon Peter’s house looking for healing. That was only in Capernaum. Jesus could have worked day and night in all the towns of Galilee, healing the broken, releasing people from whatever was enslaving them.
Yet, Jesus knew the importance of standing back from what he was doing and being alone with God, even if it meant doing less. In the gospel reading we find him going off to a lonely place early in the morning to pray. When the disciples realized where he had gone, they were clearly puzzled by this behaviour of Jesus - going off on his own like that when there was so much work to be done. ‘Everyone in Capernaum is looking for you’, they said, as much as to say, ‘what are you doing out here on your own, when you could be healing more sick people back in Capernaum?’ But Jesus was not at the mercy of the demands of others, even the demands of those he was closest to. There was an even more important relationship in his life than his relationship with the needy and the sick, and that was his relationship with God, his Father. To do the work of the Father well, he knew that he needed to be with the Father, even though that meant doing less.
Paul in our second reading declares that he has made himself the slave, the servant of everyone. He was very committed to the work of bringing the gospel to others. He knew he was called to this service and he gave himself generously to it. Our own lives as Christians are very much about service too, serving one another in love, just as people served Simon’s mother-in-law by bringing Jesus to her, and people served the sick of Capernaum by bringing them to Jesus. Within our parish, parishioners serve other parishioners in all kinds of ways. People serve family members who are unwell or immobile at home; people look out for neighbours who need support. In a whole variety of ways, people are involved in the work of service of others. We are very dependant on the little services we render each other.
Yet, even more fundamental than the ways we serve each other is the way that God can serve us. God sent his Son not to be served but to serve and to give his life for us. Jesus revealed God to be our Servant. Jesus went away from the demands of others to open himself to the service of God, to be renewed and strengthened by God’s presence. If Jesus needed to be alone before God and to be served by God’s presence, how much more is that true of ourselves. We need to be before God, to come before him in our poverty and to be renewed by God’s presence.
If we can learn to be with God in stillness, then our service of others is more likely to be the kind of service that God wants for them. After spending time alone with God, Jesus did not go straight back to Capernaum, as Simon and the others wanted him to. He went on to other towns, because he knew this was what God wanted. It is not easy to acquire this habit of being alone with God in quietness and stillness, because so much of our culture today tells us that this is a waste of time, that we should be doing this, that or the other. We pray that the example of Jesus in the gospel this morning would inspire us to be with God, regardless of the demands made on us by life.
And/Or
(iii) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
One of the very sad and tragic features of the time in which we live is the number of people who take their own lives. Men in early adulthood seem to be a particularly vulnerable group. It is difficult to understand the bleakness of spirit that must in some way be at the root of such a drastic step. Bleakness of spirit can afflict us all even if it never leads us to contemplate taking our own life. There can be many reasons for such bleakness of spirit. Our life can take a turn for the worst for one reason or another. Something deeply distressing can happen to us or to someone with whom we are very close. It is at such times that the words of Job in today’s first reading find a ready echo in our hearts: ‘Is not our life on earth nothing more than pressed service, our time no better than hired drudgery… months of delusion I have assigned to me, nothing for my own but nights of grief’. These are the words of one who has a sense of hopelessness in the face of the darkness of his experience of life.
What saved Job from total despair is that he was able to express how he felt to God. He addressed God very directly, sometimes in very angry and uncompromising terms. A few verses after our reading, he bellows at God: ‘Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle.’ Job had enough freedom in his relationship with God to speak to God directly out of the darkness of his experience. Job teaches us to speak to God out of the depths. The old Catechism definition of prayer that I learned at primary school was: ‘Prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God’. At one level it may sound a rather rarefied definition of prayer. Yet, when you think about it, this is actually a very earthy understanding of prayer. If prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God, then prayer is the raising up of everything that is in our mind and heart to God. If what is in our minds and hearts are the darkest of human sentiments and thoughts, then that is what we must raise up to God. We speak to God out of the reality of our lives, whatever that reality might be. Job shows us that our prayer does not have to be censured in any way. If prayer is not real, it is not really prayer. If our heart is broken, it is the broken heart that we bring to God in prayer.
There is a line in today’s responsorial psalm which states: ‘The Lord heals the broken-hearted’. As Job continued at length to speak to God out of his broken heart, he eventually went on to find healing. There is another line in one of the psalms which simply states: ‘The Lord is close to the broken-hearted’. If this was the conviction of the people of Israel who did not know Jesus, how much more should it be our conviction? Jesus revealed God to be close to the broken, to those who were broken in body, mind or spirit. The gospel reading this morning shows the closeness of Jesus, and, therefore, of God, to the broken. Indeed, in Jesus, God became one of the broken. On the cross Jesus reveals a God who is broken in body and spirit. A well-known German theologian once wrote a book with the title, ‘The Crucified God’. God entered our brokenness in Jesus, and experienced it from the inside. God could not get closer to the broken than that.
In today’s second reading, St. Paul says of himself: ‘For the weak, I made myself weak’. God could say the very same: ‘For the weak I made myself weak; for the broken, I made myself broken’. If that is the God in whom we believe, then we need have no hesitation in bringing our brokenness to God in prayer. If Job who did not know Jesus had this freedom, we should have that same freedom to an even greater degree. Many of us will be familiar with the saying: ‘A burden shared is a burden halved’. Sometimes it can be difficult to share our burden with another, even with the person we are closest to, with whom we may have shared most of our lives. If we cannot share a burden with our closest companion, it is not the case that the only alternative is to keep it to ourselves. We can share that burden with the Lord. The prayer of sharing, the prayer of the open heart, is a very authentic form of prayer. Sharing ourselves with God in this way is not quite the same as asking God for something, petitioning God. We are simply sharing; we are telling our story to God. We are opening up that story to God’s presence, to God’s influence. That is a very valid and worthwhile form of prayer.
In today’s gospel reading, we find Jesus at prayer. He had been ministering to the broken most of the day. Early next morning, he got up and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Working with the burdened no doubt left him burdened, as is the case for all of us. His prayer was a time when he could share his burden with the Father. In doing so, he found strength to continue. ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns’, he said to his disciples after his prayer. The best teaching is often by example. Jesus is teaching us here by his own example to lift up whatever may be in our hearts and minds to God and in doing that to find new strength.
And/Or
(iv) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
We are all familiar with suffering in one shape or form, whether it is physical, emotional, mental or spiritual suffering. There is no getting away from suffering; it comes to us all and it comes in different guises at different times of our lives. To live is to suffer. Regardless of our differences, suffering is something we all have in common. Some people seem to suffer more than others. Yet, it is difficult to measure suffering, especially in others. Some who do not seem to be suffering can be in great pain and others who seem to be suffering greatly can have a deep peace. The cry of Job in this morning’s first reading is one that comes out of deep suffering. He is in a very dark place indeed. Not only has he lost his health, his property and members of his family but he seems to have lost God. He had been living an exemplary life and he cannot understand why God has allowed so much misfortune to befall him. The God whom he worshipped when times were good now seems a complete stranger to him. The God to whom he related as a friend now seems to have become his enemy. The experience of loss, whether it is the loss of health or property or loved ones, can bring on something of a spiritual crisis. Some can be tempted to abandon God, when their prayers out of the depths are not heard. They feel angry at God; they sense that their trust in God has not been vindicated. That is very much the place where Job finds himself in today’s first reading. Job in that sense is every man or woman. The literary figure of Job is a very authentic depiction of the dark side of human experience, indeed, the dark side of faith in God.
The English writer C.S. Lewis was both a great intellectual and a man of great faith. He set out to give a rational explanation for the Christian vision of life. In 1940 he wrote a book called The Problem of Pain in which he brought his intellect and his faith to bear on the problem of suffering. However, twenty one years, in 1961, he wrote a very different book, called, A Grief Observed. In that book he recognizes that his rational, cerebral, faith has taken something of a battering. The book consists of the painful and brutally honest reflections of a man whose wife has died, slowly and in pain, from cancer. The book gives a vivid description of his own reaction, as a man of faith, to his wife’s death. His rational faith fell to pieces when confronted with suffering of a devastatingly personal kind. He writes at one point, ‘Where is God? Go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that silence’. The name of Lewis’s wife was Joy. He had earlier written a book called Surprised by Joy in which he wrote about the impact meeting her had on his life. His book A Grief Observed has received a wide readership because of his authentic and moving account of the impact of bereavement. Even though his rational, cerebral faith took something of a battering because of Joy’s death, Lewis did not lose his faith. Through the darkness of this experience he claims to have come to love his wife more truly. He writes that God had helped him to see that because the love he and his wife had for each other had reached its earthly limit, it was ready for its heavenly fulfilment.
Faith has to come to terms with the cross and it is at the foot of the cross that faith can be purified and deepened. Jesus himself entered fully into the darkness of human suffering. In today’s second reading, Paul says of himself, ‘For the weak, I made myself weak’. That is certainly true of Jesus. He entered fully into the weakness of the human condition. Elsewhere, in one of his letters, Paul says of Christ that ‘though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich’. On the cross Jesus was at his weakest and poorest; it was on Calvary that, in the words of Lewis, Jesus went to God and found a door slammed in his face, as he cried out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ Yet, that cry of desolation is itself an act of faith; it is the language faith uses when confronted with the harrowing darkness of loss. God did not forsake Jesus, but brought through death into the fullness of life. The Jesus who was crucified in weakness is the same risen Lord who is with us in our own experiences of suffering and desolation, just as he was with the suffering and the broken in this morning’s gospel reading. He is with us as one who knows our experience from the inside. Having gone down into the depths and having moved beyond the depths into a fuller life, he can enable us to do the same. He is the good shepherd who, even when we walk through the valley of darkness, is there with his crook and his staff, leading us to springs of living water.
And/Or
(v) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
A few weeks ago Pope Frances paid a visit to Sri Lanka and the Philippines. While in the Philippines, he visited Tacloban. It was there that, on November 8, 2013, the six-metre high waves generated by Super Typhoon Yolanda, the strongest storm ever recorded on earth, smashed into the homes and lives of thousands of people, leaving behind death and destruction. One of the reasons Pope Francis went to the Philippines was to be with the people of this city who had lost so much. He celebrated Mass on the grounds of the airport in Tacloban. Half a million people braved wind and rain to take part in the liturgy. In his homily the Pope departed from his prepared script, and his words touched the hearts of all present. He said, ‘So many of you have lost everything. I don’t know what to say to you, but the Lord does know what to say to you. Some of you have lost part of your families. All I can do is keep silence and walk with you with my silent heart. Many of you have asked the Lord – Why Lord? And to each of you, to your heart, Christ responds with his heart from the cross. I have no more words for you. Let us look to Christ’. The Pope was acknowledging that, in the face of tragedy on such a catastrophic scale, the only adequate response he can make is silence and an invitation to those affected by this tragedy to turn in prayer towards the Lord on the cross and allow him to speak to them.
Today’s first reading is from the book of Job. That book tells the story of a good man who lost everything, his property, the members of his family and, finally, his health. Today’s short reading captures something of Job’s dark mood. His friends gathered round him in his great loss but the words they speak to him only deepen his dark mood and add to his burden. They suggest that all these misfortunes happened to Job because he has displeased God. If he were to repent of his wrongdoing all would be well. Job finds no comfort in these words; they ring hollow. He has been living as good and upright a life as is humanly possible. He is angry with God because of all that has been taken from him, and his friends’ words make him even angrier. A little further on from where our reading ends he turns to God in desperation, ‘Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle?’ Complaining to God like this can be a deep form of faith. Lamenting to God is part of our struggle to find God in our pain and loss.
Some of you may have found yourselves in a dark place because of some deep loss and, perhaps, some of the well-intentioned words that were spoken to you at that time only added to your distress. If we are to be truly present to others in their pain and loss we have to try and enter the darkness with them. We have to somehow suffer with them, which is the meaning of compassion. Saint Paul touches on this when in today’s second reading he says, ‘for the weak, I made myself weak’. This involves a great act of self-emptying on our part, a stepping out of ourselves to be one with the other. Only then will whatever words we speak ring true. When we do try to become one with the other in their pain and loss, we will often get a strong sense, like Pope Francis in Tacloban, that our silence is more appropriate than our words. When we are present to others in this compassionate way, then our presence will be a source of healing for them.
The gospels suggest that this was the way Jesus was present to others. If Paul could say, ‘for the weak I made myself weak’, Jesus could certainly have said the same. On many occasions in the gospels, the emotion of ‘compassion’ is ascribed to Jesus. He suffered with those who suffered and it was out of that identification with their suffering that he could be a source of healing for them. That is why, as we hear in today’s gospel reading, the sick and the broken were drawn to him in such huge numbers. It was above all on the cross that Jesus made himself weak with the weak, identifying with us totally in our brokenness and pain. As the crucified and risen Lord, he is compassionately present to us today as much as he was to those of his own time. That is why, although Pope Francis recognized that words were inadequate, he said to the people of Tacloban, ‘the Lord from the cross is there for you, in everything the same as us. That is why we have a Lord who cries with us and walks with us in the most difficult moments of life’. We too are invited to prayerfully come before the Lord on the cross in our own times of pain and loss. As we do so, we will be empowered to be present to others in their dark valleys, in the compassionate way the Lord is present to us.
And/Or
(vi) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Most of us will have known difficult and dark times at some point in our lives. We often find ourselves in a dark place. It might be brought on by a sudden experience of ill health or some experience of loss. Someone close to us may be in a dark place for a similar reason and it impacts powerfully on us. Job is certainly in a very dark place in today’s first reading. A great sense of despondency comes through his words. He experiences life as ‘hired drudgery’ and ‘pressed service’. A few verses after our reading ends, he exclaims, ‘I loathe my life’. The striking thing about Job is that he articulates his darkness of spirit before God. All the time he is not talking to myself, but to God; he is praying. Having declared ‘I loathe my life’, he immediately cries out to God, ‘Let me alone’. His way of addressing God is very honest and, at times, very angry. This is prayer at its most authentic. He yells at God, shouts at God, wonders where God is, asks God to leave him alone. Yet, by the end of the book, in and through this raw and honest prayer, he comes to some sense of peace and acceptance, some awareness that, in spite of his loss and suffering, he is being held by God who cares for all his creatures.
The experience of suffering in ourselves or in others can often shake our faith to the core. We struggle to reconcile the goodness of God with our own suffering and the suffering of others, especially the suffering of the innocent and most defenceless. The problem of evil and the suffering it produces is not easily resolved intellectually for people of faith. The gospel reading today suggests that Jesus often found himself surrounded by suffering. Having healed a very disturbed man in the synagogue of Capernaum, he is immediately brought to the house of Simon Peter’s mother in law who is in bed with a fever. All the sick of the town, ‘the whole town’, then come crowding around the door of Simon’s house, looking for Jesus to heal them of their various diseases. Jesus might have had his own questions about the endless suffering that surrounded him, day after day. When Jesus himself entered the dark valley of suffering and loss, he had his own questions. As he hung from the cross, he cried aloud, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ This is not an intellectual question about the place of suffering in a world created by a good Creator. It is a much more heartfelt and personal question. Jesus was asking, ‘Where are you, God, in my suffering?’ It is the kind of question Job addresses to God throughout his long dialogue with God. Just like Job’s question, Jesus’ question from the cross was prayer. He was addressing God directly in prayer.
Although Jesus surrounded by the endless suffering of others, according to the gospel reading, there comes a time when he needed to go off alone to pray. Before dawn, while everyone else slept, he left the house where so much human suffering had gathered and he went off to a lonely place by himself to pray. It is as if Jesus needed to bring all this suffering and its impact on him to prayer. He somehow opened up this tide of human suffering to God his Father, whom he knew to be the Father also of all those who suffered. While he is at prayer, Simon Peter discovers where he is and says to him, ‘Everyone one is looking for you’. The suffering people of Capernaum are knocking on your door, Peter is saying. Yet, even though everyone is searching for him, Jesus knows that he needs time and space to search for God in prayer. Jesus was very aware of the depth of his need for God. He had to pray, just as he had to eat and drink. We can be much less aware of the depth of our need for God. Yet, our need for God is even greater than Jesus’ need, and our need for God is all the greater when suffering presses in on us. Suffering drove Jesus to pray; it drove Job to prayer; it needs to drive us to prayer too. The temptation can be to allow the experience of suffering to turn us away from God, and, yet, it is above all in such difficult and dark moments that we most need to keep the lines of communication open to God, even if it is only to complain to God and to question God.
I am often struck at how some people who have such great suffering in their lives also have a deep prayer life. Invariably such people are never bitter about their situation. They often have an extraordinary serenity and peace about them. Suffering, whatever form it takes, has the capacity to turn is in on ourselves. Yet, in bringing the experience of suffering to prayer, as Job did, as Jesus did, we open ourselves up to the Lord who is always close to the broken hearted, and we can find the spiritual strength to live through our suffering and loss, even though we may not understand it.
Fr. Martin Hogan.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Heartlines, a Kingdom Harts fanfic, chapter 28--Epilogue
Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.
Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.
Chapter summary: Time passes. The kingdom recovers. A prophecy comes full circle.
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
Life was a work in progress. There were periods of unrest in the kingdom which were not always easy to smooth over with words, but Ansem did not want to use force. “Remember, Ienzo, a riot is the language of the unheard.”
Flowers began to bloom in Radiant Garden again. There was still signs of destruction everywhere--rubble, smashed out windows, destroyed buildings. But piece by piece, it was getting put together. The resistance based itself in the capital city and started what it called a “restoration committee,” not just to restore the city, but the whole kingdom.
Demyx spent a lot of time at the beach with Amalia, now that they both had their forms. Ienzo wondered if it would be salt in wounds to go to Destiny Islands at some point. He would ask when he felt ready.
Something else was growing too.
When he felt the nausea, the fatigue and dizziness, and the achiness, Ienzo did not delude himself into denial as he did the last time. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, good and hard. He held his hand in front of his stomach and reached out, tentatively. Something was there, a potential for a new life. But he did not feel the overwhelmed sense of panic he had when he was first pregnant with Amalia. He was still young, ridiculously so, but would this be so terrible?
He sought Even, who was busy puttering around the labs. There was light in his eyes again, joy, at having something productive to do. In fact, he did not seem bothered by Ienzo’s interruption. “No bureaucratic nonsense today?”
“My father insisted I take the morning off.”
“Your daughter?”
“Out swimming. I swear, sometimes I have difficulty getting the two of them to come home.”
“...It is good, to see Demyx happy again. I was… concerned.”
“Were you? You could barely stand each other in the beginning.”
Even rolled his eyes and pulled off his goggles. “Adversity draws people together,” he said. “I wonder often… if I have hardened my heart too much. I am trying… to let people back in.”
“And how is that going?”
He considered. “It is going,” he said. “But better than being stalled. Good to be… active. And to see you some semblance of safe at last.”
Ienzo came a bit closer. He was working on one of the replicas, a faceless white mannequin half covered with a sheet. “Does it feel good to see your work come to fruition?”
“It is bittersweet--putting it mildly.” He sighed. “If not for… that creature’s breakthroughs, this would not be possible.”
“It is still your creation.” Ienzo paused. “Even, have you met Xion?”
He fussed with tubes of mystery fluid. “Who?”
“Xion, Xemnas’s… ward. I shall have to introduce you.”
His eyes snapped up. “Why?”
“Because she is one of the replicas.”
“Of whom?”
“Of nobody. Herself.”
Even grasped his shoulders. “And you only tell me this now, boy?”
“Please be gentle with me, Even.”
He seemed to be reeling. “...Why?”
“I find myself to be in an indelicate condition. As it were.”
He turned red. “ Again ? Child, you know what causes that, right?”
Ienzo chuckled. “Would it be so terrible, to get the childrearing over with while my father is still able to help me rule?”
Even pressed a hand to his forehead and sputtered wordlessly. After a moment, he composed himself and held a hand over Ienzo’s stomach. “...Quite. I do not know whether to laugh… or cry…”
“Go seek Xion. She’s a guard on the upper floors. I know that’s where your heart is.”
He was already taking his coat off, grabbing a tablet computer. “Yes… right… we can discuss this later…” And he was out the door.
Ienzo returned to their rooms. To his surprise, Demyx and Amalia were back. “Done for the day already?”
Demyx gestured out the window. “It’s gonna storm. Plus I figured I owe you some lunch.” He leaned forward to kiss him, and Ienzo could taste the salt.
“Ra!” Amalia said.
“Right, rain.” Ienzo crouched down and smoothed the wet hair from her face.
“I’m gonna get cleaned up. What do you feel like? There’s this new place that’s opened back up not far out of the gates--”
Ienzo followed him into the bathroom. Demyx laughed a little.
“Look, I’d be so down, but like, she’s right in the other room--”
“I’m pregnant.” He didn’t know why the words had to leave him now, without ceremony.
Demyx just blinked. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Oh…” A small smile. “Oh… Do you want to--”
“I… want them.” He swallowed. “Get it over with while we’re young, right? While my father is still helping me? I can’t imagine going through this while being fully responsible for everything else.”
Demyx hugged him. “Round two?”
“...It seems so. I mean, to be fair, we were not the least bit careful, and it has been happening quite a lot lately--”
He kissed his forehead. “They’re going to be great.”
---
As it stormed later that night… Ienzo lay awake. He’d been even more of an insomniac during pregnancy, and he hadn’t much missed that. But he could not sleep. Demyx, who could basically sleep at will, had one arm draped over his stomach.
A particularly loud peal of thunder made Demyx stir, and from the other room Ienzo heard Amalia shriek and start to cry. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. “It’s okay,” Ienzo told him. “I’ve got this. Go back to sleep.”
The drawing room had been turned into a nursery more fully now, the soft light of the mobile reflecting the rain in the room. Amalia was still crying. Ienzo leaned over the crib and hefted her into his arms. He settled in the old rocking chair. “It’s just a storm, sweetheart,” he said.
“Bad,” she said. “Bad, bad.”
“I know. It scared you.” He rocked gently. “I’m here. I’ll keep you safe. How about a story?”
Ienzo told her a story he’d learned from Demyx, about a rainbow fish that gradually gave up its scales to help others. He let his power cast a quiet illusion along the walls, of a deep blue sea, of that same fish swimming seemingly in midair. Somewhere in this, she fell back asleep, and rather than put her back in her crib, Ienzo remained there, thinking.
She hadn’t mentioned a sibling in the Forecast. Her words had been “we live with dad and grandpa in the castle”. If he gave birth on schedule, that child would be her age by the time of the Forecast.
But at the same time, toddlers were selfish. It could’ve just slipped her mind. Perhaps she was closer to Even or Ansem than her own sibling. Ienzo took a deep breath. Part of pregnancy was being illogically anxious.
It would be fine.
---
Perhaps it was for this reason, but Ienzo kept news of this child from Ansem. A few weeks passed, tremulously. He kept at work, meeting officials, sitting in committee meetings, deciding, deciding. Helping organize a parliamentary election.
After one such meeting, he was gathering his papers to return to his study when he felt a cramp, hard. He gasped aloud. “Are you alright, your highness?” Lydia asked. She was back to her post as librarian, and she’d brought him some books.
He blinked. “I’m… fine,” he said woodenly. Cramping during the first few months was normal, wasn’t it? Might be worth getting himself examined anyway. “It is nothing.”
“...Alright. Well, pardon me for overstepping, but perhaps you might rest. It’s been a long day.”
He swallowed, trying to choke down the dread. “I shall. Thank you.”
He made his way back not towards his rooms, but towards Even. The pain stuck him hard under the heart, and he had to duck into a bathroom before he lost composure. He wasn’t sure what whisper of an instinct told him so, but he pulled down his pants and checked his underwear.
Blood. A not-insignificant amount. He stuffed one of the small folded hand towels between his legs--mentally apologizing to the launderers--and hazily kept going. He almost stumbled getting the lab door open. “Even,” he said, and perhaps it was his tone, but the man immediately looked up.
“Ienzo, what--”
“Something isn’t right. With the baby.”
He grabbed him immediately and herded him over to one of the replicas’ exam tables. “And yet you drag yourself all the way down here instead of going to the infirmary.”
“I wasn’t--I didn’t want--”
He touched his face. “I know, love. Wait--are you--”
The blood must’ve seeped through the hand towel. “Fuck,” Ienzo murmured. He felt the coldness of Even’s magic assessing him.
He turned pale. “Ienzo, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
“But is it--”
“There’s no heartbeat, and you’ve lost quite a bit of blood. There’s no… life.”
Another cramp overtook him. “They weren’t in the Forecast--I tried to convince myself it was not so--”
“I know. I know, love. We should get you to the infirmary--”
“Please, no.” He felt more wetness between his legs.
“You’re losing too much blood to justify receiving care from only me.”
How awkward, and humiliating. Even carried him like a child. Hazily, he was changed, cleaned, given something to absorb the blood, fluids, painkillers. He let himself ride this quasi-consciousness, until a hand took his. “Zo?”
“Demyx? I--I’m sorry…” He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. “I lost it…” His hair obscured things from view.
“The important thing is you’re okay.”
“She didn’t mention them, I should’ve known--”
Demyx drew him close and held him for a long time.
---
It took him a while to recover from the miscarriage. Not so much physically--he was back to “normal” within several days--but emotionally he felt scrambled, exhausted. He did not know it was possible to love something so small so much.
Ansem insisted he take time off. Demyx waited on him hand and foot, but he was shaken too. Ienzo slept too much, could barely look at Amalia. He was taking a bath, his mind positively going nowhere, eyes unfocused on the ceiling tiles, when he heard small footsteps. “Da-dee?”
Wearily, he looked over. “What is it, love?”
She was holding her favorite stuffed animal, a unicorn she’d named Pinky. She offered it to him.
“Thank you, but I don’t want Pinky to get wet.” He set the toy on the chair by the tub.
She leaned over the lip of the tub. “Hurt?” she said.
“I’m just tired, love.”
“Hurt,” she asserted.
Ienzo sighed. “Yes, I’m sad. You know it’s okay to be sad sometimes, right?”
She nodded. “Help?”
He kissed her. “You already are.”
---
Perhaps because it was through this particular lens of sadness, but suddenly it seemed strange that he, governed so by emotions, be the one responsible for the welfare of this country. He, whose sole “mandate to rule” was his power. Why was it that, despite humanity’s long and colorful history in this country, there had never been strides made towards democracy, or anything other than absolute power?
There had been abdications, in the past. Ienzo found himself reading about them voraciously. There had been some good reasons for such actions--fundamental disagreements about faith and the way the country should be governed, a lack of acceptance of sexuality or gender, the heir apparent believing they were not competent enough--and some not so. Considering the convoluted transfer of power, from firstborn to firstborn only , it was amazing the monarchy had not collapsed under its weight or lost its power somewhere in the past. Should the firstborn, say, die in a tragic accident, or from an aneurysm prior to having an heir, that power was simply lost for a generation. And should that first child be sufficiently… along , enough in utero, and something were to happen to them, that counted.
Ienzo needed to talk to Ansem. “Father?”
He took off his glasses. “What is it?”
“Can I talk to you?”
He offered a smile. “Of course. How are you feeling, dear heart?”
He sighed and sat down. “This has all been very… overwhelming.”
“I’m sure. Loss of a child… even one that is not yet living… is very heavy stuff indeed.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about… mortality. Human weakness. Limitations of the body.” He found himself looking at his knees. “The fragility of my… power. How does it make me qualified to rule? The child I lost… could very well have been Amalia, some months along the line. Suddenly that power is gone.” He touched his abdomen. “Father, this whole monarchy… is starting to feel very…”
“Pointless?” He rubbed his brows. “I agree entirely. But the last thing people need right now is a radical change in government. We’re only just settling. Imagine what might happen if we suddenly propose some other form of rule?”
“...I know.”
“Once this is all over… I’m wondering if we should…”
“...Abdicate?” He cocked his head slightly.
Ienzo took a breath. “Am I a traitor for even thinking it?”
“Oh, Ienzo. No. Not at all. Class division is part of how we got into this mess in the first place. That you seek to abolish it shows your love for your people. Perhaps it might be worth it to consider the schema as to how this will be put in place.”
Ienzo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Truthfully?”
“Truly.”
“...Thank you.”
---
Time passed.
Amalia was growing so quickly . She started to speak more clearly, in longer sentences. She started to show more magic. Once, Ienzo walked into her room and saw books hanging in the air all around them. “Look,” she said. “They’s flying.”
Demyx expressed his own desire to do work of some kind. “People need art,” he told Ienzo. “They’re going to need a way to deal with all that pain.” Together, they jumpstarted a national art program. To finally be active, to finally be helping people in a meaningful way… Ienzo felt… fulfilled.
This was all going to take work, probably constantly. But that there might be a day where they could have a simple, happy life with their family gave him pleasure.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, but one spring day Amalia asked if they could go on a picnic. The day was sunny, the flowers were in bloom. He was sitting on a blanket on a patch of grass in the plaza. He worked the teardrop-shaped pendant absently with one hand. He knew that at some point they'd have to formally get married as long as he was in the public eye. But for now... this was enough.
“Daddy, look!” She opened her hands, revealing a small magic flower. “I made it!”
“Oh, sweetie, it’s beautiful.” The deja vu struck him with insistence.
She smiled widely, and reached to be picked up, so he did. “Can we go to the garden?”
“Of course.” Demyx was supposed to meet them there after his lesson in the city. He took the picnic blanket and set off.
“Do you think this is real?”
“What do you mean, love?”
“This. Right now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I dunno… a ‘motion I had.”
“A feeling?” Ienzo offered. Then, “I had a dream when I was pregnant with you.”
“When I was in your tummy?”
“That’s right. And you sent me a memory, of this moment, right now.”
“What I say?”
“You told me about our friends. The ones who met you when you were a baby.”
She laughed. “Isa and mister Xemnas.”
“Yes. You told me everything I needed to know. It’s because of you this is all like this, you know?”
“I know,” she said, unimpressed. “Where’s daddy?”
“He’s on his way.”
They passed through the castle gates to the gardens, which were lush and full again. Aerith was tending to the flowers; she waved. “Hi flower lady,” Amalia called loudly.
“Hey yourself,” she said back.
Ienzo set down the blanket on a patch of clean glass.
“There’s my favorite girl.” Demyx set down the sitar. He scooped her up and gave her a kiss. “Did she give you much trouble?”
“Not today. Not yet. Did you get the i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?”
“Ice cream!” Amalia shouted.
“Zo, she’s too smart for that.” Demyx laughed. “Sold out, I’m afraid.”
Ienzo sighed. He’d been looking forward to it all day.
“But I did get these from someone at the lesson.” He handed Ienzo a bag with a pastry box inside. “Egg tarts. Several people told me they are to die for.” He sat down with their daughter.
Ienzo took them out and handed one to Amalia. “...Do you know,” he began. “Today’s the day.”
Demyx frowned. “What day?”
“It all came full circle. The Forecast. On the way over here.”
“Oh… wow. Really?”
He smiled. “And the future is again aqueous.”
“Like that’s a bad thing? Look, if we knew every minute, we’d always be trying to plan things. We wouldn’t get to decide.” He brushed a crumb from their daughter’s mouth. “Because of her… and you… we do now. I’m okay with that.”
“I… am too.” He swallowed.
“It’ll be us against the world.” His eyes were so soft.
“I know that.” He chuckled. “It’s terrifying, to have the choice. I think I’d like to finish university first.”
“School, school,” Amalia said eagerly. “Me and daddy go to school.” She was going to go to nursery school in the fall.
“Daddy’s going to school for big kids,” Demyx said to her. “You’re going with kids your age. Little.”
“Not little.” She huffed, then brightened. “School and make lots of friends!”
“She’s like you all right,” Ienzo said.
“Dunno. She’s too smart for her own good--like you.”
“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up,” Ienzo admitted.
“I wanna be a cat doctor. Or a rockstar. Or maybe…” Amalia stuck out her tongue in thought. “Wanna be an explorer .”
“You already are, silly.” Demyx tickled her, and she squealed.
“I do still want to help people. Maybe psychology, or…” He trailed off. “To be determined.”
“Well, you’ve got time.” Demyx picked up one of the egg tarts and all but crammed it into Ienzo’s mouth.
He scowled, but then, “These are good.”
“Right?”
---
The sun was setting. Ienzo watched it from his alcove in the library. This was his favorite spot, its light, its smell of varnished wood and old books. But he wasn’t reading.
“...It is lovely, isn’t it?”
Ienzo looked up and saw Even, for once without his lab coat, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Where were you?”
“I was… with your father. I’m afraid he made me take a walk in the garden.”
Ienzo felt his lips twitch into a smile. “Well, was it a nice walk?”
He wondered if he was imagining the blush. “It is good to get fresh air,” he said evasively. He leaned against the desk next to Ienzo. “So I hear you’re to… abdicate.”
“In several years, once things settle, but… yes. And Demyx will abdicate on Amalia’s behalf. No more royalty. Whatever we have left will simply be ceremonial, if that.”
Even chuckled gently. “All the time I spent defending the monarchy, and you’re giving it up. You are making me gray, child.” But he said this pleasantly. “Yes… change is not so bad. The world needed it. We needed it. We could not… run forever.”
“Do you feel good, to no longer be running?”
“I do,” he admitted. “I felt such a coward for so many years. To get my hands dirty is a relief.”
“I have to thank you, for all you’ve done for me. I took you for granted.”
Even reached over and brushed the hair out of his face. “Well raising you certainly wasn’t easy.”
He laughed a little.
“In all seriousness, Ienzo, I didn’t do it entirely out of duty. I loved you--and I still love you--as if you were my own. Bonds don’t change, the… lines between hearts.”
“Heartlines?” He raised his eyebrow. “My father must be rubbing off on you. You were never so philosophical.”
“I am trying to open my heart.” He put a hand to his chest. “And it is painful, but I feel I am… growing. Never thought I would have to at my age.”
“And what of things with Xion?”
“She is a lovely girl. She’ll do well once she starts school. We’re trying to spend time together. In a way… she is my child.” A sigh. “Though this research… what right have I to create new life?”
“You saved many who would be the seeker of darkness’s victims.”
“...A cold comfort.” He tapped his fingertips together. “Come, then. That husband of yours is attempting to cook.”
Ienzo felt a shimmer at “husband”, but was it not true? Ceremony or no ceremony. “He’s a good cook, Even, you just have an unenlightened palette.” He stood and together they began to walk.
“...I’ll just chalk it up to cultural differences. I suppose… all of this could’ve been much worse, yes?”
“It could’ve.” He paused. “Will we… once I leave this place, Even, will we still be part of one another’s lives?”
He seemed perturbed. “Of course, Ienzo. Always.” He squeezed his hand. “Don’t fear change the way I did.”
“I won’t.” He swallowed, feeling an unexpected rush of emotion. “I promise, I won’t.”
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Commitment issues
Word count: 1.6k
Summary: Oikawa ignoring his girlfriend cause he was scared of commitment.
Note: this is my first fic I've written in a while so i’d like to give my apologies now.
Your feet unconsciously and repeatedly tapped against the floor beneath your feet. The sheer length of this class was making you very impatient and slightly irritable. With Mr brown continuous yapping about the importance of nonrenewable resources in the background. As you glanced at the clock at the front of the class for the 100th time, you noticed the handles were hardly moving with 30 minutes left until the end of the lesson. Your patience was drawing very thin at the point.
All you could think about was your boyfriend, the volleyball captain for Aoba Johsai, to keep you sane for the time being. He had asked you out approximately 3 months ago on your first date and you guys started officially dating a 2 weeks later. You never really knew what his reasoning was behind asking me out you, but you really didn't care. It's not like we had ever communicated before, not that you're aware of anyways. To you, he was a narcissistic, popular, and "too cool for you" kind of person. And you were the average popularity, always got good grades and high school girl. Nothing really special about you honestly.
Even if you two had ever somehow crossed paths, his super vicious fan club would have your head before you had the chance to glance his way. So you could say you would never really crossed paths in any way, shape, or form. But when he asked you out you couldn't believe eyes or ears. You stared at him for a good minute making up a list of reasons why this was a dream and had to wake up as quick as possible.
So you weren't shocked at his expression when you slapped my self across my face to wake up. But to your dismay, you had remained planted to the ground with a super hot guy looking at me like you should be in a mental institution. You were more than embarrassed. Heat spread through your face and you could already tell you were as red as a tomato. At that moment you had never wished so much for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. But to no avail, again. just your luck right. Eventually, after a good 5 minutes trying to explain to him what you were doing and him just laughing in your facing making you even redder, you had eventually replied with a yes. redemption was necessary on your part.
Surprisingly the date had gone well and you'd hang out a couple more dates at school and outside of school before finally, he asked you out to be his girlfriend. You had to say yes. Within 2 weeks you had fallen for him harder than anyone you'd crushed on anyone ever. He was nicer and funnier than you thought. And for the first time in a while, you were genuinely happy and excited to go out. Everything with him came so effortlessly. He also radiated such a positive light, that you couldn't help but be attracted to. Every time he was around you felt this warm feeling through my chest and butterflies in the stomach.
So when all of a sudden he never seems to have time for you and barely talks to or calls you, your heart shatters a little. He always seems to be "too tired" or he has "practice". You understood from the beginning that volleyball was important and would come first majority of the time for him. you had considered this when he asked me out. But it has been a whole week. you've never gone that long without seeing each other. So you knew something was wrong. So you were planning on crashing his practice after school and give him a piece of mi-.
"ding dong ding dong" the final bell rang interrupting your final chain of thought. It was about time. Packing up your books and chucking the bag over your shoulder, you left after bidding fair well to your friends. You took your time cause you didn't want to head there and find no one was there cause the boys still had to change. Instead, you headed off to the library first to kill some time. You had to hand in a book anyway so it wasn't a complete waste. After 10 minutes you headed to the gym and found the boys performing some drills. You searched among the guys for the tall, brown-haired, ass-less one. But to your disappointment, he wasn't there. skipping practice too. There must be something wrong.
So you waited until the boys were free enough to talk. you knew most of them cause Oikawa had introduced them to as his girlfriend when we started to date to "mark his territory" as Iwa-Chan had put it. So when they were on a break they all came to hug and greet you, which was really scary cause you barely stood at 5"5 so you shorter than a majority of them. I wonder how they would treat you if Oikawa decided to break up with you. Immediately dismissing that thought. You've been here a couple of times so you got to know most of them on a personal basis and you'd grown extremely fond of them. When they finished smothering you with hugs, you went over to Iwa-Chan who stayed in the sideline, not wanting to be part of all the commotion.
"hey Iwa-Chan"
"whats up y/n" he replied after taking a swig of water from his bottle
"um have you seen Oikawa today," you ask.
"Did he not tell you he wasn't gonna be in today" he looks at you suspiciously.
You frown "he didn't" you pause for a second "he hasn't really..." you could feel a ball forming in my throat as you spoke " he hasn't really tried to meet up with me in the past week and I just...." at this point, if you continued talking you would have a full-on breakdown, so you stopped there. unfortunately, one tear escaped, quickly wiping it out when you felt it.
"ah shitikawa making a girl cry" he yelled causing a laugh out of you "ill have to give him a piece of my mind when I catch him" he fumed angrily. He looked intensely at you for a second as though remembering something important "you know I'm going to his house later today would you like to come with" iwa-Chan informed you.
"Would love to but I have family dinner so I have to go home early to help me mom, but thank you for the offer" you smiled at him politely "anyways I should be going now, thank you" you start walking away and when you make it to the entrance you yell "bye guys" to the rest of the boys and they yell "bye y/n" back even louder.
You walked home by myself for the first time in a long time. The space beside you was empty and made your heart tighten. But you tried to ignore it best as possible. Made it home alone, helped your mom cook, wasn't really hungry or talkative during dinner. Your parents noticed but didn't want to say anything cause you're a teenager and they probably thought you were PMSing. Afterward, you just went to my room and tried to focus on school for the remainder of the night.
After 20 minutes of trying to focus on schoolwork, you hear tapping on your window. "tap" "tap" but you ignore cause it might just be a bird.
"tap" "tap" "tap" what the fuck. "tap" "tap" I turn towards my window and an Oikawa was tapping on my window.
OMG.
"Oikawa shit what are you doing" you exclaimed as you let him in. He stumbled in and nearly fell but luckily he didn't. When he finally gained his composure he tried to pretend as though he just wasn't about to trip and face plant the ground by putting his hands on his waists and looking in the distance as though he did something heroic.
Immediately putting his hand's downs, he looked into your eyes "Well um you see" he began but then immediately stopped himself. he took your hands in his and started again "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for ignoring you." "i - i - i" he stopped again to gain his composure and think his next words through "I've never been in a been in a serious relationship and that fact that I feel such intense feeling for someone I met like a couple of months ago. it scares me. I just-" before he could finish, you got your hand back and put your hands around his neck. He paused for a second before wrapping his around your waist.
"it's fine I'm just so glad your alright" you spoke into his chest. the two of you just remained in comfortable silence for a while, simply embracing each other, feeling each other's chests rise and fall rhythmically. It felt so good to be in his arms again after such a long time. But within seconds you felt tears slide down your eyes. And you cried. After holding in the sadness for so long you finally let it out. Let out all the fear of losing him. the fear of you two turning into strangers again. Oikawa simply caressed you back and down and whispered reassurances into your ears. But you also sobbed cause you were happy. Cause he came back to you. and that's all that mattered. You couldn't even find it in yourself to be angry. Or yell at him for taking some time to think us over cause he was human. And he had a right to protect his heart when he felt necessary.
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pyre Whump Part 2 - Jodi
Instead of finding the presumably-human Reader from the game, Hedwyn and co. find a battered little Harp very much worse for the wear. They’re not sure what happened to her in the Commonwealth, but it obviously wasn’t good. Hedwyn watches Jodi with her and thinks about things.
Honestly, this one is not that whumpy? Whoops. Hurt/comfort anyway though. And some angst. Hopefully this makes sense if you don’t know Pyre but isn’t too explainey if you do? Idk I’m enjoying myself and that’s what counts.
Part 1 is here.
tw: nondescriptive nudity, tw: aftermath of abuse
*****
Hedwyn was startled by Jodi’s arrival, and then instantly ashamed of himself. The demonic form this place cursed its residents with was useful for lots of things, but stealth wasn’t one of them.
“What are you two sitting around for?” she asked, still angry at the situation instead of at him and Rukey, but with an edge to her voice that made Hedwyn feel suddenly a child again. “Oh! She was - She’s calm now.” Perhaps not such a child. He’d made an excuse, half on instinct, but he’d kept the blame off the girl.
Jodi picked up the robes from the basin Hedwyn had asked for and then immediately forgotten after Rukey brought it. She shook them out, then flicked the cloth into the air over the girl and let it drift gently down over the half-curled form. It was a motion he remembered, but hadn’t seen in years. She didn’t do it down here, where their beds weren’t beds at all but bedrolls to be collected and rolled out, collected and rolled out.
The girl shivered slightly as the cloth came into contact with her body, but then she lay still again.
Hedwyn felt strange, all of a sudden, something tugging at him as he sat back on his heels and watched Jodi start tucking the extra robes around the girl, the harp’s weak little body stiffening up again as she began to whimper with a fear Jodi simply allowed her for now.
It wasn’t right. He remembered Jodi flicking the sheets out like that when she was making the bed, all those years ago, himself still a child and both of them still human. His youngest adoptive siblings had shrieked with laughter, leaping forward to try to dart across their narrow mattresses before they could get caught under the blankets as they came down. Jodi had always been tall, an imposing figure even before the horns, but he hadn’t feared her, and his siblings hadn’t either.
The kids she’d caught in her net of sheets had laughed as she bundled them up in the blankets, joking about the biggest bedbug she’d ever seen and letting them go only after they’d given her a hug.
He hadn’t seen her that silly down here. He hadn’t seen her that happy. It had only ever been a fleeting thing, only ever a thing for home, a secret he knew better than to talk about when her face shifted into seriousness before she walked out the door and back to her life, a captain again, and not a mother, never a mother, only ever a captain looking after the children of the fallen.
He’d known her that way, too, watched her give orders as he trained under men who answered to her. He hadn’t been a soldier when she was sent down. He’d only barely been in training. And then when she was gone, he’d tried so hard to prove himself, to prove her after she’d been cast down, so that everyone would see she’d raised him and the others to be loyal soldiers.
“I’m going to pick you up,” Jodi said quietly to the girl, her voice gentle but not affectionate, “And then we’ll get you back to our wagon. You’ll feel safer inside.”
Hedwyn wasn’t sure that was true. But at least the harp didn’t seem to take it any more ill than she’d taken everything else. She wouldn’t meet Jodi’s eyes, cowering in on herself, but her good wing clung tightly to the cloth she was bundled in, keeping a death grip on it, and Hedwyn decided that was at least a good sign.
As Jodi started walking away, he scrambled to his feet to follow her, gathering up the basin full of bandages and carrying it with him.
He’d been so certain that Jodi, of all people, would understand when he explained why he’d been exiled here. Instead, a darkness had fallen across her face like a thunderclap, and when he’d protested that surely she understood after what she’d done, she’d cut him short. She’d said she didn’t know if she’d do the same today, if she had it to do over. She’d said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She’d cut off all the things he’d wanted to tell her about Fikani, hadn’t wanted to hear them, and he’d bitten his tongue and kept silent, not wanting to hurt her.
She carried the girl without looking at her, treading her heavy way back to the wagon with her head up as if trying not to think too hard about what she was doing.
Hedwyn thought about it for her, but couldn’t draw any real conclusions. Jodi had said once, with her guard down, that she’d felt betrayed by a Commonwealth that claimed to value mercy and then cast her down for it. Jodi had said once, something in her face closed off to him, that she should have killed the fledglings and had done with it, before they could grow up to betray or destroy them. Jodi had said the harps killed everyone she loved, but she hadn’t meant it. Jodi had loved the children the harps left orphaned in their wake, for years. Jodi had known, must have known, somewhere, deep down, that the fledglings she caught were just as likely to be orphans.
Jodi stepped up into the wagon without hesitation and laid the girl down on her own bedroll, the biggest one they had.
“There’s some clean spare underthings somewhere. From the people who lived here before. I’ll find the box. Maybe they’ll fit her. Then you can clean her up while I get us back toward the prairie.”
“I don’t even know why we kept that stuff,” Rukey said, “But I guess it’s lucky, huh?”
“You’re the one who said if we held out we could get a better deal selling it,” Hedwyn reminded him.
“Oh. Yeah. Well, that’s still true.”
While Jodi hunted for the box of the things whoever had lived here before had left behind, Hedwyn knelt beside the harp girl. She looked up at him, her dark eyes as striking as ever. There was old, mottled bruising around the right one, half-yellowed as it healed.
Her good wing was still clutching desperately at the robes around her, holding them closed, and for a moment, his hand hovered in the air. He’d thought to hold her wing, but if being covered up was comforting, he couldn’t take that from her. Instead, he brushed her filthy hair gently back from her forehead. Her eyes stayed locked onto his face, watching him silently.
He brushed her hair back again, for something to do. She didn’t seem to mind, and at least it was something.
It was a relief when Jodi came back and he had an excuse to step away again, turning his back on Jodi and the girl until Jodi could get her - “dressed” seemed too strong a word for it, and rage filled his gut again. The Commonwealth was so fond of reminding the people that exile wasn’t a death sentence, but to cast her down here as they had, so completely unprotected, so completely unable to protect herself? If the howlers had found her first, he and the others would have found nothing but bones, if they’d found anything at all.
Jodi had felt the same rage. He knew he had. He’d heard it in her voice. Surely - surely however much this reminder of the past hurt her, she could see what he could. This was neither justice nor mercy, and the half-healed wounds that covered the girl meant it was nothing of safety either. This was no warrior, sent here to protect the Commonwealth’s people from her. Not even a warrior such as the fledglings Jodi found would have been, half-trained and eager.
Jodi clapped a hand on his shoulder before she left the wagon to push it from the outside, back onto ground level enough to drive across. He looked up into her eyes and saw an old storm, that dark thunderclap look she’d had when he told her his own sins, such as they were.
His tongue wilted in his mouth. He knew better than to ask what was going on in her mind. He knew better than to think she’d tell him, just now. He would have to wait.
The door closed behind Jodi and a moment later the wagon lurched forward in a short, rattling burst, then paused and jolted forward again.
Hedwyn nodded to himself, then turned toward Rukey. “You’re better at judging how much water we’ve got to keep on hand. You mind helping me out while I get her wounds cleaned?”
Rukey was looking straight through him, those shrewd eyes reading far too much, probably from both him and Jodi.
“Sure, brother,” he answered, “Whatever you say. You know Jodi’s gonna be tied up in knots all week, right?”
Hedwyn sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“You gonna be normal about this?”
Hedwyn turned toward the girl, still huddled in her robes, sitting up and watching him as she leaned heavily against the wall of the wagon, across from the Lone Musician who had sat here, unmoving, since they found it, like a dead thing.
“Probably not,” he answered honestly.
“Yeah, I figured.” Rukey stretched, twisting his head side to side to stretch his neck out as his front paws slid forward into another stretch. Then he hopped back up onto all four feet. “Let’s do this.”
Hedwyn nodded, too . . . something to laugh at Rukey’s over-dramatics. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
#pyre#pyre game#gosh i'm not even sure I wanna put this in the whump tags?#there's some angst though?#whump#for the series#next part will be some good whumpy hurt/comfort wound cleaning
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
How to be a Queen [Part 20]
Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.
Previous
Next
Part 1
How To Be A Queen
In total, it amounted to three months of attending war cabinet meetings to make my presence known.
The first month spent shadowing the men with the decorative swords before running off to my uncle’s room to make sense of their terms. At first it was intimidating, they paid their respects in short bows yet didn’t acknowledge my being for the long duration of each gathering; ranging from two hours to an entire day. It was as if they were hoping if they hadn’t looked at me, I would disappear into the background.
The room was a matter in itself. If a stranger to the castle had no prior knowledge and mistakenly walked in, its purpose would make itself known immediately. To glorify a place known as a war room would be as to what it was known as and was. It was a recessive area of the castle, tucked down underneath any luxuries I had come to know. Maids and servants were replaced with decorated officers and veterans. The doors were forbidden to remain propped open, even on the most humid of days, and nothing inside was ever to be divulged. This was the only hall of the castle untouched by renovation for it was the place where every war began, and every war ended. The war room was Hyrule’s trigger.
Walls dripped in colors of ancient Hylian war paint; red, black, and gold. Weapons of all kinds were decorated, gilded within a frame. Their owners ranged from daring knights to heroes of old. In the center was a table that spanned the length of the room with intricate carving of legends, although on top was the most important piece. It mirrored an old map on the wall, but this one had black pawns to represent all potential threats. They stood like towers against the terrain with wooden carvings to imitate cavalry and foot-soldiers. Red pawns mirrored these dolls, which stood east of the Gerudo sands.
By the month end, I had every rank of command memorized and each division under each admiral written neatly in a leather-bound book.
It took two weeks for the admirals to meet my eye. The evenings were brimming with careful studies, and once Impa returned, I stole her sleep as well to fill in the gaps of political history that were closed off to me as a child.
Three weeks of my questioning went by until they recovered from the fact that a woman was speaking; an additional week before they had the gall to answer their high princess.
The creases under my eyes were deeper and a newly returned Anju complained about the amount of stress I was putting myself under, but – goddess – the feeling of autonomy was a welcome one. As far as royal propriety went, I was free to do what I pleased and choosing to be included was one I picked easily. Though, this newfound freedom came with its own restraints – its own guilt.
Father was becoming scarcer. With the making of amends between us, he drew more distraught over Uncle Nathaniel’s decaying health. Rarely would I find him outside his bed chambers or his study. Soon, I was asked to bring food to his room, so much so that it became apart of my newfound routine. Most of the day was split between Uncle and his war cabinet. In some sense I was his liaison and he was my mentor. Though, I hoped desperately he would continue to be once he overcome this illness.
My evenings were visiting Father. Some days were better and he would change into proper clothes, others were darker and he hardly had the strength to get out of bed. The latter where I would eat supper in his room and watch over him, hoping he would finish his meal.
Tonight, I suspected, would pose to be darker.
Uncle’s cough was raspy and guttural and his nurse withdrew the spoon of stew. Once it subsided, she fluffed the pillows that propped him up to a seat and scooped a spoonful again. I thumbed the pages of my book between my fingers, distracting myself with the rough texture.
Finally fed up with the doe eyes he was giving the women, I let out a noticeable sigh. “I don’t understand it,” I said once he looked away. Truly, the nurse was beautiful and at last he has found a woman to dote on that wasn’t twenty years younger, but did this flirtation need occur with his niece present?
“Trust me, little one,” his voice was weak and didn’t carry the volume it once had, “If I knew my brother’s mysteries… well, I dare to think I would solve the secret to life itself.”
His light laugh sloped into a coughing fit.
“Dear Tressa,” he put a light hand on the nurse’s arm who smiled warmly at him. “Would you mind fetching me a bed warmer? I fear I will catch a chill.”
She set the stew on his nightstand and excused herself. I took the chance to take her seat as he looked at me with a face that seemed a decade older than when I left the castle. My heart sunk with fear for him.
“You were but a child when your mother passed, and I suspect you took notice in your father’s absence during that mourning period,” he stopped to smooth out his night shirt as if it were his formal wear, “Rhoam is an intelligent man. He holds pride in his crown, as any king of this great country should, but there is a price to pride. Gold is as beautiful as it is blinding. It will confuse you when you lose focus and drag you down. His way of closing off is a form of this.”
I sat with a strained expression that made him pressure me.
“Between your condition and, and Father’s,” irritation sank into my voice, “I feel this is my fault for leaving. Somehow… somehow a punishment of sorts.”
He watched me fold my hands over themselves, “It is not.”
Uncle Nathaniel waited until my hands stilled, “It is not because of you.”
“But-!”
“I won’t hear it,” the sternness in his voice was not what a sick man would possess, and it silenced me. “What you did with that boy was invaluable, Zelda. Did you meet people?”
“Y-yes.”
“Did you face struggles?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have fun? Find beauty in your country? Find beauty in your people?”
My smile wobbled, “Yes. I did.”
“Then your only regret should be that you hadn’t been gone longer.”
I nodded, folding my hands once more in my lap and leaving them.
We let silence fill in and he eventually sighed against his pillows, “It is more than Rhoam has done. You will find that every action in these suffocating walls have their own set of consequences. Without the right people around you-” Uncle stopped and lifted his brow at me, “The throne will pull a veil over your eyes.
“When Mariam died, it did just that. Grief subdued him and the whispers of his advisers wormed in. Fear of a calamity. Fear that he would lose not just a family, but a kingdom. With all the good intentions the priests had, they forced Rhoam to abandon values your mother upheld for him.”
I pressed him, “What do you mean?”
“He was harder on preventing Hyrule’s vulnerabilities from showing. Our pacts with neighboring regions were nullified in effort to create a semblance of self-sufficiency. With that created new problems that he didn’t acknowledge,” he hardened and swallowed dryly. I saw frustration in my uncle.
“The rural Gerudo tribes,” I said suddenly, dread burrowed into me. “Father caused the food shortages.”
My uncle’s eyes left me, but a thin smile met him, “Yes. I remember, years ago when I traveled, going to the far reaches of the desert. The people there were kind, amiable. They saved me from dehydration at a small oasis they build their villages around. I was introduced to their culture, their norms.” When he looked up, the smile gone. “Twenty years later I would be ordering the slaughter of their people.”
A moment strained and I witnessed the anger in his eyes. Slowly, it devolved into remorse and then resolve. “Zelda,” Uncle Nathaniel said, “These people are not primitive. Stereotypes be damned, every man who was there knows that.”
“I-I was under the pretense that they were fanatics, that they-”
“They are a scorned and abandoned people. Try going hungry for months on end,” he sighed, but his anger was present. “Seeing children shriveled up on the side of roads and passing mourning women. Hungry people grow desperate and whoever can bring comfort to that and create the confidence I saw on that sand…”
He grew quiet and looked on to the window where the sun was high. Somberly, he declared, “I fear such a man.”
When the day drew to a close, I had surprisingly found Father in the parlor of his chambers. I returned his polite smile when I placed a plate of meat and vegetables before him and sat on the loveseat across from him. The hearth between us glowed warmth.
He bookmarked his novel and put it aside, “You’ve been busy today.”
“I keep myself busy,” I said, glancing up to him.
We ate in silence where he would make the occasional comment about the food and I would agree. Once we finished, I let him know about my day. It was something that I hadn’t done for years and within the last couple months has become the norm. As happy as it made me, I wished it was born of different circumstances.
Another new routine between us was reading through requests, filtered by Impa the day before. I picked them up from the cushion beside me and began reading them to my father. He sat silently, sometimes asking me to make notes on responses.
“King Dorephan has written condolences for the general and sends his prayers,” I said, going for the pencil.
“Write back saying great thanks and how we hope for the best,” he paused, “Then give kind regards for the Zoran prince and princess.”
When my writing stilled, I looked up to him. My fingers sealed the envelope with the letter inside to draw out a reply later when Impa was available. “Father,” I started, “May I ask something that is out turn?”
My father blinked in surprise but nodded. “Please do.”
“Why haven’t you seen Uncle Nathaniel?”
There was a beat of quietness that settled as he thought, “Somehow, I suspected you would eventually ask me something to that effect.” He readjusted in his seat and brought his hand to his beard. He breathed in slowly, then out like he did during stressed conferences. “I’m afraid for him.”
I tilted my head in confusion and he took notice.
“The physicians keep saying that he will be on the mend in a matter of weeks. It’s been almost four months, now,” he frowned, in his words were distress. They grew taunt. “It is startlingly similar to what they said about Mariam.”
At that, I looked away and to my skirts. “Oh.”
“I know it’s selfish. It’s just… false hopes are more difficult to lose.”
“Father,” I shook my head. “I understand how you feel, but he asks about you often.” I trailed off, trying to give voice to my feelings and shake off my old fears of overstepping. “I do love you very much and I perhaps if you saw him, it will lift your spirits as well as his.”
The lines in his face were deeper than I remember, then he laughed a laugh that reminded me much of his brother. “Will it quell your worries if I see him at noon tomorrow?”
“Enough to stop me from pestering you further,” I said, warmth growing in my chest at his smile.
“Very well then,” Father glanced at the clock. “I trust you to look over the rest of those papers there for me, Zelda. I must retreat to my bed.”
The warmth grew to the blossoming smile I tried to repress at his words. He trusted me.
“Thank you, Father.”
Promptly, I bid him goodnight and once he was in his bedroom, I took leave as well. In my head, I ran through the list of notes he had given me, nearly running into a servant in the hallway.
“Your Highness, my deepest apologies,” he said, bowing shortly.
“It’s no matter, sir,” I nodded politely.
“May I inquire if the king is in commission? Reports for him and the general have just arrived.”
“I’m afraid he has retired for the evening,” I replied lightly, “But I am working with him and his cabinet to alleviate the workload. I can take them off your hands.”
As I stacked the ribbon tied pile of letters underneath my current load, a question took hold of the tip of my tongue, “Um, sir, does there happen to be anything requested to me?”
“Nothing for Her Highness. This is mostly correspondence with the front lines,” the servant bid me a good evening and ran off with piles for the admirals. I stood there for a moment, disappointment ebbing. I carried on through the halls and heard no footsteps behind me. It wasn’t as if I should have been expecting it, though it was the first time I had someone this month. Father had been somewhat right about how false hopes hurt.
I tried pushing the plaguing thoughts away, only for him to return to them. I wasn’t foolish, I knew where my former knight attendant was. I took small notes when his unit was discussed in the war room. He couldn’t be in immediate danger and I kept reminding myself that no war had been declared.
There would be war, though. Today the Gerudo aristocracy had requested reprieve at Hyrule Castle. Rebels were launching attacks on the borders of their capital and Hylian troops were mobilizing. They were proving to be more strategic than our opponents in the Uprising, leading the war cabinet to suppose that we were in for a far longer fight than ever before.
“By the goodness of Hylia, where did that come from,” Impa said, ripping me from my worries. She stood outside my chambers and opened the door for me as I approached.
“The messengers from the desert had come in when I left Father,” I laughed, somewhat incredulous myself. “And honestly with the state Uncle Nathaniel is in, I’d like to at least go through it for him.”
Impa continued staring as we continued to the hearth of my bedroom. Pillows and cushions riddled the floor as well as a small coffee table to write on. I threw the stack on the bed and Impa pulled some of the ties to my dress so I could slip into something more suitable for the floor.
“That little maid will kill you if you’re up for long,” she chided, making me laugh once more.
“Yes, I do think she will.”
We got to work quickly, reading through and sorting the parchments from level of importance. The most important meant that they needed to be answered and delivered first; for example, Father’s letter from King Dorephan. The second level varied from requests for assets by noblemen to simple reports from officers; these didn’t need immediate response and typically waited a day on this table. The third level was littered with letters that need no answer at all yet still could yield value to Father – or more commonly now, myself. It was incredibly monotonous, but it proved to be efficient.
“Chief Gor Coron wants King Rhoam’s consideration to betroth you to his son,” Impa mumbled. “Again.”
I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh, “He’s a very sweet boy, but he’s also fifteen.”
“Do you think it requires a reply from the Crown?”
“I vote for fourth pile.”
“Fourth pile it is.”
The fourth pile – the fire – was everything that His Majesty didn’t need to mind at all.
I placed a letter a lord who couldn’t gather an audience with the king into the second pile. Impa handed me the opener and announced she was going to chase down a kitchen maid for a strong pot of coffee. I had barely acknowledged her declaration by the time she had left. With the opener in one hand and the next envelope in the other, it slid across the paper cleanly. At least through this I got the pleasure of hearing the straight tearing of paper.
Absently, I wondered what time it was as I scanned the paper and stopped abruptly. The handwriting was scratchy and precise, resembling one that had been sitting under my mattress for months. My knees drew up to my chest from my relaxed seat.
General Nohansen,
In the hopes that this letter finds you well, I write to you my routine update of the state we’re in.
Currently, we’re stationed at the coordinates given by Admiral Fierlin the month prior. Gerudo Town is only ten leagues from our camp. My contacts within have alerted me that every tenth night there is some form of attack within public places on the outskirts of the city. Obviously, they are organized and deliberate. For weeks, at your request, I have pushed the Gerudo officials to request protected travel from their capital to our own…
The letter derailed into specific numbers about supplies and increasing men still arriving.
…Again, in regards of your health, we all pray to Hylia for your steady recovery. Until then, I’m at your disposal as usual.
Cpt. Forester
I read his letter thrice before putting it down.
Mechanically, I let it fall into the second pile so that I would remember to share it with Uncle the next day. For whatever reason, it hurt worse each time I read it. I knew Elian had delivered my letter. He was at the castle last month, doubling for a messenger. Goddesses, I had spoken to him and asked if he had. Even then, my heart pleaded that he hadn’t. Surely, because Link would have written back.
Maybe… I was misled.
Impa opened the door with a maid in tow. She placed a tray of coffee on the table beside the mess of papers, poured the pot of coffee in two cups and quietly left. The older woman sighed, sitting cross legged on the pillows before taking a sit. As she did, she watched my silence to the letter sitting neatly at the top of the pile.
She swallowed the bitter liquid, “Zelda.”
My heart tried to steer my mind. “Yes?”
“You’re upset.”
I went to shake my head, “No—I.” I laughed quickly to cover my uneven breath, “I’m simply tired.”
My hands went for a new envelope and the letter opener. Impa repeated my name.
The curved blade of the opener missed the slip of the envelope, making me curse to myself until it made it in. He hadn’t even referenced me. Inelegantly, I retched it upward. The tear ended halfway down the envelope and hands stilled my own at my wrists.
“Zelda!” she said, carefully taking the letter opener from me. By then, I was reduced to shuddering gasps and spilling tears against her. “Af… after everthing-” A wail that fell to a sob escaped, “Three months of… of nothing!”
Nothing of his condition or his whereabouts. How many letters has he bothered to send while I waiting patiently for anything from him? What has changed so drastically? I wasn’t so dull to forget that at the end of the day he had a job – we both did! Still, it didn’t stop me from thinking about him at night. It hadn’t not worried me when his commanding admiral made passing comments of bomb threats. The feelings I had thought we shared were still present and very much alive in my heart.
Then, in other bouts of his silence, it made me irrevocably angry. After all, he had left.
And, perhaps, that was it. That was all there was to it. The note he left at the inn had no remarks about wanting me to write to him. There was nothing to be said about wanting to see me again, not in the way I wanted to see him.
We sat there as she smoothed out my hair and whispered my name among shushes. It could have been hours or the entire night, but eventually I came to. Exhaustion overtook me and I slumped in my seat. Impa pulled away, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear.
“I know you are grieving for much right now,” she said, “but you cannot lose sight. Whatever… whatever transpired between you two – I won’t inquire.” Impa looked forlornly at me with ruby eyes, “You should understand that what happened in your reprieve from the castle mustn’t continue.”
My stomach dropped at the thought. I saw his face from the inn, one of longing and regret. The feeling of heated cheeks when he’d look at me. His smile at my silly comments. I saw my ring in his hand and the resolve in his eyes and the callous of his fingers. The tender needs of a man who could put up a stone front so convincing that you’d thing he had lived his entire life without speaking a word and break it down just as easy – just for me.
Then, I saw the letter addressed to the general.
“With your coming of age and the current state of the Crown, Zelda,” she pulled my attention again. “You should consider the possibility of assuming the role of acting Queen of Hyrule.”
I sat quietly, neither confirming or negating her. It had been a thought that seemed more imaginary than plausible, but now Impa gave it life. Six months ago, I would have laughed at the notion and chalked it up to an implausible prediction; now it felt startling.
“I have,” I sniffed, brushing my wet cheek with my nightgown sleeve. “If my country needs me, I will not run from it.”
#i think this is the earliest ive posted a chapter#htbaq#how to be a queen#loz#zelink#zelda#link#legend of zelda#fanfiction#zelink fanfiction#ashleyswrittenwords
16 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
arosewrites
by any other name
beatrizportfolio
beatriz_
lesliejoelle
LëslieËlle
cosunter
suddenly an adult
kapkanlover
Leo