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shadowsandshapes · 1 year

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FFTB | CH 1: Opening Gambit (Dabi/F!Reader)

Summary: Your game of poker is cut short by the arrival of the League of Villains. Why does shit always hit the fan when you're around to witness it? Gambling was how you paid the bills but tonight's score got you more than you bargained for. Contains: Swearing, Gambling, Canon-Typical Violence, Power Fantasy Elements, A Series Of Very Unfortunate Events, Smoking

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It’s a good thing all the people at the poker table were villains – now you didn’t have to feel bad about scamming them out of all of their cash. Hard-earned or ill-gotten – you didn’t care. Money was money.

You stared at the cards face down on the table in front of you. A winning hand – you didn’t need your Quirk to know that. Tonight had been a fortunate night at the gambling hall. Well, for you at least. The same couldn’t be said for the poor sods that had unwittingly joined your table. Several villains sneered back at you, seething at the absolute garbage cards they had been dealt tonight. In more than just the literal sense – though you kept that amusing little fact to yourself. It must have been hard for those big, burly types – being utterly humiliated by a perfectly normal-looking young woman. Your soft features were definitely an asset when running casino scams. Even more so in illegal gambling halls like this one.

Everyone always underestimates a pretty girl in a tight dress.

“Tough luck, boys,” you declared, showing your cards: a simple three of a kind. It wasn’t the most impressive hand of the night, but it was enough to win the round. Again.

Such a terrible stroke of luck your opponents were experiencing. The poor fuckers had no idea your Quirk was to blame for them whiffing so hard they’d never financially recover. The perks of having an invisible ability – though, you still decided to make yourself scarce soon. It wouldn’t be much longer before the staff picked up on your little scheme. One more hand, you told yourself as the dealer slid your winnings towards you. A hefty pile of chips landed in front of you – you smiled sweetly at the gruff-looking fellow across the table who shot up from his stool with a huff. The chair clattered to the floor, causing several attendees to turn their heads. Having just lost the last of his wager to you, he was not in the best of moods.

“Hope you enjoy the cash, you gold-digging bitch!”

“Oh, I will~! I’m going to buy myself something cute and useless later. Just to piss you off.” You twirled your fingers playfully as he stomped off in a rage, watching him slink back to whatever hole he had crawled out of with a smile on your face. On his way out, the man passed a group of individuals making their way into the gambling hall – his anger vanished, replaced by icy-cold fear and horror. Recognizing their leader, the brute scrambled to get out of their way and rushed outside with his tail tucked between his legs. Several heads turned to look at the new arrivals, a chorus of whispers breaking out around you. Shit. There, illuminated by the neon glow emanating from the slot machines, was the League of Villains.

You reached out to the dealer – stopping him from giving you another hand. “On second thought, boss,” you said, offering a practiced and polite smile. “I’ve pushed my luck enough tonight. I’d like to cash out.”

“Whatsamatta, girlie?” one of the other players remarked, a sly smirk creeping onto his lips. “Scared of the big bad villains?” He barked out a laugh then took a drag from his cigar. The players at the table all chuckled at the man’s quip – but the relief on their faces at hearing you were leaving more than made up for their disrespect.

“Oh yes, terribly so,” you lied. “Good girls like me should be careful not to get caught up with bad folk, right?” Sugar coated your tongue as you spoke, playing up your performative innocence. Some of them fell for the charade, others knew you were full of shit. It didn’t matter – you just wanted to get out of there. If the League was here, you needed to be elsewhere. Getting on their bad side was not part of your schedule tonight.

“Next time I’m taking your money, sweet thing. If you’re lookin’ for a more permanent income though, I’m sure you’ve got something to sell to a gentleman like me.”

Disgusting old men and their perverted little fantasies. You ignored their laughter and whistles, swiftly making your way to the cash-out point to collect your winnings. Which – of course – happened to be right past the city’s most notorious group of trouble-makers. Why did they have to block your exit, standing around like a bunch of assholes? No big deal. Eyes forward – chin up. You straightened your back and smoothed out the creases in your dress. Walk like you own the place – that’s what you always did when you got nervous. It had never failed you before.

“Um – ‘scuse me,” you pardoned, squeezing past one of their members.

You had chosen the cosplayer as your target – a reptilian hybrid. Those guys were always dazzled by a pretty girl. His eyes flickered to yours and he opened his mouth to say something, a sneer most likely, but your woman-on-a-mission attitude kept him from speaking. That, or the fact he had noticed your attire. Rule number one of being a lady villain: wear something distractingly hot – it just might save your life. The reptilian man turned his head to follow your stride, elbowing one of his friends to gawk at you together. You could feel their eyes on you as you made your escape – breathing a sigh of relief as you saw your destination emerge within view.

Men were fucking stupid and so easily distracted.

Not the biggest score you’d gotten from gambling but certainly enough to pay rent for a while. Maybe even splurge a little on some fun stuff. You glanced at the bills in the envelope, leafing through them quickly to make a mental note of how much you had to work with.

The clerk rolled his eyes – he’d counted the cash himself after all. “Look, lady, it’s all there –”

“I believe you,” you cut in. “Just checking.” If anyone was ripping people off in this joint, it was you – but it was cute that he thought you were worried about being deceived. If anything, him making a mistake would probably lead to you getting more than you bargained for. Not less. "Thank y–"

A rumble shook the ground as a loud crash echoed throughout the casino. You glanced up at the ceiling, watching debris and dust fall down – cracks appearing on the surface of the concrete slab holding up the roof. Screams of panic erupted down the hall and a group of villains came running, followed by what seemed to be armed police forces.

A handful of Heroes emerged from the dust cloud to flank the officers and reality finally hit you: this was a goddamn raid.

The chaos was immediate. You didn’t think, just moved as you ducked into the aisles, pushing your way past heroes and villains alike. Dust and smoke obscured your vision as you ran – a difficult task in a cocktail dress and heels – but you didn’t have time to worry about that. Your Quirk alone wouldn’t save your life, but it would protect you at least a little bit. Luck would guide you.

A searing hot flash of blue flame just barely skirted by your head, toasting the hero that was mere inches away from catching up to you. He fell to the ground, screaming in agony as the flames swallowed him whole – leaving nothing but a smoking pile of ash behind. Holy shit, that was close. How long had he been chasing you? You skid across the carpet and pressed yourself up against a toppled-over pool table, eyes snapping toward the source of the fire. The League. They’d set up a defense near the back rooms and one of their members was hurling flames in your direction. As much as you wanted to avoid getting tangled up with them, they had the most advantageous position right now. Not to mention the back rooms had an exit. Anyone wanting to make a quick escape would have to breach the League’s makeshift barricade. Once again, they stood between you and your way out. Only this time, it was matter of life and death – or rather: a lifetime of imprisonment in Tartarus.

Several heroes prepared to make their advance on the barricade, further complicating your situation. You had to take care of those schmucks first. While you most definitely couldn’t go toe-to-toe with power types, these fellas looked like wet rags compared to the thugs you dealt with on a daily basis. Feeling confident, you grabbed a pool cue from the ground and picked up the 8-ball from among the debris. You tossed it in your hand – seeing the tell-tale glow of your Luck Quirk swirl around the sphere. People said this thing represented both sides of luck, the good and the bad—time to find out if it could compete with your own brand of misfortune.

You whistled, loudly, and stood up from your hiding place – the heroes snapped their heads back, just in time for one of them to get hit square in the face with the 8-ball. Nice. You smirked. Seemed like your throwing arm was still in working order. A lot of things happened at once then. You dashed forwards, using the pool cue as an improvised weapon to mow your way through the heroes and police. They struggled to keep track of you – your Lucky 8-ball causing several of their ranks to trip and fall in the world’s most hilarious domino effect. It was a genuine train wreck. The few who managed to avoid your trap were met with the suffocating embrace of your thighs around their neck. Using your hands to support yourself as you came down, you flipped them onto the ground. Knocked out. The pool cue shattered when you slammed it on a riot shield – but the resulting splinters slid in between the agent’s visor, temporarily blinding him. He staggered back, bumping into the rest of his squad. They were forced to focus on catching him – allowing you a brief window to vault across the League’s barricade.

As you landed on the other side, you noticed a few things. Number one: no one was here. The League had gone and fled while you were distracting their attackers. And number two: there was a huge fucking fire blocking the fire escape. Oh, the irony. You ran towards it – catching a glimpse of a dark-haired man on the other side of the door. His eyes met yours as he smirked back at you – the blue flames blazing on the palm of his hand igniting the space between you even more intensely. The fire roared, casting an eerie glow on your features and illuminating the bastard responsible for your misfortune. Your eyes narrowed at the man. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Skin burned to hell – metallic staples being the only thing that kept his healthy skin together. Dabi. You’d seen him on the news. A real nasty piece of work if the media was to be believed. While you wouldn’t call him ugly – you would, however, call him a massive bitch for cutting off your escape route.

“Motherfucker!” you cursed. “I’m on your side!”

“See, that’s a real shame,” Dabi said, shrugging. He didn’t seem all that upset about leaving you behind though, grinning like this was the funniest thing he’d seen all week. “Boss says we shouldn’t take any chances.”

No fucking way. They were seriously gonna leave your ass here, weren’t they? After all, you did get the heroes off their backs. Guess the rumors about the League of Villains were true after all. They looked out for themselves but walked all over everyone else. Fucking bastards.

“I covered your asses – !” You glanced back – hearing a commotion mounting behind you. The police were breaking through the barricade. Time’s up – if you stayed any longer, you were well on your way to a high-security cell in Tartarus. Your glare must have been fierce because, for a brief moment, the villain almost seemed to doubt his actions. You had spunk. Guts. But wasn’t enough – not for Dabi.

“And we’re real grateful pretty girl, we are – don’t take it personally, okay?” With that, he slammed the door in your face – blue flames engulfing the rest of the space. You tried stepping forward anyway but the sheer heat of the fire singed your arm as soon as you did. The intensity of it was enough to make you break a sweat. A Quirk this strong was truly no joke, huh? There was no way through. You were stuck.

Fuck! What a bunch of horseshit. You didn’t fucking deserve this.

“Put your hands where I can see them!”

Right. The cops. Almost forgot about those. You raised your hands into the air, slowly turning to face your future wardens. Red dots emerged on your chest and forehead as several laser sights trained themselves on your form. You glanced around – hoping your Quirk would highlight anything you could use – but nothing popped up. Had your Luck finally run out after all this time? All because of the fucking League of Villains. What a shame. You liked dressing up. Prison jumpsuits really wouldn’t look all that flattering on you.

“Game over, MissFortune – you’ve got nowhere left to run.” One of the agents stepped forward – keeping his gun trained on your body. You rolled your eyes at your villain moniker being used. “Unless you wanna take nosedive out the window, you’re coming with us.”

Now there’s an idea. You smiled. The nozzle of the gun raised upwards as you gave it a swift kick with your leg. It misfired and rained bullets into the sky, creating just enough confusion for you to make your escape. You threw yourself against the window panes. Arms crossed, legs forward and hoping for the best. The glass shattered as you went through. “That wasn’t a suggestion!” you heard in the distance as you entered freefall.

Too bad. It just wasn’t their lucky day, was it?

The wind whipped past your ears for mere seconds before you slammed down on something hard and metallic. It knocked the air from your lungs but you were otherwise unharmed. Not bad for a two-story drop. You swerved as whatever you had landed on jerked into motion. A car? You sat up, clinging to the edge of the vehicle. Yeah. Looks like you landed on a white, unmarked van. One that was currently speeding away from the gambling hall. Lucky.

Sirens roared to life behind you as several police cruisers began their pursuit. Unlucky. Your Quirk giveth and it taketh away. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the nature of your abilities. A mop of white hair emerged from the passenger seat window and you froze as you found yourself face-to-face with Tomura Shigaraki himself. He climbed on top of the roof, staring you down from behind his hand mask.

“You?!” he hissed in recognition. “Whatever just get out of my way –”

Yup. Okay. You weren’t gonna argue with the guy who could end your life with a single hand. He made his way to the back of the van and opened the back doors – an immediate gust of blue flames greeted the police cruisers giving chase. Dabi was in the back, you realized. Somehow – you had landed directly on the League’s getaway vehicle. You’d wonder about the odds but that was futile at this point. Maybe after this, you’d be able to get even with the bastard who left you behind.

Your thoughts were cut short as the vehicle slipped – skidding across the asphalt at a diagonal. What the fuck was the driver doing? Your eyes widened as you noticed a slope on the side of the road coming closer – if he didn’t do something soon, you’d all end up in the river.

“For fuck’s sake, Spinner!” you heard Dabi’s voice call. “Keep your hands on the goddamn wheel –”

It was too late – a tire popped in the back, sending the van spinning out of control. You held on for dear life, subconsciously grabbing Shigaraki’s coat to pull him down with you. The van caught the guard rail and just blew through it – flying toward the water. The League of Villains, and one silly little girl, were headed directly to the bottom of the river.

Only – that didn’t happen. You closed your eyes and when you opened them again – you were in a house? A swirling shadow that you hadn’t noticed before surrounded everyone – then dissipated just as quickly, vanishing in the direction of someone in the corner of the room you didn’t recognize. The members of the League all let out a sigh, some doubling over on their knees to catch their breaths – others simply venting their frustration. Then all eyes fell on you.

“Hello~!” you chimed with a nervous laugh, twirling your fingers in a little wave.

“What the fuck just happened?” Dabi asked, fixing you with an ice-cold stare. “And why do I think you had something to do with it?”

“Look –” you raised your hands in defense. “I’m really sorry – but if you fuckers hadn’t left me to die, I wouldn’t have jumped out of the window. And if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have been on the roof of your van, okay?”

Shigaraki’s nails dug into his neck, scratching the skin raw. He groaned in annoyance and seemed to be deep in thought. “We lost our getaway car –” he lamented. “Who’s gonna pay for that?”

Score! You had a way out of this mess.

“I won big at the tables,” you said, digging into the hem of your dress in search of the envelope. “I mean, sure, this is my goddamn rent – but if it gets you off my ba–” Where is it. Where the fuck is it? You stuck your hand into your bra – unbothered by the eyes fixated on your shameless display. There was no envelope. Not in your left cup – or your right. “I uh – lost my rent. In the raid. Thanks for that, by the way.”

That was your bargaining chip. Which meant – whatever they wanted from you – you would have to pay up. Shigaraki gave you a long look – circling you like a vulture. His red eyes honed in on you like he was inspecting the goods. You bit your tongue. Every member of the League was fixated on you – assessing your worth. You tried pushing their reputation to the back of your mind. Shigaraki in particular was notorious for being ruthless – but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be intimidated by some guy with a skin condition. Fuck that. Moisturize before you threaten me. He circled around and came to a stop in front of you, having seemingly reached a consensus.

“Your Quirk,” Shigaraki started. “What is it? We saw you in there – that train wreck you caused wasn’t natural. How’d you do it?”

“I’m Lucky…” Their blank faces spoke volumes. “Shut up – I know it doesn’t seem like it.” You rubbed the back of your head, struggling to think of a way to explain your abilities. “I suck the luck out of my surroundings? Bad things happen wherever I go, but never to me – though I think today was a bit of an exception.”

‘Could be useful…” Shigaraki mused aloud, resting his teeth on the tip of his thumb. No way. He wasn’t actually considering this, was he? You were about to call him crazy when someone else beat you to the punch.

“You can’t be serious,” Dabi let out, crossing his arms. “Did you see the carnage she caused in there – who’s to say that won’t turn against us? She’s a loose canon.”

“I’m not the biggest fan of hotshot over here, but he’s right,” you cut in. “My Quirk is selfish. I work alone because other people tend to get caught in the crossfire. You don’t want this – trust me.”

“You’ll have to repay us somehow.” Shigaraki approached you, fingers outstretched with his palm wide open. You instinctively scooted back. Okay, so maybe he was just a little bit scary. His hand stopped, hovering a few inches from your face. “And considering you don’t have the money to reimburse the van, this is my offer: your service to the League – or your life. Your choice, Lucky.”

Fuck the League of Villains – but you weren’t dying tonight. “Fine. I’ll join your stupid little club.”

A/N: It's here. Finally. This took so long to write, so I truly hope you all enjoy the ride. To kick things off, we have a lot of setup in this chapter. I do apologize for that. Not all of them will be this long, I promise. I'm not going to make you guys wait too long for the rest, I just need to edit the chapters as they come out. I'm not quite done writing just yet, but I literally couldn't wait any longer to start posting.

Taglist: @kelin-is-writing @dynamars @dabislittlemouse @simpysheep @ohnoitsthatonekid

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#shade's fftb #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi x you #mha dabi #dabi my hero academia #dabi fanfic #dabi fic #touya x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #nearly forgot to tag #smoking #for milk

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

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Young Hearts Divided (3/?)

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader / James Potter x Female!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.3k

Part Summary: As James and Sirius continue to act strangely, Y/N struggles to figure out the reason. When James asks her to do something, the pieces start to fall into place, leaving her even more confused than before.

Masterlist

James and I study for History of Magic all afternoon following copying Lily’s notes. James is lucky I actually understand History, otherwise, we’d both be in trouble. As I go over the chapter with him, he takes notes for the first time on this portion of the book. During class, he’s usually sleeping or doodling. It’s rather distracting being his seat partner, especially when he asks me to play Tic-Tac-Toe with him. One of us has to pay attention because we can depend on Lily to cover us.

“What led to the Goblin Rebellion of 1612?” I quiz James.

He taps his chin with a quill, thinking up an answer. After it takes longer than it should, I lean back in my chair with a raised brow. Unable to withhold my amusement, I snicker at my struggling friend. He’s toast, this exam is going to wreck his marks.

He whines, reaching across the table to gently grab my arm pleadingly. “Help me!”

I giggle, sliding my book toward him. “Read up. You’re going to need it!”

He whines some more, childishly pouting. “But I hate reading,” he groans, tossing his head back. As an idea pops into his head, he perks up, “summarize it for me?”

I open my mouth to protest, unsure if I’ll do it justice, but James cuts me off eagerly.

“I’ll make it up to you!” He insists. “I’ll… I’ll…” he struggles to think up compensation. Then, he snaps his fingers, pointing at me as another apparently brilliant thought crosses his mind. “I’ll take you to Hogsmeade this weekend!”

“See! You already got a part of it,” I point out, ignoring his silly offer as I bring my textbook back to me considering he’s clearly not going to use it. “Hogsmeade is where the rebellion occurred! Tell me more.”

He rolls his eyes at my seriousness, a hint of a smirk on the edge of his lips. Leaning forward, he crosses his arms on the table between us. “I’m serious Y/N,” he whispers so Professor Pince doesn’t shush us. “Let’s go to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

Our group has never missed a Hogsmeade weekend. Any excuse to mess around drunk off firewhiskey and butterbeer is our preferred free time activity. Except for Lily and Remus, they play the parents.

“James… everyone is going there this weekend…” I state a matter-of-factly with amusement before turning to write down in my notebook.

“No, I mean….” he pauses, licking his lips nervously as he avoids my eyes. Evidently, he’s unsure of his words.

I place my quill down, his hesitation earning my attention. It’s not like James to sound so anxious. What is wrong with everyone today? Did someone pour a spell in their pumpkin juice at breakfast today? It was probably a short term spell from Malfoy or Snape, a payback prank. I guess it’s a good thing I slept in.

“James,” I place my hand on his comfortingly. His eyes break away from the space between us and meet mine with amazement. “It’s okay,” I laugh softly. “You can say anything to me, safe space here.” I wave my finger in a circle to gesture to our table.

He laughs, nodding his head in understanding. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right…. I know. You’ve always been really easy to talk to Y/N. Uh, which is somewhat why I wanted to… um… ask you to Hogsmeade… You know, to go to Hogsmeade with me,” he stammers nervously, combing his fingers through his hair with his free hand.

“Go with you as you go on your date?” I seek to clarify, still kind of lost in translation.

He narrows his eyes, somewhat confused himself. “Yes…” he answers, making it sound more like a question.

I nod at a steady pace, processing his words. Okay, well, this day has been anything but average. It’s not even supper time and already two Marauders have suddenly expressed interest in me. One minute, we’re all just friends and the next two of the most infamous playboys at Hogwarts are claiming to have feelings for me. I swear to Godrick Gryffindor if Peter or Remus stop me in the hall to confess their love I’m packing my things and going into hiding. Plus, I could’ve sworn James was head over heels in love with Lily? He told me so multiple times. Whenever he gets drunk we have a heart-to-heart about it. He asks me for advice and I assure him to be himself. Could his feelings have changed without me noticing? It’s hard to believe, but not impossible I suppose.

Not wanting to hurt him, I accept the offer, “Yeah, yeah sounds good.”

He smiles brightly, enthused by my answer. “Okay, um yeah, cool!”

What harm could it do? I’m sure nothing will come from it anyway, James is pretty filthy with his affections. He’s been claiming to be in love with Lily since First Year but has dated girls since them. I’m sure I would even call it dating, they were more like flings here and there. I suspect James might just be confused or annoyed with Lily not reciprocating his affections, so he’s looking to me for some guidance. I don’t mind helping my friend figure out what he wants, as long as he doesn’t act irrationally.

One problem though, how is Sirius going to react? We aren’t exactly together, but we can’t ignore what occurred at the lake today. He’ll be with us at Hogsmeade, we always go together as a group. I hold the necklace that Sirius gave me between my fingers without James noticing. What a confusing chain of events. I’m not sure what to think. I’m not sure what either of their intentions is. I never thought any of this would ever happen. I wonder if Sirius’s outburst during lunch has something to do with James’s offer? The two seemed rather harsh with each other. James clearly knew that Sirius and I were down at the lake considering he was next to Sirius in Potions and likely read the correspondence as Marlene did. My next thoughts are: how much does he know? Does he know what Sirius said? Does he know what he gave me? If so, does that have anything to do with him asking me to Hogsmeade? Is it all a competition with him? I’m utterly lost and all I can do is see how it pans out. I don’t want to shout accusations and end up hurting someone by accident. It’s odd, I’m both looking forward to this weekend and somewhat dreading it.

James and I decide to skip dinner, staying at the library to cram for History after James gets a sudden urge to study. James finishes telling me a humorous story about his family’s vacation many years ago when we returned to the tower after sundown.

“My dad was soaked-” He describes with amusement.

“Password?” The Fat Lady interrupts as we approach.

“magia enim quisque est,” James answers, not missing a beat. He doesn’t even glance at the portrait. The Fat Lady swings open, revealing the passageway as James continues his story. “I thought my mom was going to topple over, she was laughing so hard!”

I cover my mouth, laughing at James’s words. I’ve never had the privilege of meeting the Potters like some of the others. They sound like really fun from what I’ve heard from James and Sirius.

Our friends are gathered in front of the fire. The fire is the main source of light in the room other than some weak candlesticks on the walls. Peter and Remus in opposite armchairs, with Lily sitting on the floor resting against Remus’s seat. Marlene is sitting on the floor directly in front of the fireplace, playing cards with Lily on the coffee table. Sirius sits at the far end of the couch, appearing to be venting to Remus. Everyone’s attention turns us when they hear us appearing in the Common Room. James and I stop, our shared laughter settling down as we peer at our friends.

“You two were busy,” Marlene remarks with a smirk as she lays down a card on the table.

“Yeah, you missed dinner,” Peter reminds us, sounding rather distressed by the idea.

“Eh,” James shrugs, not too fazed by the matter. He presses his hand to my back, guiding me to sit on the couch with him.

I follow his lead, not physically reacting to the presence of his hand through my mind is racing.

“We can go grab something from the kitchens later,” he adds with a wink as grabs my waist to cross in front of me and sit in the middle, between me and Sirius.

I blush, not used to receiving so much attention from James. I mean, I’ve known him since we were eleven so I’ve been the receiver of his relentless flirtatious personality, but now I’m starting to think it’s not unintentional. I ease down on the cushion, crisscrossing my legs comfortably.

“You’re not allowed to do that,” Remus warns, knowing well enough that James won’t listen. “Unless you want another months’ detention.”

James casually rests his arm on my leg as if he’s done it a thousand times before. Lily and Marlene silently look up from their cards, taking note of the action. They look between me and James’s arm as his thumb rubs against my knee. I share their looks of astonishment without the boys noticing as they’re too distracted by James and Remus going back and forth. I have no doubt this will be the hot topic when we head to bed. I exhale deeply, subconsciously picking at my nails, a nervous habit.

“Did you hear what happened to that First Year in Herbology?” Lily is quick to change the subject. “Apparently a Slytherin boy fainted!”

“Isn’t there a kid who faints every year on Mandrake day?” Marlene laughs, returning to their card game.

“Not surprised it was a Slytherin,” James remarks mockingly with a chuckle. “They’re such pansies.”

I frown at James’s words, my eyes focused on my lap. I have friends in Slytherin, they’re decent people. Granted, their house has a bad reputation, but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. I have family members who were in Slytherin, they’re not evil or anything. Shoot, I could’ve been a Slytherin, the Sorting Hat debated on it. It saw motivation and cunningness in me, in fact, it nearly outweighed my Gryffindor qualities.

“Forget that!” Peter nearly bursts with excitement in his chair next to me. “Did you hear about Snape?!”

“Peter!” Lily snaps uncharacteristically at the boy.

James and I jump slightly at the rudeness of Lily’s outburst, my hand gripping his on my knee instinctively. James glances down at my hand and I swiftly remove it. Peter cowers into his chair as though he was just reprimanded by a parent. My eyes flicker between the two, brows high like everyone else’s, except for James who continues to look at me admiringly.

“What happened?” Sirius finally speaks, grumbling disinterestedly. Did he just miss Lily snapping? After that, he still has the guts to ask what happened? That’s bold.

Lily glares at the jet black-haired boy. I lean forward peering in front of James to see Sirius’s reaction. He appears unfazed, slouching into the cushion beside James. His features are sharp, covered with evident frustration and annoyance.

On that note, I think I’m going to excuse myself before things get too heated. Frankly, I don’t really care what happened with Snape. The boys obsess over picking on him and Lily worries for her childhood friend. Though I don’t condone bullying, I don’t care to get involved. I’m civil with both parties.

“I’m going to head to bed,” I announce, already moving to stand up.

Protests erupt amongst the group, each of them talking over each other. The only silent parties are James and Sirius. Sirius hadn’t reacted, starring ahead at the fire with a frown.

James peers up at me with disappointed eyes, waiting for silence. “But I thought we were going to sneak down to the kitchens?” He pouts, holding my hand loosely.

“And risk getting a detention?” I chuckle at the boy.

“That didn’t seem to stop you this afternoon,” Sirius mumbles bitterly under his breath, not having the decency to look at me in the eye as does.

James looks over his shoulder at his best friend. In unison, our friends begin to talk over each other again, this time exchanging their farewells and excuses for heading to bed. I’ve never seen Lily shove cards into their box so urgently before. I thought Remus was going to trip over himself, he leaped up so quickly from his seat. Now, the three of us are left alone in the Common Room. Sirius hasn’t even flinched once despite the chaos that just occurred around him. His eyes remain in narrow slits as they focus ahead on the burning fire. James burns holes into his friend, waiting for some sort of reaction. His hand continues to hold mine, it’s the only reason I’m still here. I would’ve safely run off with the others given the chance. I sort of feel like I’m rudely watching a private moment between best friends. Do I say something? In my defense, I wanted to leave before everyone else did.

Building up the courage to break the silence, I slip my hand from James’s and stutter, “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go.” Hopefully, that won’t make either of them burst or something. Urgently, I pick up my books off the side table next to the couch.

James and Sirius both snap their heads in my direction. Okay, not what I had hoped. I freeze, unsure of what to do or say. I have two pairs of eyes pouring into me. One pair black, the other hazel. I press my books to my chest nervously.

Suddenly, the sound of the Fat Lady opening interrupts us. Professor McGonagall appears from the dark archway in her robe and cap. Her distraught expression makes my heart sink. James and Sirius both fly up from their seated positions behind me, sharing in my worry. Already predicting what this may be about, I’m too afraid to move.

__________________________________

Tags: @hannah220506 @devilstradegy

Masterlist

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yandere-society · 4 years

Text

Ih-pif-uh-nee

Synopsis: After successfully finding matches for humans for a millennia, Cupid grows irritated when he repeatedly fails to find YN’s soulmate. He decides to go undercover and disguise himself as a normal human to attempt to get closer to her, only to become convinced that HE is the mate he’s been searching for all along.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Admin: @chimchimsauce

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, stallking

Cupid is on cloud nine, staring up into the painted sky, the soft coldness of a cloud caressing his large, folded wings. As the sun slowly begins to sink, the god of love rolls onto his stomach, dragging his finger through a passing cloud.

Another day, another match made in heaven. Satisfaction warms Cupid’s heart as he thinks of the young couple he recently paired up - a rich girl from a very influential family and a poor young man struggling to put himself through college. Pairings like that have always been Cupid’s favorite. Unlikely love always blooms faster, roots deeper into the lives of those he strikes with his arrows.

As the sun falls completely beneath the Earth and the moon rises to shine, Cupid sits up, reaching into the sky to pluck a falling star from above. The star shines brightly in his cupped hands, glowing before Cupid cracks it open like an Easter egg to reveal his latest assignment.

While the god is ultimately in control of his matches, every so often, Aphrodite will send tell him of someone special, someone who will require a bit more than a few well-timed coincidental meetings and an arrow to the chest. His mother’s always been a bit of a know it all and a meddler, so it’s not terribly unusual for her to push her own agenda through her son.

Cupid sighs. It’s nearing Valentine’s Day, so hopefully, he’ll have a bit more luck with this assignment than he did with the last one. Last time it took Cupid a fortnight to get the seed of love planted deep enough between a cynical old man and the lady he’d worked with for over two decades. But still, Cupid’s never been unable to make a spark between two people, not even when he was younger and would shoot arrows at random people just for fun.

Of course, he’s matured significantly since then. He doesn’t play such games anymore.

Reading the note he pulls from the star, Cupid reads the name.

YN LN

There’s nothing particularly remarkable about the name. He’s heard it before, used by other people throughout the years. The photograph he’s been given also does not stir anything in him. He wonders briefly what his mother is planning, sending him this assignment without any context. Usually, she’ll at least send some background information on the person and who she wants them to end up with, but there’s nothing else in the star but her name and photo.

Cupid seals the star back, tossing it as far into the sky as he can, letting it return to orbit. He places the photograph into the folds of his angelic garment, standing up and stepping off of the cloud, plummeting towards the Earth’s surface.

He might as well get started now.

Cupid lands gently on a large hill overlooking a sleepy college town, bare feet touching the soft grass. He disappears into the night as he descends upon the town, slipping between dimensions as only gods can do.

It practically takes him no time at all to locate her, YN studying diligently at a library that looks as old as Cupid himself is. Quietly, he lets his presence rest beside her, eyes going over her form, trying to figure out what’s so special about her that she caught his mother’s attention. She’s pretty enough for a human but her face isn’t anything you’d double take on. She almost seems . . . plain.

Cupid can’t help but be a little disappointed. He’d hoped this assignment would be interesting, but it seems like it’ll end up being a bore after all. He’s half tempted to just shoot her and be done with it, but he has a feeling his mother won’t be pleased with him if he does that.

Deciding to give this assignment his all (if for no other reason than not having to put up with one of his mom’s hissy fits) Cupid spends the next few days trailing YN, figuring out her habits, likes, and dislikes. He even sets up a few matches - the guy in her class, one of her pretty friends, a worker in the local grocery store - but to no avail.

Despite shooting the girl with three arrows, not even a lick of love sparks within her. YN just continues her monotonous life, boring the hell out of Cupid.

After an entire week of this, Cupid grows impatient and decides to handle this matter even more personally.

Transforming into human form, Cupid feels the elements against his skin for the first time since . . . he shakes that thought out of his head. A little bit of persuasion is all it takes to get him a new identity and set up at a small bed and breakfast just a few minutes’ walk from YN’s dorm.

He has it all planned perfectly. He’ll run into her at the coffee shop she works part-time at and befriend her, using their time together to find her perfect match. He’s never had to put in this much effort before.

But as soon as Cupid walks into the coffee shop, the little bell over the door rings and the two of them lock eyes, the god’s breath catching in his throat. She smiles at him, the very first time she’s smiled since he’s been trailing her.

Something pulls at his subconscious, just out of reach. Whatever it is is familiar, comforting to him. He doesn’t realize that he’s staring until she clears her throat uncomfortably.

“How may I help you?” she asks.

“I . . . just a coffee, please. Black,” he says once he’s regained a bit of his sense.

“Sure thing. What name would you like me to put it under?” YN asks, already beginning to create the drink.

“Jimin,” he says before he can stop himself, his true name tumbling out between his lips.

Because she’s faced away from him, YN doesn’t notice the shocked look on Jimin’s face. His hand covering his mouth. He can’t believe he said that!

The name ‘Jimin’ was given to him over a thousand years ago, by someone he can’t remember. His mother forbade him from using it and he’s gone by Cupid ever since. So why . . .

“Your total is $3.50. Will that be all for you today?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, rummaging through his pockets to pull out some money he’d manifested earlier that day.

The coffee shop is empty besides the two of them, Jimin choosing to sit by the glass storefront while YN hums quietly to herself, wiping down the counters and tidying up. Soon though, it becomes apparent through his side-eyed watch that she’s out of things to do, just sort of idling around. It’s only then that he god of love remembers that he’s on a mission.

“So uh,” he speaks up, the coffee cup warming his hands, “I’m new in town and I was wondering if you knew of what all there is to do?”

Jimin hates how unconfident he sounds. It’s so unlike him.

“Well,” she begins, grateful for a distraction, “There isn’t all that much to do. It is a rather small town after all.”

“Surely there must be something,” Jimin pushes, really eager to speak with her.

“Hm,” she begins, “There’s actually this very pretty underground lake. You can only see it once every couple of weeks because the cave it’s in is usually flooded - it rains here a lot by the way - but it’s absolutely gorgeous,”

“I’ll have to go sometime,”

Over the course of that singular trip to the coffee shop, Cupid completely forgets that YN is supposed to be an assignment. He becomes completely and utterly enthralled with her and her boring little life. The gods always have something going on, some drama or scandal or fight. It’s so nice just to be able to relax with someone - to actually become close to someone. Jimin sees YN every day. First, he just stops by to get a morning coffee, but soon enough he ends up walking her home after her shift ends and helping her study at the library.

Every expression of hers he has memorized. He lies awake at night and thinks about her, anxious to spend time with her again. It consumes his entire being, is his motivation for his every decision.

Until . . .

Until two months later, when the most gorgeous woman alive is at his doorstep. His mother catches the attention of everyone who walks by, sending one gentleman a flirtatious wink and causing him to walk into a pole.

“What are you doing here, Mother?” Jimin asks sharply, less than thrilled to see her.

“Checking on you,” she says, eyeing him up and down with a hand on her curved hip, “It seems you’ve gotten rather . . . distracted.”

Jimin bristles, growing visibly upset.

“I assigned you to find this girl a mate, not to fall for her,” Aphrodite says, her tone leaving no room for debate.

“I’m not falling for her,” Jimin hisses through his teeth, the lie obvious even to himself.

“You have one more week,” she threatens, “Or else.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. Jimin knows his mother well enough to know whatever she has planned is awful.

As soon as she leaves, the god has an anger fit, trashing the small rented room he moved into just three weeks ago. He has to see her - he has to go be with YN. She’s the only thing that can calm him down enough for him to make a gameplan.

But as Jimin hurriedly makes his way to her house, he stops when he sees someone - an unfamiliar man - sitting on one of the dorm porch swings and chatting with her. The stranger looks up briefly, catching eyes with Jimin.

“Apollo,” Jimin curses, vision turning red from how pissed off he is.

Before YN can even blink, Jimin has Apollo by the throat, ignoring YN’s panicked cries.

“Stay away from her,” Jimin warms, nails digging into the other god’s skin, “You run and tell my mother to keep her nose out of my business. I’m done doing her dirty work for her.”

He tosses Apollo to the ground, unaware that he’s partially revealed his true form to the terrified young woman behind him. Apollo flashes away, clutching his own throat, fear in his eyes.

When Jimin finally turns towards YN, she’s petrified, a scream caught in her throat.

What’s going on? What had just happened?

“Oh, baby, no, don’t be worried,” Jimin coos, taking YN into his arms.

He doesn’t care that she’s as stiff as a board, immobilized by fear.

“The bad people are gone now. It’s just us, okay. You don’t have to be worried.”

His overly calm tone causes YN to snap out of her reverie, trying to pull away from the man she thought was a friend - the man she thought was human.

“I’m in love with you, YN,” he says, ignoring her attempts to flee and crushing her to his chest like a small child, “I didn’t think I could fall in love, but here I am. I think about you every waking moment, desperate to be around you, desperate to touch you. You feel it too, don’t you, YN?” Jimin says, a crazed look glossing his eyes.

Tears well up in YN’s eyes as she looks at him and realizes what danger she’s in.

“I know you do,” Jimin says, falsely taking her silence for agreement, “Kiss me.”

It’s a command, one she’s much too afraid to ignore. Trembling, Yn shakily presses her lips to his, unaware of the visions she’s just spawned in his head.

All at once, his memories come back to him, hitting the god-like a pile of bricks. He pulls back from her only briefly to wipe her tears away before recapturing her lips in a deeper kiss, never wanting to be parted from her again.

Psyche. His Psyche. The one he’d fallen in love with all those millennia ago, only to be ripped apart when his own mother killed her and their unborn child. No wonder she felt so familiar, so comforting. YN is his soulmate, no one else’s.

He wipes away every one of her continuously falling tears, moving to kiss her forehead.

“Don’t worry, darling. We’re going to be together for the rest of eternity . . . right after I kill my mother.”

#yandere #yandere bts #yandere x reader #yandere jimin #jimin x reader #bts angst #soft yandere

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sabraeal · 4 years

Text

The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 9

It was a mistake, you realize, to ever think of the prince’s aide as still.

Anyone might look at him now and remark upon the languid ease with which he lounges, his long limbs stretching across the cab in a way that conveys a cavalier relationship with physical space while still not encroaching upon your own. A usual attitude for him to adopt, his neck craned in a way that makes your own ache to peek through the narrow gap between glass and shade.

All is as it should be, you would think, but--

He does not move, not a single muscle, save to breathe. There is no subtle dart of his eyes, no restless twitch of his finger, no mindless hum to disrupt your thoughts. He is utterly motionless; a statue molded out of bronze in the shape of the shadow you know.

Of all the mysteries that spin in your orbit, it is this one that your mind latches to, frowning as the carriage rattles down the lane. He had been fine enough in the bawd house-- friendly, even. Soft way you thought he saved for that young woman of his.

He hasn’t managed to look at you once since you left.

“Ah.” Obi startles, just slightly, gaze darting to your before scurrying away. It’s more than he’s managed the last quarter of an hour. “My lady. You seem...quite thoughtful.”

This is not your most pressing business, but it is the problem most easy to fix; a prince’s aide is a much simpler puzzle than a king. Especially this one.

“I am,” you agree, settling back against the cushion. “I mislike how little I understand of all this.”

His brows lift. “You mean with the bawd houses, my lady?”

“Yes. No. Both.” Your fist clenches in the crape of your skirt. “His Majesty does nothing without a reason.”

Obi’s mouth curls, amused. “No, my lady. His Majesty does nothing without at least three reasons.”

The laugh that rasps from you is not a pretty thing, as your governess taught you. You’ve fallen far from fashion, but there is no need to stand on propriety with the man you pay to take you to whores. “That is true enough. But that is also what bothers me. If the king does nothing without achieving quorum, then what possible reason does he have to ask me to look into all this?”

Your aide does not rush to answer; he merely settles across from you, face thoughtful, and listens.

“Perhaps he means to extract a favor,” you posit, “after all, there is not a single man on that council who wants me there. Not if I’m digging in all the pockets they leave their coin in.”

“Blackmail.” His shoulders twitch, casual. “Maybe he wants to know who’s spending dill on the side, and thinks all your digging will dredge it up for him.”

“Ha.” You shake your head. “As if I could do a better job than the spies His Majesty already employs. You know as well as I that he asks no question he does not already know the answer to.”

Obi’s mouth hooks into a troublesome smirk. “Maybe His Majesty has a soft spot for outcasts.”

You remember too late that he can not see your dubious glance, not with the cascade of tulle that obscures you, but your silence seems to convey what your face cannot.

“Come on, my lady.” His teeth flash in the shadows. “Didn’t he take a poor widow under his wing?”

You cluck your tongue, derisive. “Izana Wisteria may be a fair king-- fairer than any of his line thus far-- but he is not a soft one. Even considering the poor widow he’s deigned to take notice of.”

He raises a brow. “Should Arleon be concerned about his future plans? Since His Majesty never does something without reason, of course.”

A younger woman might flatter herself with the thought, but you laugh, low and bitter. “The king of Clarines could do far better than to marry a count’s widow, even if Haki Arleon wasn’t the greatest beauty of our age. You are clever, Sir Obi, but you will not convince me that His Majesty could be swayed by something so paltry as sentiment.” You wave your hand. “I’m far too old to be queen anyway.”

His expression crumples into confusion. “Too old? My lady, that’s--” he shakes his head-- “any man could get an heir on you, if he could find his cock to do--.”

His teeth snap shut. “Ah, I mean...never mind, my lady.”

Between the dim of the carriage and the shade of your veil, it is impossible to tell his color, but you would bet your allowance that it was a far pinker shade than it was previously.

You shake yourself. There’s no allowance for you, not anymore, not when all the accounts are in your name. “Are you offering to try, Sir Obi?”

His eyes pulse wide. “Ah, no, that wasn’t-- I didn’t mean--”

“Of course not.” You smirk behind the safety of your veil. “Your lady wouldn’t like that now would she?”

“Haah.” He slouches in his seat like a dropped accordion. “I wonder...”

He may wonder, but you-- you know what you saw in that garden. His body curved toward hers and hers had matched, gaze just as bright and attentive as his own. All they needed was one good push and they’d both fall over this precipice-- and maybe into a bed.

Not that that’s any of your business, oh no.

“Well.” He bolts upright, like his puppeteer jerked his strings. “If he’s not soft for widows and whores, where does that leave us, my lady?”

You frown, peering out the sliver of window behind your shade, watching the cobbles pass. “Taxes.”

“Taxes?” You don’t blame him for sounding so dubious. After all, what windfall could be wrung from whores?

You are a novice in deciphering the delicate weaving of Clarines’ laws, but what little you know points to none. At least, not in helping them; Toshikazu’s laws would reap far more harvest than properly taxing the men who used them.

...Or would they? “I need to know more.”

He blinks. “About the madam?”

“Her, yes.” You stretch your fingers over the window’s sill and wonder how different the world will be when you no longer experience it through a film of lace. “And the girls, and their work. I ask a question to one girl, and when I pose it to another, she refutes the last entirely. I can’t get anything done this way.”

His mouth twitches. “Not even with all your notes?”

“No.” You form the word carefully, so he is fully aware you know his game. “The notes can only show me the gaps, not fill them. I need all the girls together, having the conversation between themselves. But the madam...”

Obi laughs, scrubbing at his neck. “Yeah, she won’t like that one bit. Even getting two to a room gets me the hairy eyeball. Good thing you pay such good money, my lady.”

Your teeth clamp down in a grimace, cheeks flaring beneath lace. Yes, you had known what this might look like, but to hear him put it so baldly--

Not to admit that Arluleon has ever possessed a modicum of a point, but you can see where some of his dire warnings about your reputation may be born. Not that it was any of his business.

“I need to get her out of the house, just for a night.” Your elbow balances on the pane, cradling your chin. “I don’t know how to do it. Or rather,” you admit, chagrined, “I do, but I lack the means.”

He tilts his head, a curious tomcat. “The means?”

“Surely you know she only services the most elite clientele.” When your finger taps against your veil, you feel nothing but the phantom pressure of it. “Or at least she would, if they were not busy with younger girls.”

“And a countess doesn’t make the mark?”

“A countess of a country seat? Never.” You sigh, veil fluttering. “Even if she would consent to service a widow of little consequence, I would need to be with the women.”

“Couldn’t you keep her waiting in your parlor?” he asks, needlessly amused. “Lords do that all the time.”

“Mayu would up and quit my service.” She’s a good girl, and an obedient one, but that would be a shade too far even for a saint. “Could you imagine her keeping that woman at bay for an evening? There would be arsenic in my morning tea, and I wouldn’t even blame her.”

“Ask Master.”

“To keep her in my parlor?”

“To request her company.” His grin shines white in the dim. “I’m sure he would be happy to help.”

You may be a country countess, but you haven’t rolled off any hay wagons. “The prince of Clarines would be quite a flashy lure, but I doubt His Highness would appreciate the madam’s services.”

His mouth tilts, sly. “I wonder...”

“I hardly matters anyway,” you decide, disappointed, “I could remove the madam, but her favorite still remains.”

Obi’s mouth purses into a thoughtful pout. “You think she’s a tattler?”

“So the other girls say.” You peep through the curtain, mind as bustling as the market outside. “She is young, pretty, and entirely the madam’s creature in their opinion. I haven’t yet spoken to her. Sumire.”

“Ah.” His mouth pulls bitterly wide. “Yes. She’s a hard flower to pluck. Your money hasn’t been good enough for it, at least.”

You nod, letting the curtain drop. “I rather doubt my name would get us much of anywhere.”

“She’s meant for finer hands than yours,” Obi agrees. “One of the boys said the madam wouldn’t be happy with anyone who didn’t have His in his title.”

“The girls said she used to be a lord’s mistress,” you tell him absently. “With her so young and so popular, I supposed she would hope lightning would strike twice, only with better prospects.”

He huffs out a laugh. “And why settle for anything less than a crown?”

“A crown,” you murmur, “or someone close to it. Obi--” his eyes widen as you turn, already braced for what is to come-- “why not put it under your own name?”

His jaw goes slack, eyes as wide and bright as coin. “M-me? My lady, I’m...I’m no one.”

“You’re the aide of a prince.” You gesture to the tags that dangle over his uniform. “A man within the royal circle. A catch, by any account.”

He shifts on his bench, shoulders hiked about his ears. “Just a messenger.”

“Sir Obi--”

“No sir, either,” he tells you. “Just Obi.”

You stare. “Surely not. How long have you been in service?”

“Ah...” He grips his shoulder, fingers digging into the top of its blade. “A year and some.”

“Ah, well.” You nod. “It’s only a matter of time. Another year or two and you’ll be a sir, at least.”

He laughs. “I don’t think so, my lady. You don’t give titles to guttersnipe.”

You blink. “Why on earth not? Zakura Shidnote is a baron! The man used to be a bandit.”

Obi chokes. “What?”

“He used to work for the old Count Sui. After he’d been replaced of course.” You’d only met the man once, but even as a child, you’d understood that the man was grossly incompetent. “Nearly killed His Highness, if rumors can be believed.”

It had been all anyone could talk about when you made your debut-- Zakura Shidnote, given a title, as if shoving mulch over manure could keep it all from stinking-- and now, a decade later, there are those who cannot ever recall him being anything different.

“In any case,” you press, not willing to cede the ground you’ve won with your volley, “even without a ‘sir,’ your position within the court would be more than enough to merit an audience.”

He hums, unconvinced.

“Your elevation is not an if but a when.” You have no children, not anymore, but you fold your hands over your lap as you did when you scolded Atoshi. “You would be an investment quite certain to mature.”

“I wonder,” he says in the precise way that means he doesn’t. You are half tempted to grab him by the shoulder, to tell him just how little you do not, but his mouth quirks, eyes lighting as he adds, “But Sir certainly is.”

Your brow furrows. “Sir?”

He waves you off. “Don’t you worry, my lady. I know just the way to get you in to see her.”

#haruka x reader #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #and yet another chapter without haruka #he was supposed to be but i'm moving the scene #until a more appropriate time #but enjoy a WHOLE BUNCH OF OBI #and next time #some very uncomfortable mitsuhide

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renaroo · 4 years

Text

Some Times (Time and Time Again) (6/8)

Disclaimer: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon shaken not stirred, Heavy canon references to Booster Gold (2009-2011) and Blue Beetle (2016-2018) Pairings: Boostle Rating: T Synopsis: Booster Gold and the rest of the Time Masters are still straightening up things in the wake of the most recent universal Rebirth. But Rip Hunter is still missing in the aftermath, leaving Booster in charge with Skeets, Michelle, and Rani. But there’s a distraction for Booster, one he can’t keep himself from ignoring.

Ted Kord, miraculously, is still alive. And that makes everything more complicated than Michael could have ever imagined.

A/N: My gosh we are so close to completing this thing! Just two chapters left, hard as it is to believe!

And of course a wonderful thanks to @shibascarf, @babybatbrat, @bibliofilariidae, @mcbangle, @secretlystephaniebrown, arouraleona, and boopinbabbit for your lovely feedback and support!

Michelle Carter

“God, I’m such an idiot sometimes!” Michelle hisses to herself, feet stomping down the corridor toward Rani’s room.

Her conversation with Ted Kord is still rattling around in her skull and she can’t tell what half of her she’d like to strangle more — the overly sharing side unable to keep a coherent secret or the crude and cryptic mistress of time she feels no right to even claiming.

Coming to a stop mid-stride, Michelle closes her eyes and lets her shoulders droop. She tilts her head back with a sigh. “No wonder Rip and Mikey trust me with next to nothing other than babysitting duty,” she groans. “Throw one little moment of emotional conflict and I utterly lose those salutatorian's brains.”

Opening her eyes, she looks toward Rani’s still distant room and feels a wave of conflict and shame that hasn’t pestered her in a while. But this is the feeling she should be used to by now — it’s just like their father used to always say when he bothered to be around.

“Been playing second best to nothing since the womb, huh, Michelle?” she mutters under her breath. “Could place second in a game of solitaire.”

She takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, steeling herself for a smiling face and positive disposition when a single voice knocks the wind out of her lungs yet again.

“What’s solitaire?” Rani’s tiny voice questions.

Michelle blinks in surprise just before Rani’s mousy haired head pops out from her room’s doorway.

Despite herself, despite everything, Michelle manages a softer and more genuine smile than the one she has been building up to and shakes her head slightly. “A really boring card game,” she answers easily. “Should have known better than to think you would be asleep.”

Skeets, the ever unhelpful bot, hovers out from Rani’s room and bops in the air. “It would have been an unlikely scenario even in the most forgiving of circumstances, Michelle! Which, unfortunately for us, the last twenty-four hours or so have not been.”

“Try the last twenty-nine years for some of us, Skeets,” Michelle jokes, closing the distance of the hallway and scooping Rani into her arms with a simple bow.

“That is much too small to be your correct chronal age, Michelle—“

“Skeets, shush,” Michelle snaps as she enters the bedroom. “Or I’ll give you to Batman to dissect. Again.”

“Three experiences too many, I will heed the warning,” Skeets banters back.

As they enter Rani’s room, Michelle slows her approach to Rani’s bed and adjusts her hold on the younger child. Her thoughts are nearly as heavy as Rani is getting as she lives and ages with them. It’s not going to be long before picking her up isn’t an option for Michelle or Michael.

“Are you going to make me go to bed?” Rani asks critically.

“Eventually,” Michelle admits, turning to sit on the edge of the bed while still keeping her grip on Rani. The girl sits easily in her lap and leans away, giving enough space for them to look into each other’s eyes. “We need to have a talk about everything that’s happened first.”

Rani’s cheeks grow slightly pale and she squirms uncomfortably. “Oh,” she says. “I think I’d rather sleep.”

“Well, that’s tough, kiddo, probably should have put yourself to bed before I got over here then,” Michelle jokes, poking at Rani’s stomach playfully.

In response, Rani turns and twists, but the enthusiasm is slow and dull compared to Rani’s usual behavior.

It’s one of many signs Michelle, Michael, and Rip have learned to pay careful attention to with Rani. She is a sensitive little girl, and her traumas are numerous. When she’s not bopping around she’s almost assuredly in some state of regressive isolation or pure shock.

Watching the man she loves as a father get beaten to a pulp by an evil man they have encountered before is, at the very least, a trigger. Michelle can be certain of at least that much.

“Rani, listen to me,” Michelle says, firmly but without any heat to it. It’s enough to draw Rani’s wide eyes to her. “We love you, and we want the best for you. You know that, right?”

After a moment of clear confusion, Rani manages a small nod.

“Good, because we do,” Michelle reinforces. “And we know you love Rip and want to find him. We do too! But you are a very little girl and this is a very dangerous multiverse we live in. You absolutely cannot, under no circumstances, leave Time Lab without either Mikey, myself, or Rip.”

“I had Skeets,” Rani says quickly.

On instinct, Michelle turns her head to acknowledge Skeets’ floating presence. She immediately turns her eyes back on Rani but it’s a moment too late as Skeets already feels acknowledged.

“Young Rani does have quite an argument on that account,” Skeets says supportively.

“Yes, Skeets, you did a great job,” Michelle says with a roll of her eyes that threatens to continue right out of her sockets. “What were you even doing allowing any of this, Skeets? Aren’t you programmed with safety protocols and whatnot?”

“Yes I am, Michelle, however, there are no proper babysitting protocols. And while I advised against rash action, it was best to make do with the situation at hand,” Skeets returns promptly. “Might I point out, this is not far off from my calculations when dealing with your brother.”

There isn’t much she can give to deny that fairly abundant fact so Michelle releases a groan instead. “Why can’t anything just be simple?”

Rani squirms and meets Michelle’s gaze. “Please don’t be mad at Skeets, Michelle,” Rani pleads. “It’s my fault. I just wanted to find Boppy, and he did leave me a message.”

Michelle feels her chest tighten and she squeezes her grip on Rani sadly. “We all want Rip back, Rani, believe me.”

“In further defense of both Rani and myself,” Skeets spoke up, hovering closer to eye level with Michelle, “following clear instructions left by Rip Hunter is often an important and practical step for all of us here in the Time Lab. And those newly chalked directions were fairly direct considering the usual clues.”

Blinking, Michelle thinks it over.

“That’s… actually pretty true, Skeets,” Michelle remarks thoughtfully. “And it did lead to saving Ted… and getting a bunch of us almost killed, but definitely the saving Ted part.” She presses her lips together, still deep in contemplation. “But even then there wasn’t any sign of Rip, even when Michael was almost certainly in trouble. And that’s not like Rip at all. I can’t even count on my hands and toes how many times, when Mike’s taken too much, Rip has shown up and tipped the scales for him. It’s almost his signature at a certain point.”

Following the conversation, Rani draws her own brows together in concern. “Michelle, you don’t think Boppy wrote the message? But who did? I’m the only one who’s ever written on the board before… and Boppy made me switch to making my unicorns and butterflies on paper so I don’t do that anymore.”

Sighing, Michelle shifts Rani’s weight to her other knee. “I’ll be honest, honey, I’m not sure yet what exactly I think about anything.”

Rani’s bottom lip puckers out as she studies Michelle carefully. “If we don’t know what’s going on, how do we know I did the wrong thing?” she asks pointedly.

“No, no, missy, you’re not philosophizing out of this one,” Michelle stops her quickly. “This isn’t a matter of right or wrong at the moment, it’s a matter of keeping you and everyone else safe so that we can all be together again as a big, happy family. And if you’re flying around to random times and places without us, we can’t do that. Because I know for me and Mike, losing you is the absolute worst thing imaginable these days, and I’m not going to let it happen. Okay, girlie?”

While she ducks her head down to avoid Michelle’s gaze, a coy smile finds its way to Rani’s face. She knows when Michelle says these things that she’s speaking from the bottom of her heart. She has to know by now.

And if she does, considering the emotional mess Rani was when she first came into their lives, maybe that means they’re doing something right after all.

When Rani breaks the silence again, it’s with a deceptively simple question. “Is Ted Kord now in our family? Like Boppy?”

Thinking about it, Michelle takes a breath and then leans back. “I honestly don’t know what’s in store with those two, Rani, love,” she admits. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere any time soon. Either because Michael and he need to sort things out or because of the whole… assassination stuff. That makes it kind of difficult to picture this arrangement ending too fast.”

Before Rani can respond, there is a loud shout followed by laughter.

“Welp, that’s the nose, and no sounds of murder,” Michelle jokes. Rani looks at her questioningly so she rubs her shoulders. “What I mean is, things are definitely looking like we can be expecting to see more of the former Blue Beetle.”

“Okay,” Rani nods. “And if he’s family, then Boppy will be okay with him staying here, like me, so that’s good.”

Michelle has a hard time arguing with Rani’s peculiar logic on that accord.

That is until Michelle looks over and notices the little girl is still furrowed in thought, her eyes darting back and forth as if she’s reading something on her room’s wall. Then, looking at Michelle cautiously, Rani asks, “If he’s not family… how is Black Beetle able to always get in and out of Time Lab? Or write on the board, if it’s him?”

If Rani hadn’t always been so innocent and young, Michelle thinks the questions would have been laced with more accusations. It’s already enough to make Michelle’s heart seize.

They are, after all, very good questions.

Playing up to the role of an adult, Michelle looks toward Skeets instead. “Skeets… how is all of this stuff possible from Black Beetle?” she asks, more worry in her voice than she intends to let on.

For once, Skeets’ response is not immediate and overly explanatory. The droid hovers, a strangely ominous look to his screen in the wrong lighting.

“Apologies, Michelle,” Skeets says in a flat and altogether unapologetic tone. “Information about my scans and records for Rip Hunter and Black Beetle are blocked as of update two-two-seven-dash-eleven-dot-thirteen. Courtesy of Rip Hunter.”

“What?” Michelle asks, aghast.

“Why would Boppy do that?” Rani asks again, only now her pointed questions are accented by the shake of Time Lab’s very infrastructure itself.

The little girl in her lap screams and throws herself into a fit before Michelle can even blink. She can’t draw a single coherent thought before leaping to her feet, Rani in tow, and looking at Skeets.

“I am receiving an intruder alert!” Skeets says loudly, a red exclamation popping up on his screen.

“You useless, toaster!” Michelle sputters in frustration. “Tell me where this is coming from!”

“I believe it does not require much deductive reasoning,” Skeets answers, following Michelle through the door and out into the corridor, “to assume that the laboratory is the most likely option!”

She would die before admitting it out loud, but Michelle knows that Skeets is right. She turns on her heels and takes off to follow the continuing noises of clattering and shaking.

Their home is under attack, their family, everything they still have of their old world and time — and Michelle cannot be nearly as upset with that as she is with the haunting premises that Rani and Skeets have given her.

Black Beetle or not, the real attack is on the understanding Michelle has had of their everything in the last few congruent years. And as much as she wants Rip Hunter safely back with them, she needs a serious word with him about that alone.

#writing #dc fic #DC: Some Times (Time and Time Again)#Boostle #Michelle Carter #Booster Gold #Michael Jon Carter #Ted Kord #Blue Beetle #Rani #Skeets

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myriadimagines · 5 years

Text

Common Face

Game of Thrones One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Margaery Tyrell

Other Characters: Olenna Tyrell, Tommen Baratheon, Cersei Lannister

Warnings: –

Request: “One Shot for Margaery x reader. Reader is an assassin sent to Kings Landing by Olenna to spy on Cersei & is Margaery's secret lover, while she is married to Tommen. Cersei gets suspicious. (i requested this b4 but one shots were closed - hope you can do it) Thank you!” – anonymous

Word Count: 1,923

A/N: I ended up writing a lot more than I thought I could given how short this request is rip but anyway I hope it’s okay!!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

You sign your initial at the bottom of the letter, the ink bleeding through the thin parchment before you place you quill down. You blow a gentle breath over the paper, allowing the ink to dry before you fold it, reaching for the melting gold wax to your left before pouring it over the folds of your letter. Reaching under your coat, you pull out a small seal, securing the letter closed.

You pull the seal away, revealing the Tyrell sigil, the golden rose glistening at you under the dim candlelight. You will hide it in the gardens, as you have done countless times before, where Olenna’s spies will no doubt take the letter and deliver it to her. She expects weekly updates from you, after all — you are only in King’s Landing for one reason, that reason being to spy on Cersei Lannister.

And also, unbeknownst to all, to be closer to the love of your life, Margaery Tyrell.

There’s a knock at your door, and you immediately tense as you bury the letter under a stack of books on your small, creaking table. Reaching for a concealed dagger under your belt, you slowly advance towards the door before a familiar voice hums, “Are you going to keep me waiting, y/n?”

You sigh, relaxing, shaking your head as you tuck your dagger back into its sheath. You tug open the heavy door, revealing Margaery standing in the doorway, her beautiful smile illuminated by the small lantern she holds up to her face. She moves past you as you check the hallways, closing the door behind you and locking it for good measure. Margaery sets down the lamp, and your hand has barely left the door handle before she reaches for you, her hands sliding down your arms to intertwine her fingers with yours. You chuckle as she pulls you closer to her, and she trails kisses along your jawline as she mumbles against your skin, “I’ve missed you, my love.”

“And I’ve missed you.” you reach up, tilting her chin to face you before you press a kiss on her lips. Pulling away, you give her your best attempt at a stern look as you gently scold, “But you were foolish to come here. You, we, could’ve been caught.”

“Do give me more credit.” Margaery teases, and her soft laugh makes you smile. “If I have been careful enough to ward off suspicion for this long, what makes you think I would mess up now?”

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide your growing smile. “Yes, well, I suppose you have been rather good at keeping up the charade with your new husband.”

It’s subtle, your tone, but Margaery has spent most of her life knowing how to read the tiny cues, the small changes in voice and the subtle gestures that give a person away. Your lips curl ever so slightly, a tiny crinkle in your nose forming out of disgust, and you practically spit out the word as if it tastes rancid on your tongue. You trace your finger along the neckline of her dress, one of your favorites that you’ve seen her in so far, and Margaery reaches for your hand, bringing it up to her lips as she kisses your knuckles. A teasing smile flutters onto her face as she remarks, “He is rather sweet.”

You roll your eyes, and Margaery giggles before you spin her around, backing her up into the small bed that decorates the corner of you shabby room. Being located in a rather crowded square of King’s Landing meant accomodations were limited to fit everyone in.

But you could be in an even smaller room than this, you realize as you feverishly kiss her, her soft curls splayed out over your sheets, if it meant spending time with Margaery.

—

Every muscle in your body aches to see Margaery stroll through the gardens of King’s Landing, arms loosely looped together as Tommen bites back a smile at a remark Margaery whispers into his ear.

She’s good, you bitterly think, better than most people give her credit for. Had you not been together, you would’ve truly believed the newlywed couple were utterly in love. You know most people dismiss Margaery as a pretty face, something she uses to her advantage as you know as well as she that she can play the game of thrones just as well as everyone else in the dangerous game.

You busy yourself with the servants around you, who prepare tea and pastries for Tommen and Margaery as they make their rounds through the rose bushes and the decorated fountain before sitting down at the table. You pose as a guard, wearing the armor as the other guards peppered throughout the garden do, keeping a watchful eye on the young King and his new Queen. Despite trying to avoid eye contact with Margaery, your eyes connect for a brief moment, a split second which goes unnoticed by everyone around you before she looks away, placing a flirtatious hand on Tommen’s shoulder as she leans closer to tell him something.

“Make room for another.” Cersei’s cold tone startles you, and you turn to see her standing behind you. Despite having been in King’s Landing for weeks, spying on Cersei and her every move, this is the first time you have been this close to the Dowager Queen, and it takes you off guard. You blink at her momentarily, the servants around you scrambling before you quickly step aside, allowing her to sit. You can see Margaery quickly recover from her initial shock, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest as her eyes flicker to meet yours.

Your shared look is brief, but Cersei catches it. By the time she looks between the two of you, you have already broken eye contact, but you know she has already seen. Margaery quickly plasters on a smile, recognizing the damage done as she greets, “Mother! How nice of you to join us on this lovely day.”

Cersei flashes her a tense smile, but she doesn’t reply to Margaery as she instead looks to you. You remain stoic, despite knowing that Cersei is studying you, picking apart every feature as you know the longer you stay, the more Cersei is memorizing your face.

Everyone looks away as you hear the shattering of porcelain, all attention now on a young servant girl who has clumsily dropped some plates. You use this moment to your advantage, slipping away from Cersei’s turned back and disappearing back into the towers, your breaths shaky as you plan your next move. Knowing you need to stay away from the Red Keep for a while, long enough for Cersei to forget your encounter, you start navigating the hallways to the exit when a hand grabs yours. You defensively snatch your hand away, eyes widening in alarm as Margaery grabs your hand again, pulling you into a darkened corner behind a pillar.

“As much as it pains me to say this, you need to go back to Tommen.” you hiss, peering around the pillar to make sure you’re still alone. “We’ve made Cersei suspicious.”

Margaery wants to make an excuse, wants to dismiss your accusation as paranoia, that simple eye contact can’t give you away, but she knows better. She knows Cersei, knows how perceptive and cunning she is, and knows that it will take a lot to ease her out of her suspicion.

“y/n-” Margaery starts, but there is only so much she can say. Her hand lingers on yours before she pulls away, taking a step back before she adds, “I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing we can do now.” you reply, and Margaery’s face falls as she knows it will be a while before the two of you can see each other again. Waving your hand, you urge, “Go!”

You watch her turn, briskly walking back to the gardens, a brunette curl being the last thing you see of her before she disappears. You leave as hastily as Margaery does, leaving you unaware that just around the corner, Cersei is waiting for Margaery after having quietly followed her.

Cersei knew there was more to the flimsy reasoning Margaery provided, after all, before she had abruptly excused herself from tea with her and Tommen.

—

You tuck the coin in your pocket after selling some vegetables to a young mother, smiling as you wave at her smile child before the two walk off hand in hand. You pick up a basket of fruit, moving to place it down in front of your stand before you’re distracted by the loud commotion from the end of the street. Straining your neck to see above the crowds of people, your eyes widen as you see Cersei marching down the cobbled path, everyone quickly clearing a path as her guards march around her, fiercely protecting her from the terrified civilians in her path. You step backwards, moving to duck into the nearby alley behind the group of people in front of you, but they quickly disperse when Cersei stops in front of your cart.

Your grip around your basket tightens as Cersei takes a step closer to you, her piercing gaze scanning you up and down. Despite the dirt smudged on your face, the sweat glistening on your forehead under the tattered cap pulled over your eyebrows, Cersei takes her time studying your face as she did back in the gardens. A faint, calculating smile appears on her lips as she muses, “I could’ve sworn you looked familiar, as if I’ve seen you wandering the halls of the Red Keep itself.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you hope you sound more confident than you feel as you reply, “I could only dream of ever stepping foot in the Red Keep, my Queen. I suppose I just have a common face.”

Cersei narrows her eyes as you refuse to break eye contact, a silent challenge, yet she doesn’t interrogate you further, instead smiling at you ever so slightly as she raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

You hold your breath, watching as Cersei picks up the skirt of her dress as she turns around and departs, her guards loyally following behind her. It is not until she rounds the corner so you finally let out a shudder of air, dropping your basket before leaning against the wall, your head spinning. You close your eyes, attempting to compose yourself before you straighten, and you begin walking back to your chambers when a young man suddenly crashes into you. He scuttles away, not bothering to mumble an apology, and you frown before noticing the folded square of parchment she had strategically shoved into your hands. You glance around, seeing the Tyrell sigil in the wax seal, and you hurriedly rush down the street and back into your room, firmly closing the door behind you.

y/n.

Your name is curled in Olenna’s handwriting, and you step deeper into the room as you unfold the paper, reading the rest of her brief message.

Cersei continues to astound me with her monstrosity, and I suspect she is plotting something against my dear Margaery, if she has not already. You must be extra careful in these times, for if your allegiance to House Tyrell is exposed, the consequences will be dire.

Be sure your love affair with Margaery isn’t exposed, too. Yes, I have noticed.

O.T.

tags: @chinike / @gofandomsandotherstuff / @emmacata / @pascalisthepunkest ↳ want to be added to the tag list?

#got imagine #margaery tyrell imagine #got #got one shot #margaery tyrell #margaery tyrell one shot #reader x margaery tyrell #margaery tyrell x reader #imagine #imagines #reader insert #one shot #oneshot

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nadziejastar · 5 years

Note

They really do humanize Lea in the manga and books

They really do. I picked up a TON of additional info about Lea’s character and his original arc thanks to the novels. They are a goldmine of characterization. I developed a whole new level of appreciation for Lea after reading them. It’s why I am so mad about the way his relationship with Isa was handled in KH3. Isa was the foundation of his character arc. He was the main source of Axel’s emotional depth and complexity. He was the building block of his tragic backstory and inner pain.

For me, it was his relationship with Isa that took Axel from a cool and likable character…into a truly fascinating one. Axel’s relationship with Roxas and Xion was built off of his relationship with Isa. Axel’s attachment to Roxas and his sacrifice for Sora in KH2 became so much more compelling when I learned how Axel lost his childhood best friend. If you take Isa away, you destroy Lea’s character arc.

Lea: “Never Had a Friend Like Me”

Maybe she had been sent away somewhere on a long-term mission, like Axel at Castle Oblivion.

But…asking about Axel seemed to put Saïx in such a foul mood, Roxas couldn’t bring himself to inquire after Xion. Every day, he carried his slender ray of hope to the clock tower in Twilight Town, and every day he sat there alone.

I couldn’t help but notice a recurring theme in Axel and Saïx’s relationship. The concept of worrying. It came up over and over again. It was VERY important, especially in the novels. Saïx was always in a “foul” mood when he was asked about Axel.

“Then what about Nobodies? We don’t have hearts. Does some part of us remain?”

“As if. We’re not even supposed to ‘exist’ in the first place. What’s there to leave behind?”

“Then whoever it was at Castle Oblivion—”

“Gone,” Xigbar emphasized. “Without a trace.”

Roxas hung his head. “So…I’ll never see them again?”

“Nope.”

When word came in that the entire Castle Oblivion team was terminated, Roxas was extremely worried about Axel.

He felt his fists clench. So maybe I’ll never see Axel again…?

“You coming?”

“Oh…” When Roxas raised his head, Xigbar had already started walking. “Yeah.”

He moved to catch up, but before he could—the world around him blurred.

All the sounds of Agrabah fell silent. It felt like he was falling… And then darkness swallowed his mind.

He actually passed out after he heard this. It utterly terrified him to think he’d never see Axel again. And all this happened in Agrabah, which I think is important. It relates to what the Genie said in Days. Lea is basically the Genie. The best friend anyone could ever hope for. I’ll get to that.

Xemnas stared down at the boy. “So sleep has taken you yet again…”

If the words had reached Roxas in his dreams, the boy gave no indication.

Xemnas and Saïx stood over Roxas’ bedside after he passed out. Xemnas made a vague remark which we now know was associating Ven with Roxas. This connection to BBS is important, as I’ll get to later. Roxas has a dream of Xemnas touching him on the shoulder, and when I replayed the game recently the first thing that came to mind were the scenes where Terra touches Ven’s shoulder. And since Xemnas has Terra’s memories, I think this was significant.

“Better hurry, Ventus…or you’ll never see Terra again,” said a sudden voice.

Ven turned around. He should have been the only one here—but someone else was standing there. It was a youth about the same height as him, wearing a black bodysuit and a menacing featureless mask.

“What? Get real. I can see Terra anytime I want,” Ven snapped back at him.

The young man, Vanitas, leaned against the shelf and replied, “Like right now? He’s leaving you behind. And by the time you catch up…he’ll be a different person.” He sounded completely confident.

This was Ven’s worst fear. Never seeing Terra again. It’s why he set off on his journey to begin with.

“The three of us can never be torn apart, all right? I’ll always find a way.”

Ven felt Terra’s hand squeeze his shoulder. Aqua bent over and looked into his face with concern, then brushed his face with her fingertips.

They had it wrong. That wasn’t it.

Ven placed his hand on Aqua’s and gently lowered it, then brushed Terra’s off his shoulder.

His eyes bored into them.

“I’m asking you, as a friend…Just…put an end to me.”

It’s why he took Terra’s hand off of his shoulder and told his friends to put an end to him. Terra said he’d find a way and that they’d never be torn apart. But Ventus didn’t believe that was possible. So, he was willing to sacrifice himself to protect them. This idea connects heavily into Axel’s arc.

“I came to stop you from talking too much…by eliminating your existence, that is.” Axel smirked and took a step closer to him.

“No… Don’t do it…”

“We’re Nobodies. We have no one to be—we just are. But now you don’t have to be at all. No more existence, no more memories. You’re off the hook.”

Axel didn’t seem to be paying attention to Sora and the others. He only looked at Vexen.

While all of that was going on, Axel was at Castle Oblivion.

“No one to be?” What could that even mean…?

“Don’t… No, please don’t…! I don’t want to—”

“Bye, now.” Axel shot a bright light from his hand again. Vexen’s scream echoed through the strange landscape—and then he was gone, not a trace remaining.

“What are you— What are you people?!” Sora demanded.

“Hm. Not sure. I wonder about that myself.” With that, Axel stepped into thin air and vanished.

He eliminates Vexen and the novel delves into his emotional state a lot more.

Axel walked through the long corridors of the castle. Normally, he wouldn’t bother walking places like this. But he needed time to himself.

I don’t have a single friend in this place. All these people on my side—and his and the organization’s… But I don’t know if I can say that we’re really on the same side.

I’m alone here.

He’s nobody—no one at all—and yet he is somebody.

Shards of emotion, fragments of memory. So alike…but they’re completely different things.

Even if we can hold on to a few fragments of memory, we can’t have the smallest shard of emotion.

Nostalgia… And memory.

We are the ones who lost their hearts—the ones who are no one. Nobodies. Not light nor darkness—we live in the twilight.

Taking out Vexen was very personal for him. He has no one to be. He told Vexen that having no more memories means he’s off the hook. Memories are a burden to him. Being in Castle Oblivion, and meeting Sora has brought back a lot of memories, though. It’s important to note that in Days, Xion’s theme is actually called “Who Am I?” I think that’s because it’s not really just Xion’s theme. It’s the theme song of all three main characters. Roxas wanted to know who he was. It’s why he left. Well, Axel wanted to know who he was, as well. He used to be someone who picked up any stray puppy he saw. But who is he now? He really doesn’t know.

Axel stopped outside the crystal ball room and took a deep breath.

Why are we here? What are we doing?

No—why am I here?

Still asking himself that question, he opened the door.

He asks himself why he is there. He does this a lot in the novels. And it’s always about Saïx. He also frequently asks himself who he’s doing it all for. Axel had a strong need to feel like he was doing things for the sake of another. It was his memories of the past that caused him to change so much when he returned.

“Is that your shield? Won’t do you much good. I don’t mind eliminating her as well,” Axel told him, chakrams blazing. “Ready for real oblivion, Marluxia?”

It shouldn’t make any difference to him or to the Organization whether Naminé lived or not. He would destroy anyone in his way.

“Hmph… We’ll see about that,” said Marluxia. “Are you listening, Sora?”

And in fact, Sora came rushing in, ready for another battle.

“Oh?” Axel lowered his weapons.

“Axel says he’s willing to harm Naminé to get to me,” Marluxia shouted. “But you won’t let that happen, will you?!”

Naminé didn’t mean anything to Axel at this point. He was willing to destroy her if she got in his way.

“…Axel!” Clutching the Keyblade, Sora glared at him.

Still? Axel thought. Facing Sora like this reminded him of Roxas, which made him uneasy. The memory of a feeling welled up within, something that had never come over him when he confronted Marluxia or Larxene or Vexen.

But those connections were no more than memories of the past—Axel had never cared about anyone since becoming a Nobody.

What was happening? Why was Roxas so important to him? Why was Sora?

So long as he understood what the stakes were, he should have no reason to recoil from terminating someone. After all, he was a Nobody with no heart.

And yet…he didn’t want to do this.

But Axel remembered a feeling while he was facing Sora. I think it was because he saw Naminé as just a helpless girl at that point. Too afraid to stand up to the Organization, so she complied with their schemes. But Sora was fighting to protect the people he cared about.

“Oh, come on,” he said, feigning indifference. “You’re Marluxia’s puppet already?”

“You think so?” Sora retorted. “After I finish you, he’s next!”

“Heh… Look, Sora…” Axel stared hard at him.

None of that mattered; he couldn’t eliminate the kid at this point. He would just pretend to lose. Go out with a real bang.

“We’ve got more of a connection than you might think. I’d rather not fight you, but…I can’t let myself look bad here!”

Axel sprang into the air to attack.

Axel could see himself in Sora. He could identify with him in a way he couldn’t with Naminé, at least not yet. Lea had someone he wanted to fight for and protect, like Sora does. But Lea wanted to protect Isa. He’s the one he was doing it all for. Saïx is nothing like Isa now. It makes him question everything. But it makes him fascinated by Sora.

“You had me worried,” he admitted.

“Worried?” Axel laughed. “That’s a feat, considering you haven’t got a heart to feel with.”

Roxas had to laugh, too—a little bit.

He really was glad that Axel wasn’t gone. Now that they were both here, they could hang out at their usual spot, and…

“I’ll go get us some ice cream!” Roxas took off at a run.

Axel gets back on ~Day 71 Reunion~. The day after is ~Day 72 Change~. Everyone’s changed. Roxas is more upbeat, especially after befriending Xion. Axel changed after Castle Oblivion.

I wasn’t away for all that long, but it feels like ages, he thought.

“Then why’d you come here?” Roxas wondered.

Because before reporting at the castle, before seeing anybody else, I wanted to have ice cream here with you.

Because I wanted to see if you really are Sora’s Nobody.

Axel wasn’t sure which reason he had been focused on. But he hesitated to name either one aloud. “Guess I needed some time to sort out my feelings first.”

The main reason he changed is because his sleeping memories awakened. And it truly hit him just how much Saïx has changed. Roxas worried about Axel while he was away and this drives the point home even further.

“Hmm.” Saïx sniffed. “All I did was find a place to send everyone who was getting in the way.”

Maybe he was telling the truth. The other members were only obstacles to Saïx— No. To both of them.

Axel half-jokingly asked if Saïx intended to eliminate him. He genuinely wasn’t sure about his intentions.

And yet, Axel couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his response. “Well, nice to know where I stand.”

He said it with a grin, but the hint of a frown tugged at the scar between Saïx’s brows. Apparently, the joke wasn’t very funny. “You made it back in one piece, didn’t you?”

Were you worried I wouldn’t? Axel almost said, but he didn’t want to deal with putting him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage seemed to linger closest to the surface of Saïx’s memories.

All Axel wanted was to know if Saïx was worried about him. But asking would have put him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage come to mind when that subject is brought up. It made me wonder if Saïx had memories of Isa worrying about and trying to protect Lea, and that’s why it makes him so angry. Like he resents Axel. And I think that is exactly the case, which I will explain.

“They…they’ll find out they don’t need me…and they’ll turn me into a Dusk…”

Xion’s voice was shaking more noticeably now. Dealing with girls who were about to cry was way above his pay grade.

“C’mon, Axel, think of something!” Roxas insisted.

Why can’t you think of something? The retort nearly left Axel’s mouth, but he gulped it back down.

Next day is ~Day 74 Trio~. Axel is put on the spot to come up with a solution to Xion’s problem.

“Hey, friends get to lean on each other now and then,” said Axel. “Roxas gets it.” Affirming his words, Roxas turned to her with a warm smile.

“So…does that mean…you and I are friends, too, Axel?” Xion asked timidly.

Axel hesitated, staring into the sunset instead of at her. What do I say to that?

This is officially the day all three of them become friends. It was because Xion felt like she could lean on Axel for support.

This was the second time Ven had watched him go.

He left me again…

“When I really need you, Ven, I know you’ll be there.”

He repeated what Terra had said. It was natural to help a friend in need. Obviously, Ven would do what he could for Terra—but what was that business about “needing” him?

Roxas is reminding Axel about all of these things. Friendship, support. All things he’d forgotten. And I think it was all to prepare Ven to do the same for Terra. He also needed to be reminded that he could lean of his friends.

Ven watched Lea walk over to Isa.

“Friends, huh…” he muttered, then turned away from the other two.

He may not have been able to go with Terra and Aqua, but he could go after them.

He had to get moving.

Ven set off again.

After Terra leaves, Ven meets Lea and Isa. He looked up at the sky after they left. He thought it must be nice to actually know who your friends are. And I definitely think that scene was important. Because by the time Roxas meets Axel, it’s totally the opposite. Isa has become a different person, just like Ven feared Terra would become. He doesn’t know who his friends are.

“Anyway, matter of fact, carpet and me were on a well-deserved vacation. A little world tour, if you will. But then I got to worrying about how Al was doing…” A gloomy note crept into Genie’s outlandishly ebullient voice. “So we figured we’d pop back in to check on him.”

“Why were you worried? Is there something to worry about?”

The Genie pulled a white handkerchief out of nowhere and dabbed at his eyes. “Well, sure! It’s only natural to worry about your friends. I worried about how it’s going with Jasmine, how the city is doing…and once I get something in my head, I can’t get it back out. Tried everything—chainsaws, sledgehammers, tweezers…”

Next is ~Day 75 Inseparable~. When I first played Days I remember finding it weird how Aladdin didn’t wanna rely on magic to get rid of the sandstorms. Just use the damn magic! It’s not like it has any penalties! Quit being so stubborn and let him help you!

“Al said he wouldn’t rely on magic, right? I want to fix it for him, but you gotta respect your friend’s wishes.”

“Your friend’s… wishes…” So, even if you mean for something to be for your friend’s sake, their wishes are still more important?

Now I think that it was because Agrabah was supposed to tell us something important. Like the Beast’s Castle, Agrabah also was deliberately drawing parallels with Axel’s story. And it involved the idea of worrying about a friend, but respecting their wishes not to help them.

Xigbar: Another storm is brewing. These people will never be able to repair the city fast enough. Heh heh, glad I don’t live here.

Roxas: Plus they have to deal with all the Heartless.

Xigbar: Aha! You picked up on a juicy bit there, Roxas.

Roxas: Why?

Xigbar: The storm and the Heartless… It’s possible they’re not completely unrelated.

Roxas: You think there’s a connection?

Xigbar: All right, I think that’s all we’re getting for one day. Let’s RTC.

Aladdin didn’t want to ask for help because he didn’t want to burden Genie. His wish was for him to be free. And being free means that he shouldn’t have to solve his problems. Of course, this outlook is hinted to be misguided. The city is in dire condition thanks to the Heartless. Xigbar hints that the constant barrage of sandstorms is causing the Heartless problem. Aladdin’s refusal to ask for help is creating darkness, and attracting them.

After Roxas and Xion leave, Genie helps out anyway. In KH2, he helps out even more. It’s not a burden if your friend wants to help you. They’ll just worry even more if they can’t. Your problems ARE their problems. The two are inseparable. Aladdin was being too selfless, and Genie had to help him even though he said not to. That’s what Axel’s character is all about. And it’s what Terra and Ven’s relationship was all about, too.

“Genie sounded really worried about his friend–some guy named Al. But, I guess you can’t always jump in and do everything for your friends–even if you want to. And then he said that you have to respect your friend’s wishes.” Xion bit her ice cream, swinging her feet. Axel leaned his head to one side.

“Your friend’s wishes, huh…” It feels like I have heard that before, a long time ago, when I was human.

And stuff like this is why I love the novels so much. Axel says he feels like he’s heard that before.

Roxas peered at him curiously. “So then why did the Genie say he and Al were ‘inseparable’?”

“It’s not like they’re actually joined at the hip. What’s it mean?” Xion was staring at Axel, too, as if he had all the answers.

“Well, I think you can be inseparable, even if you’re apart,” said Axel.

Roxas and Xion shared a look. “…Even if you’re apart,” Roxas murmured.

They trailed off, and this time Axel finished his ice cream. So he started talking again. “It’s like, if you feel really close to each other. Like best friends.”

“Is that different?” Roxas still had questions. “What’s it like having a best friend?”

Stumped by that one, Axel turned to the sunset. Even if Nobodies could go around playacting friendship, Axel felt like pretending to be best friends was something else altogether. It just wasn’t in them. And he didn’t have a better answer.

He squinted in the blazing glow and finally said, “Couldn’t tell you. I haven’t got one.”

If best friends worry about each other, then Axel feels like he definitely doesn’t have one. Castle Oblivion made that clear. But he remembers what having a best friend was like, and feeling inseparable from them. It’s heavily implied that this whole concept related to Lea’s past with Isa. I think this was supposed to be a MAJOR theme in their relationship. Worrying about a friend, and wanting to jump in and do everything for their sake, but being told to respect their wishes. And it’s not referring to Axel and Saïx, but Lea and Isa. As humans.

Silence fell over the room. He paused in his munching to stare hard at Riku, then finally asked, “What is Sora to you?”

The question caught Riku off guard. He groped for words.

On the sofa opposite him, Naminé spoke up instead. “Sora and Riku are best friends.” Axel’s eyes crinkled as he remembered his own best friend—the only friend he’d ever had, in fact.

“If your best friend goes away, you’re sad, and if you get to be with them, you’re happy,” Naminé added. “Isn’t that how it is, Axel?”

“…That’s about the size of it.” Axel nodded and sat down on the remaining empty sofa, staring at the sea-salt ice cream he held.

“So you are capable of sincerity,” said Riku.

Axel only shrugged at the jab and finished his ice cream pop.

A similar conversation about best friends happens in the KH2 novels. The subject makes Axel extremely sad, just like it did before.

Riku had followed Sora to Disney Castle, and he was still there.

“He worries too much. Thinks he has to help Sora do everything…” Axel grimaced in irritation.

“But, Axel, aren’t you the one worrying about Riku and Sora?” Naminé giggled softly.

“Me, worry? You think I need to be worried about those two?” He stretched backward and rocked the chair back and forth, like a restless child. Naminé returned to her sketchbook.

And this idea of worrying is brought up yet again, in relation to best friends. It provides even more evidence that the story was going somewhere with this whole concept. Axel is irritated (though pleased) by the thought of Riku worrying too much about Sora. And he’s really worried about them himself, but denies it.

“Say, Naminé… Are you still going to try to meet Kairi?” Her head snapped up at the unexpected question. Across from her, Axel met her gaze, grave and earnest.

“I have to help her,” she said with a sad smile.

He scowled. “Is that really the best thing?”

“The best thing…?” Naminé set her crayons down on the table, her gaze dropping as she thought for a moment, and then she smiled at him again. “It’s the right thing.”

In response, Axel only leaned back and rocked in the chair again. She took up her crayons.

No one could know what was right or wrong.

The picture she was drawing depicted herself and Riku and Axel, too, smiling brightly.

Immediately afterwards, he asks Naminé about Kairi. Axel knows she wants to meet her, even if she disappears. He now cares about Naminé in the same way he does about Sora and Roxas. She’s worth caring about since she puts others ahead of herself. And Axel hates this idea. He can’t stand the thought of a friend sacrificing themself, no matter if it’s for a higher good.

I think Isa WAS worried about Lea. But. I think Isa was actually the one who told Lea to stop worrying about him, stop trying to jump in and do everything for his sake, and to respect his wishes. And it was because Isa was trying to protect him. I think Isa knew they were all going to be turned into Heartless and Nobodies that day in the lab. Lea wasn’t. Only Isa was a vessel. The other apprentices chose to participate in that experiment. Isa didn’t want Lea to get involved.

He knew Lea would do anything to save him, regardless of the consequences. So he told him to respect his wishes, and to stop worrying about him. Lea didn’t listen and came anyways. They all lost their hearts. And I think this is why Lea woke up next to the computer terminal. He was trying to save Isa. After Lea lost his heart, I think Isa felt the same as Roxas. The thought that he may never see Lea again traumatized him so much that he went to sleep. It was his worst fear happening right in front of him, and was exactly what he was trying to prevent. I think that’s why Roxas passed out in Agrabah, where all the talk of inseparable best friends, and respecting their wishes took place. It tied into Lea and Isa’s story well.

When they were turned into Nobodies, Isa was no longer there anymore. Another Xehanort with Isa’s memories was all that was left in his body. I think this was why Axel had such a complicated relationship with Saïx. How is he supposed to feel? He knew was that Isa was trying to protect him. Then after losing his heart, he was no longer the same person. He became cold and uncaring. He has no affection for Axel. He doesn’t like Saïx, but he still loves Isa. He only became that way because he wanted to protect him. They both wanted revenge. But I think Saïx resented Axel due to the effect Isa’s memories had on him. He only got into his situation by protecting him. By caring. Which to him, was a weakness. Whether he ever verbalized it or not, he blames Axel for his condition. Axel lost all of his faith in humanity due to this.

As he watched Ven go on his way, Isa commented to Lea in a frosty tone, “What is it with you and picking up stray puppies?”

Lea just shrugged. “I want everybody I meet to remember me. Inside people’s memories, I can live forever.”

“I know I won’t forget you. Believe me, I try all the time,” Isa replied with a bit of humor in his tone.

“See? I’m immortal!”

“You’re obnoxious.”

Lea and Isa looked up at the castle looming over this world. Lea’s mouth curled into a grin. Responding to his expression, Isa said, “You ready?”

“Well, I can tell you are.”

“Yeah.” Isa nodded at Lea’s question, and then the two of them set off.

I think this is what messed him up so badly. He was just trying to protect his friend, and then his entire world was taken away from him. Isa doesn’t even care about him anymore now. Isa represented Lea’s old self—his innocence and hope. Lea put others first, and was optimistic about life. Isa loved the person Lea used to be and they were inseparable. He said he’d never forget him, and tried to protect him. He lost his heart in the process.

When Isa changed, Lea lost his faith in everything he used to believe in. His innocence was completely destroyed. He became filled with hatred and despair. He no longer cared about hurting others. The total opposite of everything Lea was. This is why Isa was so important to Lea’s character arc. Lea needed to see that Isa never changed to truly restore his faith in humanity as a whole.

I think that’s exactly why Lea couldn’t summon his Keyblade until after he realized Isa was a vessel, and after Riku saved Sora from the Realm of Sleep. Because he finally understood that Isa had never really changed. He just got turned into a Xehanort, like Sora nearly did. Riku became a master by braving the darkness to save his friend. Lea thought he’d catch up in no time, then successfully summoned his Keyblade without an issue. His heart was finally strong enough to truly believe again. Like Aladdin, he wished for his friend’s freedom, and his heart awakened the Flame Liberator in response.

After sending off Xion and Roxas, Saïx spun around to face Axel behind him. “What are you playing at?”

“What do you mean? Just trying to help out a budding friendship.” Axel grinned, bright and innocent.

Roxas and Xion had to be literally inseparable for a while, and Axel did his best to protect their secret.

Atop the clock tower, Axel absently watched the sunset.

He let out a long sigh. Being sent to Agrabah alone was all well and good, except for the part when he’d been slammed into the ground.

Looking out for other people when I can’t even take care of myself—this isn’t like me at all.

A dark portal yawned open behind him. “Hey, Axel!”

“Whoa! Don’t scare me like that.”

On the day where Xion gets her Keybalde back, Axel thinks to himself how uncharacteristic it is for him to help others at his own expense like this. They show up to thank him, and it made him even more uncomfortable.

“Yeah. As long as we remember one another, we’ll never be apart. Got it memorized?”

I think if my theory is correct, it would adequately explain why Axel valued his memories of the past so much. He’s very cynical, but very sentimental at the same time.

Xion laughed. Roxas found it funny too, and he started to laugh.

Those words were meant to make them feel better, but… if I went into that, I’d look weak.

“Is it that funny?!” Axel asked almost unconsciously. Roxas and Xion stopped laughing for a moment, but when they looked at each other, they burst out laughing again.

Xion burst into giggles, and then, as if it was contagious, Roxas started laughing, too.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that funny!” Axel scolded.

They paused, looked at each other, and giggled again.

“I don’t know why I put up with this…”

“But, I mean…it just didn’t sound like you, Axel.” Xion could barely hold in laughter long enough to get the words out.

Just like on Day 75, he talks about never being apart. Inseparable. Saïx wishes for Axel to leave him alone, except if he has any info about the Chamber of Waking. He doesn’t want to be close. Axel respects his wish, although it kills him inside. When some of his genuine feelings come out, Roxas thinks it’s unlike him. Because he learned to stop showing his feelings a long time ago. It makes him weak. That’s what the tear marks mean, too.

A wish that they could always be together—was longing for the impossible. But at least they could always remember one another.

And yet…if that wasn’t to be, either, what could they do?

You can tell how cynical he is on this day. He only said that for their sake. But he really thinks that if they can’t be together…well, what can you do? That’s life. It’d be nice, sure. But it’s impossible. He’s not gonna get all broken up when things eventually change and they can’t be together every day. He’s not sentimental towards Roxas and Xion yet. That comes later. This was 100% about Isa.

“Xion!” Roxas came running to them and peered at her anxiously.

“It’s okay. She’s not hurt,” said Axel.

“But, Axel—”

Roxas was only going to fret more. Axel stood up with her in is arms. “Let’s just get back.”

He didn’t give Roxas a moment to argue before he set off.

They returned to the silent halls of the vast castle. Axel was carrying Xion with Roxas glued to his side. Her face was so pale it seemed translucent—not a comforting sight.

The scene from earlier with Roxas is paralleled later when Xion passes out. Roxas and Axel are very worried, and Saïx is quick to show how much he doesn’t care. Just like always.

“Did it break again? That didn’t take long.”

Only Saïx would make such a callous remark. Rage surged up in Roxas, and he spun around. “Don’t call her an ‘it’!”

He was on the verge of throwing a punch, but Axel stepped in between them, still holding the unconscious Xion. He didn’t look at Saïx, but he did have one thing to say.

“Keep your mouth shut.”

Roxas had never heard him speak so coldly to anyone before. Saïx made no reply.

This is the first time Axel reacts like this to Saïx. I think Axel was so mad because he remembered how much he was worried about Isa and wanted to protect him, in the past. Axel only became a Nobody by trying to save him. Hearing him speak so coldly while he is worried over another friend was like reliving that day, and having all of those feelings spit on. It hurt him very deeply. He’s nothing like Isa anymore.

“Are you worried about her, too, Axel?”

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Axel eyed him in mild surprise. “Of course I am.”

But his voice was still oddly low. Running into Saïx had brought out a different side of him—and that side was a little scary.

“This just doesn’t seem like you,” said Roxas.

“What do you mean?”

Roxas found he couldn’t quite put the answer into words. What can I say…? “You don’t like things to be complicated.”

That was the best he could do. It wasn’t quite right, either…but he didn’t know how to describe this.

This is just like the day Xion got her Keyblade ability back. Axel has successfully hidden from everyone how much he cares. Roxas truly thinks Axel worrying about them is uncharacteristic of him. Axel is taken aback by this.

As he was trying to find the words for another attempt, Axel spoke instead. “Look, Roxas… Why do you think the three of us meet up to have ice cream every day in the same spot?”

“Huh…?” Roxas couldn’t tell where this was going.

“It’s not like I have to. If you think about it, it’s just one more chore on the pile, right?” From that angle, it did seem like a chore. Except it wasn’t a chore—it was fun, having ice cream together after work. That was why they went to meet up. What made it so much fun, though?

“You wanna know?” Roxas quietly waited for the answer.

“It’s because you two are my best friends.”

Axel had said before that he didn’t have a best friend, Roxas remembered. But now it’s us…?

“Got it memorized?” A smile played at the corners of Axel’s mouth. “The three of us, we’re inseparable. You’re my best friends.”

Roxas felt a grin come to his face. “Yeah… I guess we are.”

It’s right after this that Axel tells them they’re best friends and inseparable. There’s definitely a connection between all these scenes. They’re standing over Xion’s bedside exactly like Xemnas and Saïx were before. Axel stands in Xemnas’ (Terra’s) place and Roxas stands in Saïx’s (Isa’s) place. Axel believes all of his genuine concern for Saïx has been thrown in his face at this point. He cares about Xion and Roxas, but it did feel to me like he was trying to cope with his pain by trying to replace Isa with them, at least in that moment, and albeit unconsciously.

The Organization wanted to have either Roxas or Xion eliminated. But what could he do about it? That was what Axel had to figure out.

Roxas grabbed his collar and shouted, “How could you do that to her?!”

“Do what?”

Axel’s stubborn calm took the wind from his sails, and Roxas went slack. His voice came out small and defeated. “You didn’t have to use force…”

Axel sighed theatrically and circled his shoulders. “Didn’t I?” Still gripping Axel’s collar, Roxas shook his head with the emphatic refusal of a little kid.

“No, you didn’t…” But he sounded uncertain as he said it, and his voice shrank even more. “We’re supposed to be best friends.”

Axel brushed Roxas’s hands from his collar. “This isn’t about friendship.”

Axel was trying to protect Roxas, but keeping the reasons from him. He was willing to deal with his anger if it meant he would remain unharmed.

Roxas raised his head. The glare in his blue eyes was sharp as a knife.

Axel had never seen that from him before. His chest twinged, just a bit. He let out another sigh. “Listen, if that’s all, I gotta go.”

Roxas wilted again, and something in his expression weakened Axel’s resolve slightly.

I just did what I thought was the best thing at the time. For Roxas, for Xion, for the Organization—and for Isa. But most of all for me.

He turned away from Roxas and made himself walk away.

He was trying to find a solution that could work for everyone. He was trying to do things for the sake of others, and trying to respect everyone’s wishes. But he admits that he’s doing it for himself, too. He’s happy if his friends are. Dealing with the fallout from Roxas was painful for him.

Leaning against the wall with folded arms was his once-upon-a-time best friend—Saïx—probably waiting for him. But Saïx was keeping his gaze fixed on an imaginary point below the floor.

“You’re sure things are better this way?” Axel wondered aloud.

Finally, Saïx looked up. “I never expected you to question it.”

Question it? Well, that was one way of referring to the buzzing doubt in his chest.

Saïx left his perch by the wall and came closer. “Which one is more dear to you? Roxas or the puppet?”

Axel looked away. “Dear” to him? What would he know about that as a Nobody?

And he was also dealing with fallout from Saïx as well.

“Or put it this way,” Saïx said, as if he’d heard himself. “Which one would you rather suffer the loss of? Some idiotic charade of friendship or Roxas himself?”

The answer to that was obvious. If it came down to Roxas or a puppet, Axel knew perfectly well which one he would save.

“Things are finally right again,” Saïx went on. “Of course, we’re better off this way.”

Axel had no retort for that. Maybe because he didn’t want to alienate Saïx anymore.

He doesn’t want to alienate him anymore, either. He was being pulled in so many different directions, and it was impossible for him to know what to do.

“Xemnas is exasperated from all the ‘fixing’ we’ve had to do. We have to set things right. There is too much on the line…Lea.”

Hearing his old name, Axel glanced up to see Saïx watching him intently. He remembered being human. Memories surged inside him, crowding the space in his chest. For Nobodies, memory had all the weight of a heart.

I remember. I won’t forget. But those sunsets with Roxas and Xion were part of his memory. Axel broke away again from Saïx’s gaze, looking down at nothing.

Saïx was just manipulating him, but Axel genuinely did want to do what was best for Isa, along with Roxas and Xion.

“Can’t you just let things run their course?” Saïx complained.

“What course? Whose plans am I ruining, exactly?” Axel retorted, still staring at the empty space where Roxas’s portal swirled into nothing.

“The Organization’s. I trust you.”

Axel let out a low chuckle. “Yeah? Because your heart tells you to?”

“Just the memory of it. But if you continue to interfere, I’ll have to overwrite that memory with everything I’ve learned as a Nobody.”

“…Should I take that as a threat?”

“More or less. Keep it in mind.” Finished with the conversation, Saïx walked away.

Axel didn’t move for a while.

I thought it was interesting that Saïx would say things like “keep that in mind” or “think about that”. It seemed intentionally similar to “got it memorized?”

He wanted to find a way to save both of them, to respect both of their feelings. He’d spent most of the night poring over the possibilities, but of course he hadn’t found the answer.

“You’ve meddled again,” said a voice behind him.

Axel stopped short. He hadn’t even noticed Saïx’s presence.

“Sorry, did you say something?” He turned with a slight smirk.

“We don’t need them both. Just one. And pretending won’t change it.”

We, who? Axel wanted to ask, but he held it in, along with a bitter laugh. He wasn’t sure if that “we” meant Organization XIII or just Saïx and himself.

The novel stresses again that he’s trying to find a solution that respects both of their feelings. None of the others know how hard he is working on their behalf, or how much he worries about them. He hides it all.

“Think about that.”

Oh, I am. And I’m sick of it. I’m even desperate enough to ask you if there’s another way.

The words nearly escaped him, but Saïx was already walking toward the Grey Area. The set of his shoulders told him plainly what the answer would be.

Axel realized how great the rift was between how he remembered their past and what he saw now.

Why am I even here? I don’t know anymore. What am I trying to do?

Eventually, Axel trailed after Saïx to the lobby.

Just like at Castle Oblivion, Axel questions why he’s there. Saïx acts so cold. Hes not the Isa he remembers. The person he worried over and the person whose sake he was doing it all for.

I promised Xion. I have to keep my word, don’t I?

What Xion really wants—and what Roxas wants, too—is for the three of us to stay together. But there’s nothing I can do now to make that happen. So if I can at least keep my promise to her…that’s what I’ll do.

Axel didn’t let any of it show as he waited for Roxas to continue.

“You’re not really gonna do what Xemnas says…are you?” Roxas asked, still staring at the floor.

A tiny sigh escaped Axel. “I have to. Or else I won’t be safe, either.”

That was the harsh truth. And if he was gone, too, who would keep Roxas safe?

“Well…can you at least try not to hurt her this time?” Roxas pleaded.

“That’s up to her.” Axel breathed an even bigger sigh.

Axel is doing everything for Roxas’ sake, but he doesn’t let any of it show. He’s sacrificing his own—and Roxas and Xion’s—wishes to fulfill his promise to Xion. He was willing to deal with Roxas being angry at him, in order to keep him safe. I think this is exactly what Isa did with Lea. He protected him, regardless of the effect it had on their friendship. He acted cold and kept his real feelings a secret. He’d rather have Lea think ill of him than have him get destroyed. So he told him to stop worrying about him and to stop trying to jump in and help him, which must have hurt Lea at the time. Axel has a hard time expressing his feelings because of the past trauma he went through.

“You knew all this time, and you didn’t tell me?!” Roxas cried.

Axel couldn’t bear to answer him. But even if this did end their friendship, he would still find a way to protect Roxas—he wanted to. After all, he’d promised Xion.

No matter what it does to Xion, I’ll take care of Roxas. Even if my way and her way don’t mix.

Axel turned his back on Roxas and walked away.

Axel is starting to feel like it’s more important to protect his friend than respecting the way Xion asked him to do it. He always tried to respect others’ wishes. He tried to stop letting people know how much he worried about them, since it was a sign of weakness.

She answered plainly. “I’m going back to where I belong. That’s all.”

“You know, I always thought that’d be for the best. But it still bugs me. Something about this is just wrong.”

“It’s the best thing for everyone,” said Xion.

Everyone? Everyone, who? For us? Or…for someone else?

“How do you know that?” Axel demanded. “Everyone thinks they’re right…”

“This is right,” Xion said firmly. “It’s better this way.”

Axel hated that argument. Nothing was better any which way. All it came down to was what you wanted to do and what you didn’t. He’d learned that lesson back when he had a heart.

He hates Xion’s rationale that she’s doing what’s best. He hates the way he’s been living, too. His heart desires to protect his friends, regardless of whether they would prefer to sacrifice themself for the greater good. There’s just something about that way of thinking that he inherently rejects. He learned that back when he had a heart.

“So it’s better for you to disappear?” he protested.

Because she would—they both knew it. No more Xion.

But she raised the Keyblade against him. “Please don’t hold back, Axel. Promise.”

“What’s your problem?!” Axel roared.

She thinks I’m gonna hold back? Now, after all that’s happened?

“You both think you can do whatever you want!” He summoned his flame-wreathed chakrams to his hands. “I’m sick of it. Go on, you just keep running. But I’ll always be there to bring you back!”

It was a plea, a cry, a bitter lament, and a vow.

No matter how many times you leave, I’ll bring you back. Every time. Both of you. For my sake and for yours.

Xion might well be more powerful than he remembered. But he wouldn’t lose. He was stronger.

He’s finally sick of it. He can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t care what Xion wants anymore. He cant stand letting his friend sacrifice herself. I think this concept was what Axel’s character arc was supposed to be ALL about. It’s a constantly recurring theme. It’s why I think Isa was intending to sacrifice himself, because he wanted to protect Lea. It fits perfectly with his Mystery Gear, too. Roxas and Xion’s relationship with him entirely revolved around this idea. They teach Axel to reconnect with how he used to feel. About Isa. He told Lea that he worries too much, and to respect his wishes to not do everything for him.

He’d been overthinking the do’s and don’ts so much that he lost sight of what he wanted. And he couldn’t gather the courage to follow Roxas. Was he afraid of rebelling against the Organization? No—it was just that he wanted things to stay the way they were, even more than Xion or Roxas did.

Axel didn’t care anymore about what the Organization needed, what Xion or Roxas wanted, or even what was supposed to be good for the worlds.

He had been using the Organization for his own ends from the start. The only thing that had changed in the meantime was who it was all for. Maybe Saïx would call that a betrayal. But his world had changed.

I wanted us to stay together. All I wanted was to hold on to our happiness as a trio in the Organization. But I told myself to grow up and stop wishing for the impossible. Well, I’m done with that. That’s not the answer I want.

“…Axel?” Once more, Xion dragged herself upright. And they clashed again…

The main takeaway that Axel got from Days is that he doesn’t care about respecting everyone else’s wishes any more if it means losing friends. Not Roxas, Xion, the Organization, or the worlds. He wants to listen to his heart. Even if Saïx calls that a betrayal. He isn’t doing it for his sake anymore. Saïx doesn’t care about him and he can’t change that. But I think all that insistence that Roxas was the only friend he’s ever had was STILL Axel trying to convince himself to grow up and stop wishing for the impossible.

Roxas: Hey, Axel. You haven’t forgotten?

Axel: Hm? What?

Roxas: You made us a promise.

Axel: I did?

Roxas: That you’d always be there…to bring us back.

Axel: Yeah…

Roxas: Got it memorized?

Axel: Best friends forever.

But his whole relationship with Roxas and Xion was to teach him to CHANGE that type of thinking. He learned how to listen to his heart and to not give up on his wish. And that wish is to always bring his friends back. During his dream of Roxas, the positioning is just like in Days, on the first day Axel took Roxas out for ice cream. He didn’t like the taste anymore. It’s too salty. He eats it for emotional reasons. To feel connected to his past. And I think that was the message that dream was intended to have. Axel was always clinging so hard to his memories of the past. Well, it’s time to make that a reality. Roxas is there to remind him of the promise he made. He’d always bring them back, even if they didn’t want to be.

Lea: What a drag. Could they not have been recompleted at all?

Ienzo: Well you see–

Lea: Ah! Forget it. You know what? I’ll bring ‘em back myself.

Ienzo: Huh? How, exactly?

Lea: Why do I always get stuck with the icky jobs?

And that’s why he used the exact same words in this scene that he did with Xion. He doesn’t want to stop caring or worrying. He prefers to do things for his friend’s sake, regardless of what they wish. Now that he’s recompleted, he expects Isa to be, too. And he wants to bring him back. I think this idea is what inspired the theme song “Don’t Think Twice”. Overthinking is the problem. Like Mickey says in KH3, protecting the things that matter is about caring so much about someone else, there’s no room for doubt.

Axel acted with purely selfless intentions, but hiding his true feelings had a terrible effect on his friendship with Roxas. Isa was being selfless, but his sacrifice had a horrible impact on Lea. Sacrificing yourself is not the right way to go. I think a better resolution for Axel and Roxas would be for him to learn just how much Axel cared about him. He was hiding things from him because he wanted to protect him. The same as Terra. He didn’t let Ven come with him because it was dangerous—not because he didn’t want him around. Ventus wanted to sacrifice himself for his friends. Lea would be totally against that. Both Lea and Ven would learn the necessary lessons from each other to use the power of waking on their friends.

#kh meta #kh theories #kh lea #kh axel #kh isa #kh isalea #kh leaisa #kh akusai #kingdom hearts

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onemilliongoldstars · 6 years

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a crown seldom enjoyed- chapter 11

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

11/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book One: Chapter 11

The sky is clear and blue above her, as Clarke makes her way through the mazes of small courtyards in the Winterfell grounds. The castle is surrounded by a labyrinth of enclosed spaces, in which warm springs sometimes bubble and the warm air is caught by the walls to keep the courtyards temperate, as if they are not open to the elements. In her many times wandering the castle, Clarke has found that the courtyards make for a pleasant place to read or draw, the warmth of the springs reminding her of the forgiving climate back in Highgarden. It is in search of one of these courtyards that she finds herself stumbling upon a small, private space, with straw and sawdust scattered across the stone paving and few windows looking down upon it. In this courtyard, the queen practices her swordplay alone.

Clarke has thought before that the queen’s sparring often looks far more elegant than she would expect, and once again her eyes are drawn to the lean curves of the woman’s body, barely hidden by her soft jerkin and hose. Her movement tells of strength and speed, her eyes steely with determination and Clarke imagines that on the battlefield she would be a force to behold.

So wrapped up in her training is the queen, that she doesn’t notice Clarke’s presence until the lady announces herself.

“Your majesty.”

Lexa startles, reeling around in surprise as her sword drops to her side. She almost stumbles upon her own feet, so surprised is she at the sight of visitors, and Clarke privately retracts her thoughts of elegance.

“Lady Clarke,” Lexa is so taken aback that Clarke is given the rare pleasure of seeing her utterly unmasked. Her eyes are wide, and Clarke hesitates over her words, momentarily stunned. Never before has she noticed just how green the woman’s eyes are, like the forests of the Wolfswood, and it steals the breath from her chest.

“I- you said you couldn’t dance.” Clarke manages, at last, and Lexa arches at eyebrow, looking her over with interest.

“No,” She corrects at last, “I said I didn’t dance.”

“Is there a difference?” Clarke challenges her, tearing her eyes away from the queen’s face to resume normal thought.

“Of course,” Lexa gives her a slight smile, clearly intrigued, “I find it better not to dance at those sorts of gatherings, but I could if the need arose. I was not utterly uneducated as a child.”

“I thought you said that you were taught swordplay rather than dancing?” Clarke takes a curious step closer, her eyes drawn to the shining blade in the woman’s hand.

“They are remarkably similar,” Lexa explains, with a wan smile. “Though far more deadly.”

“Clearly, you have not had to displeasure of dancing with the lords of Riverrun,” Clarke raises an eyebrow in her direction, and Lexa laughs freely, her eyes filled with mirth. “They are the least graceful creatures I have ever met.”

“Thank goodness you inherited the grace of the Tyrells, my lady,” Lexa’s words draw a smile to her lips and a flush to her cheeks.

“And who did you inherit your grace from, your majesty?”

“My grace with a sword was drilled into me by hours in the courtyard with Ser Indra and Lord Mormont,” Lexa admits, twisting the sword within her grasp so that the steel catches the light. “Not as enjoyable as your dance lessons, I suspect.”

Clarke bristles, just slightly, and tells her cooly. “I’m not so sure, my dance instructor was from Pentos and he had very little patience. I expect he could have broken the spirit of stronger women than you, your majesty.”

Lexa’s eyes widen in surprise at her words, and for a moment Clarke thinks she will take offence, but then the queen offers out her sword, “You think that swordplay is no real challenge, my lady?”

“I think it can be taught just as easily as dancing,” She answers, gingerly taking the sword into her hands. It is heavier than she expects, the silver wolf pommel cold beneath her touch, and her arm begins to ache only moments after accepting it into her grip, though she does not admit it to the expectant woman watching her. “Your blade is quite impressive.”

“Thank you,” Lexa is watching her with a keen interest in her eyes, “You said your father had a similar weapon? Did you ever hold it?”

She is surprised that the queen remembers, her stomach curling a little at the mention of her father, but she nods, a mischievous smile playing across her features as she remembers. “Only when I was not supposed to.”

Lexa laughs again, shaking her head so that her braids fall across her shoulders. “Did you have any training with weapons at all?”

Clarke’s lips press together, as she thinks of the poison still hidden in the slit in her mattress, but she shakes her head innocently. “A few archery lessons, but I showed no real aptitude and quickly lost interest.”

“That’s a shame, I think you would be rather lethal with some training,” Their eyes meet and something unspoken and hot flashes between them, catching Clarke’s breath in her throat and leaving her cheeks to heat as Lexa tears her gaze away and continues, her voice a notch hoarser. “Besides, everyone should know the basics of swordplay to defend themselves should the need arise.”

“I fear my lack of experience would scare off any potential tutor,” Clarke shakes her head, handling the weapon with ungainly hands.

“I would be happy to teach you a few things,” The offer seems to surprise them both, because when Clarke looks up, her eyes wide, she finds Lexa looking back at her with equal shock. “Though,” The queen stumbles over her words, “Of course- you need not-”

“No,” Clarke dares to interrupt her, though Lexa seems grateful for it, “Since the attack I… I have been worried. It might put my mind at ease to learn how to swing a sword.”

“Then… I would be happy to help.” Her smile is so kind that for a moment Clarke feels as if she is looking at someone utterly different. “Though you should perhaps start with a lighter blade.”

“Yes, I think you may be right,” Clarke admits, happy to hand the heavy longsword back to the queen when she holds out her hand. The queen crosses the courtyard to exchange it at the rack of weapons pressed against the wall, and Clarke takes the moment to look over her shoulder. To her relief, Octavia has taken her post outside the courtyard archway and has her back to them.

“Here,” Lexa’s voice startles her, bringing her attention back to the queen, who looks at her with eager interest. In her hands, she offers out a shorter, wooden training sword, the like of which Clarke has seen young pages practicing with, and Clarke smiles wryly. When she takes it from her, their hands brush softly.

“I suppose this is safer for everyone involved.”

“Not that I don’t trust you, but it’s easy to be injured training, as you’ve seen before.” Lexa grins, and holds up her own wooden sword. “There are several basic principles to swordplay,” She switches so seamlessly into the role of teacher that Clarke wonders whether she has taught her brother before, or some of the younger pages. “Timing and balance to name a few.”

“Doesn’t sound so different to dancing, so far.” Clarke teases, and Lexa actually rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Maybe not so far, but there are several things you have to learn before you can even cross blades with someone. For example, stretch out your sword please?” When Clarke does as instructed, she tuts, her eyes narrowing as she examines her form. “I… I’m sorry but your grip really isn’t very good.”

“I think I know how to hold something,” Clarke remarks, and Lexa’s eyes flash up to her in surprise, before the queen steps forward and with one deft stroke knocks the practice sword straight from her hands. It lands in the dirt at their feet with a clatter and Clarke splutters her outrage, looking to the queen for an explanation.

Lexa’s expression is not forgiving; instead, the queen arches an eyebrow, and asks. “Did you expect this to be easy, my lady?”

“No,” Clarke huffs, bending to collect her weapon. “I suppose you ought to show me how to hold it.”

“Curl your fingers further… that’s right, a little higher,” Lexa watches as she adjusts her grip, “No, your thumb needs to be stretched out.” She edges closer, and only catches her reaching hands at the last moment. Green eyes flicker up to meet hers, and Clarke barely realises how close Lexa is when she asks, “May I?”

Clarke can only nod mutely, and watch as warm, calloused fingers gently adjust her own. This close to her, she can see the smooth cut of Lexa’s jawline and curve of her neck, the arch of her nose and brush of her eyelashes against her cheek as she focuses on Clarke’s hands. The sight is enchanting, haunting, and for a moment she is no longer the queen who brought the south to its knees, but a beautiful girl, under the sunlight. Clarke wonders what would happen if they had met in a different world, if Lexa had been a visiting noble to Highgarden and she had shown her through the orange groves, and stolen away with her into the sunlit groves where wandering hands and lips could not be seen.

“There, that’s perfect.” Lexa’s words draw her so sharply from her reverie that she pulls in a sharp breath, her cheeks colouring when Lexa’s eyes find hers, gentle with concern. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” Clarke is ashamed of how breathless her voice is in Lexa’s company. “Yes, quite well your majesty.”

“I think… in these circumstances… you should call me Lexa.” The queen looks at her with eyes so open and soft that Clarke feels her heart constrict.

“Then you should call me Clarke.”

Lexa’s lips pull up into a smile so bright it could rival the evening stars, “Thank you, Clarke.”

---

As Spring settles across the north, the snow melts away and the roads clear enough to allow travel. In Highgarden Clarke rarely stayed in the same place for longer than a few weeks. It was easy to sail down to Oldtown, or ride to Kingslanding to see Wells and take in the excitement of the city, so her confinement in Winterfell grates upon her the longer she is kept within the cold grey walls of the castle. When the queen tells her that the Kingsroad to the Wall is passable now, she jumps at the chance to accompany her on her visit. It takes some preparation, though they expect to only be there for a day or so. It buoys her spirits, which have been low since the spring festival came to an end and the lords who had been filling it returned to their own lands.

A messenger scrambles into the courtyard the morning they are due to leave. He clambers past the waiting pages and soldiers, the horses and carts that accompany a trip with the queen, and rushes to the kitchens as if he's being chased by the old gods themselves. After some berating, he is able to hand over his charge to a serving boy, and collapse in front of the fire to beg scraps from the cook, as the boy delivers his message to Lady Clarke.

The southern lady turns, startled by the knock on the door. Her handmaiden tuts where she is gathering the last of her things, and Faith’s ears perk up from her place curled in front of the fire, but the door swings open at her call to show Octavia and a serving boy clutching a letter.

“A letter from the south, m’lady.” The boy holds it out for her, but keeps talking even as she takes the letter. The seal is a golden stag. “The messanger said he fell ill just over the border, apologises for the delay.”

“Are you sure he didn't just fall into a whore house?” Octavia mutters darkly and the boy flushes and fumbles for the right words.

“How long was the delay?” Clarke asks, as she tears into the letter.

“Several weeks, m’lady.” The boy flinches at the glower she settles him with, and is glad to escape when she waves her hand to dismiss him.

Octavia hesitates in the doorway, but Clarke is so focused on her letter that she barely realises the soldier is still there. It is written is scrawling, spiralling words, the letters spiked with panic and fear. There are places where the ink is stained and smudged, as if smeared by wine or an unsteady hand, and the writing veers from large, uneven letters to a tiny, cramped scrawl. Her eyes scan over the words, her stomach sinking as she reads, and a breath escapes her, so loud that Octavia says her name curiously.

“My lady?”

Clarke tears her gaze up, landing on Octavia and blinking as if she had forgotten the girl was there.

“Are you alright?” Octavia steps closer, her brows pulling together with concern. “What does it say?”

“Nothing,” Clarke answers, after a beat of silence, and strides across the room to toss the letter into the flames. “Only a letter from my mother. Could you check my trunk has been properly stowed?”

Octavia eyes her as if she doesn’t fully believe her, but when it seems that Clarke will not relent she nods, and turns to hurry from the room. Clarke’s feet feel frozen to the spot, her eyes drawn down to where the flames lick at the corners of the parchment, easing across her friend’s words. Wells’ letters have long been troubling, but this panicked spiral of words has left her feeling deeply unsettled and fearful. The prince writes of wrongs he has committed, and things which cannot be undone. He begs her forgiveness for burdening her with this, but she cannot decipher between the words what it is he has done, and the worry for her friend sends her hurrying to the trunk at the bottom of her bed to pull out parchment and a quill. In a letter so short she is almost ashamed to send it, she pleads that he be more direct and allow her to help him, but even as she seals it with a green wax rose, she knows it will not appease him. Her stomach curdles with her desire to travel to him and ensure his wellbeing, but instead she must be satisfied with thrusting the letter into the hands of a messenger when she makes her way down to the courtyard and instructing him to run all the way to Kingslanding.

“My lady, we are not quite ready to leave yet.” A knight who is part of their retinue tells her as she climbs into her carriage and she feels so suddenly trapped that she leans from the window and barks.

“Then you had better make haste, because I will be leaving now with or without you.”

---

The journey to The Wall takes several days, if they keep at a good speed. Their caravan is small enough, with only Lady Clarke’s carriage to slow them, and Lexa rides near the head of the procession, her black mount glad of the chance to stretch his legs. She runs a hand down his neck as they keep a steady pace onwards, and enjoys the sound of the hoofbeats around her and the cold breeze plucking its fingers at her hair and cloak. She cheeks are flushed, her nose stinging with the cold, but she is intensely glad to be on the road again. It has been some time since she last checked in on the Wall, and the much needed provisions she supplies will be received gratefully, she is sure.

At her side Anya rides, ever faithfully at her side, her white cloak billowed out across her horse’s rear like one of the knights of old. Lexa smiles privately at that thought; certainly, Anya would not appreciate being compared to one of those prancing princes. Titus, to her quiet relief, remains in Winterfell, with Aden there to act as regent in her stead. She had spoken to him at length before she left, and though she knows he is ready and capable, and surrounded by Gustus and Luna to help him, she worries about how he will fare on his own. Still, it is not enough to dour her jovial spirits, with the land stretching out around her, she already feels refreshed and lighter than she had in the castle. When the sun finally reached its highest point she calls for a stop to feed and water both her horses and men.

They slide from their horses, the less skilled riders amongst them wincing already and rubbing at their backs and buttocks. There is much todo, with the clanging of swords and shouts of men reaching Lexa as she guides her horse carefully back through the halted caravan, until she reaches the carriage that holds Lady Clarke. The vehicle itself is northern in design, made to withstand the cold temperatures and rough roads that will greet them the further north they travel, and beside its open door stands Octavia. The soldier leans inside, her face twisted with irritation as she argues with the woman inside and Lexa’s brows quirk. She pulls her mount to a halt and slips from the saddle, startling Octavia away from the carriage and handing her reigns off to a nearby horse boy.

“Octavia, is everything well?” She steps closer, until she is able to peer inside the carriage at Lady Clarke. The woman sits on the edge of one of the benches, her hands clasped in a fur muff and a thick cloak sitting heavily around her shoulders. “Lady Clarke?”

“All is well, your majesty,” Clarke rolls her eyes, standing awkwardly, half bent thanks to the low ceiling of the carriage. Lexa edges back and holds out a hand to assist her from the carriage, smiling at the touch of her hands. “Octavia was just trying to persuade me to ride for the rest of the day, and I told her I would rather not.”

“Really?” Lexa looks at her with interest, folding her hands behind her back to ease the ache of losing her touch. “You do not like riding?”

“She does!” Octavia protests, fiercely, and mutters her apology when both Clarke and Lexa shoot her a glance, though her chin stays stubbornly jutted out.

“I seem to remember you telling me that.” Lexa agrees, reluctantly, and Clarke simply shakes her head, arching an eyebrow.

“A lady doesn’t ride a horse where I come from, it isn’t the dignified way to travel.”

The words pull a slight laugh from between Lexa’s lips, and she offers her arm to placate the lady, “But much more fun. Should you consider changing your mind you would be welcome to ride beside me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, just barely, and Lexa’s smile only grows. “I won’t, but thank you, your majesty.”

---

They make better time than expected on their first day, and stay in a village on the shore of Long Lake, a frosty body of water running along the eastern edge of the Woolfswood. Clarke is glad to stop travelling for the day; the second half of their journey had led them through the thickly wooded Wolfswood, where she knows from hearsay that the guard who had helped in her attempted assassination was found and killed. The fir trees stretch high and block out most of the sunlight, leaving them to tread the Kingsroad by torchlight. When she peered out the small window of her carriage, she had seen only darkness and trees, illuminated by the flickering flames, and it had been enough to make her shiver and retreat back into her dark carriage. Emerging onto the shore of Longlake had been like waking after a long sleep, and when she looked out this time, she could see the vast expanse of silvery water, frozen where it clung to the stony beaches.

The village is in a cleared copse, land reclaimed from the forest and constantly fought for if the tree stumps that scattered the edge of the village are anything to go by. It consists of a few houses, the largest of which looks like a crude long hall. They are all built from the dark timbers of the Wolfswood, and beside the wide white sky and shining lake there is something striking about them. The villagers immediately agree to Lexa’s polite request for shelter, especially when she reveals what she is willing to give them in return, and most of the soldiers are given a place to lay a bedroll in the long hall, while Clarke and Lexa are given beds in two family homes.

At suppertime, Clarke steps into the long hall, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders to keep away to cold northern night, and finds a loud, bright, jovial scene awaiting her. The long hall is filled with both Lexa’s soldiers and the villagers themselves. In the middle of the room burns a large fire, and the smoke escapes from a chimney in the roof. Upon the fire roast two pigs, their sweet smell filling the hall, and bread and mead has already been handed out. Around the fire people crowd, soaking up the warmth, and children and dogs wander around the hall, including the direwolves that Lexa had brought with her. Lexa herself sits near enough to the fire, on a high backed chair, with Anya at one side and the leader of the village at the other. She seems to be in deep conversation with the villager, but when Clarke steps inside she glances up, her lips tilting into a smile when their eyes meet.

Lexa gestures, and Octavia helps her to pick her way through the eating men and women to join her. Anya, to her surprise, gives up her seat to Clarke’s use, and as she sinks down Clarke basks in the warmth from the fire blazing before her. Something warm butts at her legs, and she finds Faith beside her, panting excitedly.

“Hello, I haven’t seen you all day,” She tells the direwolf fondly, rubbing between her ears.

“They’ll have been hunting,” Lexa says from her other side, and Clarke turns to give her a smile. “Good evening, Clarke.”

“Good evening,” She settles back into her seat, “This is… interesting. I can say I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“It’s a good way of keeping up spirits in our journey,” Lexa gazes out over her celebrating men and women, “And Thornwood was kind enough to give us use of the long hall for the night.”

The man on the other side of Lexa gives them a slight smile. He is clearly cowed in the presence of the queen, despite Lexa’s gentle treatment of him, and Clarke tries to offer some reassurance by nodding.

“Thank you, it’s very generous.”

“Anything for my queen.” He tells her, quite seriously, and she knows it is true.

“I hope you don’t mind forgoing a table, just for tonight,” Lexa teases her, lightly, as a girl scurries up with pork sandwiched between two thick slices of bread.

Clarke takes it gingerly, frowning a little when the grease drips over her hands, but her stomach growls and she takes a bite. A moan escapes her, and she flushes, chewing the rich, succulent meat as Lexa turns away to give her a little dignity, though Clarke can still see the smile on her face.

Once she’s swallowed, Clarke manages to admit, “I think I can allow it, just for tonight.”

As the night eases onwards she settles into her seat, occupied by listening to Anya and Lexa talk and feeding Faith slithers of food every time Lexa’s attention wanes from them. Octavia disappears into the crowd to find her own food, and Clarke thinks she sees her talking with Ser Lincoln, of the Queensguard. A woman appears beside Thornwood, a cap covering her wild hair and an apron over her skirts, and behind him Clarke spots a small body, peering out from behind his mother’s skirts. Thornwood says something to her in a low voice, and the woman gestures at the queen and then down to the boy at her side. It’s enough to pull Lexa’s attention away from Anya, and Clarke watches with interest as Lexa gestures the woman forward.

“Your majesty,” Thornwood introduces them, “This is my wife Nessa, and my boy Matthew.”

Lexa’s expression clears to understanding and her eyes brighten, “Well met, Nessa, and you Matthew.”

“Well met, your majesty,” Nessa dips a clumsy curtsey, and the boy shifts further behind her, his hands clutching at her skirts. “Sorry to disturb you, only my boy… he wanted to meet you.”

“Of course,” Lexa’s smile softens, turns warm and friendly, “I’d love to meet him,” She does them the service of pretending the lad isn’t cowering behind his mother.

Nessa puts a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder and ushers him away from her. The boy’s eyes widen and he gaze flickers between his mother and father, wide with the betrayal, until they fasten onto the queen. Lexa doesn’t look very regal to Clarke in her comfortable riding clothes and dark cloak, only her direwolf pin and a few shining pins in her hair marking her out as anything more than a commoner, but the boy is utterly transfixed at the sight of her.

“Hello,” Lexa’s voice is gentle and friendly, as if she is tempting a flighty horse back to her side. “Your mother says you wanted to meet me. It’s very nice to meet you Matthew.”

He stares up at her, his mouth hanging open, and there is utter silence between them all for a few painful moments, before his mother speaks.

“He wanted to know about your wolves.”

Lexa’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and she tilts her head in interest, looking down at the boy. “My wolves? They’re with me now if you’d like to meet them?”

Matthew’s eyes widen in amazement and he nods so hard that Clarke thinks his head will fall cleanly from his shoulders. Lexa’s smile widens and she clicks her tongue until one of the wolves- dove grey, with whitened ears- paces closer. The wolf pauses before the boy, eyeing him thoughtfully, and though he trembles, Matthew plants his feet and stares up at it. The wolf is so big that it stands taller than him, and it tilts its head, for a moment an unnerving reflection of the queen herself, and observes him closely, its ears twitching. A beat of silence passes, and then the beast sits contentedly, its tail flicking around its legs.

“This is Patience,” Lexa says at last, reaching out to touch at the wolf’s ears. “She will not hurt you.”

As if envious of the attention, Faith appears at Clarke’s side again and settles her head upon pthe girl’s lap, closing her eyes blissfully when Clarke scratches between her ears. Before her, the boy takes a faltering step closer, and then extends his little hands until they brush experimentally against Patience’s coat. When the wolf does nothing but twitch her ears in response, he becomes braver, and closes the distance between them until he can pat at her nose and rub her neck, beaming.

“She likes you,” Lexa observes, a smile still playing at her lips, and the boy turns to look at her with delight.

The amazement must loosen his tongue, because he asks, excitedly. “Is it true you ride them into battle?”

His father’s mouth falls open, eyes widening with horror, but they are all disarmed when Lexa throws back her head and lets out a hearty chuckle.

“I’m afraid I ride a horse, but they come with me.” She tells him, kindly and the boy’s eyes shine.

“Is it true they can tear a man in half?”

“Only if you make them angry enough.” Lexa assures him, and his grin grows, eyes darting between the placid wolf he’s patting, and the queen.

Patience, apparently tiring of the boy’s attentions, pulls away with a growl in the back of her throat and looks up at Lexa expectantly. The queen acquiesces easily, and when she throws a chunk of pork to the ground, both Patience and Faith dive for it. They fight for a moment, growling and snarling, and Clarke reels back. Despite seeing Faith kill a man before her, the wolf is so calm around her that she often forgets that the two animals are innately wild in a way that trained dogs are not. Unlike her, Matthew’s grin only grows, and he turns back to Lexa to continue questioning her.

She is gentle with him in a way that Clarke has never seen her before, answering his questions with a balance between truth and excitement, and the boy watches her with stars in his eyes. Soon, their conversation attracts other little feet, and several more children creep closer, their eyes like the moon as they listen to the queen speak. It is kind of her to entertain them, Clarke thinks, but a small part of her can’t help but think that Lexa is clever to tell tales to the young ears that will one day grow up to be her people. Something warm settles low in her belly, and runs through her veins, more than the mead she has been drinking all night, and the next morning she opts to ride, rather than travel in her carriage.

The sight of Lexa’s smile when she appears next to her in the procession is enough to make the chafing and aching legs worth it.

---

They reach the Wall after two more days of travelling. It is visible from leagues away, a towering wall of ice and stone, the tallest structure in the north, gleaming blue in the sunlight. Privately, Lexa is pleased that the sky has brightened over their final afternoon on horseback, the sun shining brightly despite the blistering cold that settles beneath their bones. There is still snow on the ground this far north, and the sun reflects off the immense, icy wall until it is almost blinding. Stretching in every direction, the vast structure was created by the First Men to defend the Seven Kingdoms from the creatures and wildlings that lingered in the land beyond it. Lexa’s father had always told her that there was magic woven into the bones of the Wall, and now, with direwolves pacing around her, Lexa believes that it is true.

At her side, Lexa hears Clarke’s intake of breath when it first comes into view, and she has to press down her proud smile as they continue riding.

“I’ve never seen anything so…” Clarke murmurs, and Lexa turns to look at her. The girl cannot tear her eyes away from the side in front of her, “The Hightower in Oldtown maybe but this is…”

She trails off and Lexa lets her collect her thoughts, only the clanking of metal and the thud of hoofbeats to fill the silence, until eventually she says.

“I thought it would look different.”

“Really?” Lexa looks at her again, curiosity painted through her features, and enquires, “How so?”

“I pictured it dark and grey, frightening almost. From here it just seems beautiful.”

The words linger with Lexa as they approach the Wall. It is mid-afternoon when they arrive at Castle Black, the largest fortress on the Wall, the most heavily manned and the seat of the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, the group of men who guard the Wall from invaders. Lexa knows the Lord Commander well; after the War of North and South was won they had exchanged many letters about the upkeep of the Nights Watch. A particular point of contention between north and south, Lexa had pushed hard and made concessions to ensure the continued assistance in funding the Nights Watch from Thelonious Baratheon, and now the watch is better funded and armed than it has been in years, to Lexa’s relief. The stirrings of the direwolves had left her wondering, in the wake of her victory, whether the old magic was creeping back into the north. Tales of more wildling activity from beyond the Wall worried her, and with more people flooding into Winter Town every day, she hears stories of mages and spirits. With this playing on her mind, she sleeps easier knowing that those who protect them from what lies in the deep North are eating well and have sharp swords.

Castle Black is not a true castle, despite what its name suggests, instead it is a collection of towers and long houses, with a large training courtyard at its heart. The Wall stands at its North, towering so high that the top is covered by clouds. The only way up is a metal cage pulled up and down the wall by a pulley, unless one wants to climb the thousands of icy steps cut into its side. Lexa had sent word of their progress, and so the gates stand open, the Lord Commander at their centre to welcome them. Lord Commander Harris Arryn is a lithe, weathered man, with a shrewd gaze and a fair heart. Though originally from the south, Lexa had found him an easy man to talk with, and he often reassured her that he had given up his loyalty to his homeland when he had joined the Nights Watch. Smart and straight talking, Lexa privately thinks that much of the north has rubbed off on him in his many years as part of the Watch, and it is for this reason that she happily dismounts and strides forward to meet him in the gateway, nodding as he bows.

“Your majesty,” He greets her formally, just as she knows he would greet Thelonius Jaha is her stead. The Watch is sworn to stay out of the wars of men, and Arryn had kept that promise throughout the War of North and South, despite many of his men protesting. “A pleasure to have you back with us.”

“Only for a few days I’m afraid Lord Commander,” She gestures back to where Lady Clarke has slid from her own mount and is hesitating behind her, “May I introduce Lady Clarke of House Tyrell. Lady Clarke, this is Lord Commander Harris Arryn.”

“Lord Commander,” Clarke steps forward, and graciously accepts his bow, smiling prettily. “How nice to hear a familiar name.”

“My lady, you have your father’s eyes,” Lord Harris tells her, with an ease that surprises Lexa.

“You’re too kind,” Clarke flushes, her smile warming sincerely, “How nice to finally meet you.”

“We met when you were a babe,” the Lord Commander tells her, with certainty, “Before the last Winter, I spent some time in Kingslanding and met your father and mother.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were acquainted,” Lexa’s curious gaze turns to Clarke, “Or I would have brought you here sooner Lady Clarke.”

“Lord Marcus Arryn is a friend of my mother’s,” Lady Clarke explains, and the Lord Commander nods his support.

“Lady Abigail stayed with my brother Ivan when she was a girl. Lord Marcus is my nephew.”

“I see,” Lexa’s eyes find Clarke again, narrowing just slightly. Lord Jacob seems to be close friends with many of the high lords in Westeros, by all accounts he is a charming and friendly man so Lexa is sure he doesn’t struggle in that regard, but still she cannot help but think it is a sage path to take. She wonders whether his daughter inherited his wisdom.

“Let me welcome you inside, your majesty.” Lord Commander Harris steps back to allow them in, and Lexa nods her thanks. They enter on either side of the Lord Commander, and the members of the Watch gathered in the courtyard stare at them. Some bow, while others remain stiff and furious, anger written into the set of their faces. Anya’s presence at her back brings her some comfort, but Lexa’s hand still rests upon the pommel of her sword. Despite the slowly changing attitudes in the north, the Nights Watch is still made up of only men, all of whom are forbidden by their vows to marry or lie with another person again. Though Lexa has visited Castle Black before herself, she usually does so in sensible riding gear and heavy cloaks. Lady Clarke, on the other hand, wears a northern gown made from heavy, red material, a necklace settled between her collarbones and a jewelled net in her hair, catching the unruly golden curls. Lexa can feel the eyes of the men upon her, like hungry vultures, and her jaw clenches, her eyes narrowing as she sees men’s lips slide into smirks.

She is glad when they are shown into the King’s Tower to freshen up after their long ride, and are hidden from the prying eyes of the brothers of the Nights Watch.

---

Before the sun sinks below the skyline, Clarke steps out of the great metal cage that stretches up the Wall and onto the frozen wooden walkway which is embedded in the ice. Her legs tremble despite herself, from both the cold and her time spent suspended in the iron cage against the Wall, which had swayed whenever a particularly strong breeze came along. A hand wraps around her elbow, steadying her, and she finds Lexa’s eyes looking down at her, kind and ever so green. Her hand wraps around Lexa’s arm and they edge their way more steadily onto the Wall. The wind whips around them, tugging on their clothes, and Clarke is glad that she has her cloak, thick and heavy around her shoulders. They cross the wide walkway on the top of the Wall in silence. The men of the Nights Watch turn to look at them in curiosity, peering out from the warming hut in which a fire flickers. Pushed up against the edges of the walkway, where thick walls of snow and stone stand head high, are stationary catapults and barrels of stones to be thrown at the enemy. Wooden pillboxes and outlets stretch out into the air, to give a clear view of the land beyond, and it is to this that Lexa leads her.

The forests have been cleared away from the Wall, so that for about a league or two there is only icy snow, before it is taken over by fir trees thicker and larger than any Clarke has ever seen. If she had thought that the north was a wild wasteland, it is nothing compared to the scene that awaits her here. Beyond the Wall, the land seems to move differently. It twists, like a snake slithering from view, and refuses to be seen or understood. In the distance, she can see mountains rising from the forests, their peaks so high that they seem to reach into the clouds and call to the gods. There is a glimmer between the trees, a vast frozen lake perhaps, but when Clarke tries to peer more closely it disappears from view, and she is left wondering whether it existed at all. In the fading light the snow shines and glimmers, like diamonds, a pure, uninterrupted sheet. She almost feels as if she could jump from their outpost and land safely in the thick snowfall below.

There is something darker about the sight, however, a strange feeling that settles in her stomach and leaves her feeling as though she has missed something. The forests are dark and thick, so unlike the woodland glens of home that it is almost as if they were bird and beast. Memories come, unbidden, of the stories told around the fireside, of ice spiders and giants, white walkers and wildlings who would skin a man alive. The trees rustle, as if hearing her thoughts, and she takes a faltering step back.

“Clarke,” Lexa’s hand reaches out for her, concerned, and she pulls her gaze away from the view to find the woman before her. The sight of her is so utterly relieving, an anchor to the realm of the living and real, that Clarke reaches out to take her hand, squeezing it hard. It is warm and alive beneath hers and she steps in closer, shivering a little. “Are you well?” Lexa presses.

“Yes, yes I’m fine.” Her eyes flicker back to the view, and here, close to Lexa’s warm, solid form, it looks less frightening. “I just… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“There is something awe inspiring about it, I think.” Lexa muses, “It makes you feel so very small.”

“Yes, yes exactly,” Clarke breathes out, relieved to have her feelings voiced so clearly and reasonably, and her relief pulls her words from her. “I’ve never felt… powerless like this before.”

“It is strange,” Lexa looks down at her, and snowflakes cling to her dark hair like diamonds, her eyes shining in the setting sun. “Are you glad you saw it?”

“Yes,” She murmurs, her heart suddenly tight, “Yes, so glad. You’re right, the snow can be beautiful.”

---

#clexa #clexa gotau #clarke griffin #commander lexa #game of thrones

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welcomethefears · 6 years

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The Captain’s Bride - Steve Rogers x Reader - Chapter 1

Oh no, I made another fanfic. This one is based on the Princess Bride and stars Steve as Westly, with the reader as Buttercup. I hope all of you enjoy this, you can find the story here and here

Chapter 1 (This is it) || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8

Cassie sat in her room, playing Mario Kart as she coughed quietly to herself. Her brown hair was a tangled mess and she felt utterly miserable as if she was drowning in her own snot. She paused the game quickly, trying to clasp a tissue on her wooden bedside table. She sneezed harshly into it, blowing her nose afterward. Her head felt heavy, and she sighed, her nose and dry from her use of tissues. Maggie stood at the door to her daughter’s room, leaning on the frame with on hand on her hip. She shook her head as she watched the young girl, hating seeing her sick. Maggie walked in, sitting on the edge of Cassie’s bed. She laid a hand on the girl’s head, feeling the heat from it she frowned.

“Hi Honey…” She trailed off, watching her daughter carefully with soft eyes.

“Hi Mum,” She replied meekly, reaching for yet another tissue and blowing her nose. Maggie’s frown deepened, her eyes glazing with worry.

“You feeling any better than last night?” Maggie asked, stroking Cassie’s hair out of her face.

“A little bit I guess,” Cassie trailed off, coughing lightly. She reached for the Thomas the Tank Engine drink bottle on her bedside table and took a sip from it.

“Well, guess what?” Maggie asked, a small smile painting itself across her face.

“What?” Cassie asked, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Cassie had always loved surprises, and she could almost feel her sickness evaporate from her sinuses.

“Your dad is here,” Maggie smiled lightly as she saw Cassie’s face light up even more. Cassie threw her arms in the air, cheering the best she could in her condition.

“Yay! DAD’S HERE!” Cassie cheered, coughing from her outburst.

“He’ll be looking after you today while I’m at work,” Maggie informed the child, who nodded in response.

“Peanut!” A voice exclaimed before the figure even entered the room, causing Cassie to squeal in utter delight. Scott soon rushed into the room, Maggie standing from the bed and watching the two interact together. Scott ran to Cassie’s bed and embraced her in a hug, giving her cheek a sloppy kiss, drawing a giggle from the girl’s scratchy throat. Scott grinned down at his daughter, placing his backpack on the floor beside his daughter's bed.

“I had better get to work, thanks for doing this Scott,” Maggie announced, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead and leaving the room. The father and daughter waited until they heard the front door close and a car driving away, and two giggling in each other’s faces once they were sure Maggie was gone.

“So, what first? Eat all the ice-cream in the house? Watch some violent movies?” Scott teased, tickling his daughter's side. Cassie was practically screaming from joy until she pushed her father off to sneeze into a tissue again. Scott sat back on the bed, watching his daughter.

“Maybe nothing too crazy then,” He murmured, looking a little disappointed to not be participating in childish activities. Cassie blew her nose rather hard and groaned after she did so.

“How about you read me a story! I really like the ones you get for me,” Cassie suggested, Scott clicking his fingers as the words left her mouth.

“That reminds me, I have a present for you,” He smiled as he hastily unzipped his backpack, pulling out a parcel wrapped in gold paper, “Go on, open it.”

Cassie grinned toothily up at her father, tearing the paper apart. She slowed down however once she got a look at what was inside.

“A book, without pictures?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow at her father.

“Not just any book. This is the exact book my father read to me when I younger, and his old man read it to him. I grew up on this thing,” He replied, carefully taking the book from her hand and running his thumb over the cover.

“Today, I’m gonna read it to you,” Scott grinned as he said this, feeling proud of himself.

“Does it have any action in it?” Cassie questioned, thinking anything from her father’s childhood wouldn’t be interesting for her.

“Are you kidding me? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escape, true love, miracles. This book has the whole shebang!” He exclaimed, causing Cassie to giggle at his excitement.

“Doesn’t sound terrible. I’ll try and stay awake!” Cassie joked as her father scoffed.

“Thanks for the reassurance. Look to help make it better, we’ll use characters that I know, and that you probably know too. Alright, The Princess Bride, S. Morgan Stern, Chapter 1…” Scott trailed off as he begun the story.

~*~

“(Y/N) was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favourite past times were horse riding and tormenting the weak farm boy that worked there. His name was Steve, but she never gave him the privilege of being called by his first name. Isn’t that a wonderful beginning,” Scott questioned.

“Yeah, she seems really nice,” Cassie said sarcastically.

“Nothing gave (Y/N) as much pleasure as ordering Steve around,” Scott explained. You came running around the corner, your (H/L) (H/C) hair flying behind you as you found Steve. He was quite skinny, with a tuft of fair blonde hair covering his head. He had hardly any muscle about him, but he was the hardest worker on the farm, even more so than your father.

“Farmboy, varnish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning,” You instructed, leaning on the wooden pole near where he stood. He took in her form, a slight smile coming to his lips as he looked over you even though you were dressed in plain brown clothing. He marveled at how beautiful you were, even with peasant clothing on.

“As you wish,” He promised, already pulling the varnish from its spot. He sent you a small smile, causing you to scowl in return, throwing your head around and stalking off.

“‘As you wish’ was all he ever said to her,” Scott explained. You walked up to Steve, holding two empty water pails in your hands, huffing at the effort it took.

“Farm boy, fill these with water,” You paused, thinking your words over before you quietly added, “Please?” Steve walked up to you, carefully taking the water pails from your hand. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your (s/c) hand, and he heard you draw in a harsh breath. He blushed in response to this, taking the water pails away from you.

“As you wish,” He smiled, his eyes staring at you softly, causing your face to flush a deep red.

“That day, she was amazed to discover that when Steve was saying, ‘As you wish’ what he meant to say was ‘I love you’. And even more amazing, was the day she realized she truly loved him back,” Scott narrated.

You entered the kitchen of your house, spotting Steve pouring himself some tea.

“Farm boy, fetch me that pitcher,” You instructed, your (E/C) meeting Steve’s blue ones. He pulled it from the top self, walking over to you so the only thing between the two of you was the pitcher. He leaned towards your ear, his hot breath blowing onto your neck.

“As you wish,” He whispered softly, before pulling away, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitched as your gaze trailed down to his lips. You felt his gaze on your lips as well, so you both leaned in, no longer denying the chemistry between you.

~*~

“WAIT, WAIT STOP!” Cassie yelled, Scott looking up from the book and over at his daughter.

“Are you playing a joke on me, you told me there was action. But it's a soppy kissy book,” She complained, rolling her eyes at her father.

“Just wait,” Scott chastised.

“When does it get good?” Cassie moaned, letting her arms harshly slam onto her quilt.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, let me read,” Scott instructed.

~*~

“Steve was a poor man and had no money for marriage. He did get an offer however from a program, promising him fortune if only he traveled across the seas. So, Steve packed his few belongings and left. It was a very emotional time for (Y/N),” Scott narrated. The sun was rising as you stood outside the farmhouse with Steve, embracing him in your arms as your foreheads touched, as you were nearly the same height. He gave you a loving kiss, tangling his hands in your hair before he pulled away from the kiss. He held you tightly in his arms, your hands bawling into fists in his shirt.

“I’m afraid I’ll never see you again,” You whimpered, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Steve wiped them away with his thumb, humming lightly at your remark.

“Of course, you will,” He whispered.

“But what if something goes wrong, what if something happens to you?” You questioned, panic rising in your chest.

“Hear this now, I will always come for you,” Steve assured, pulling you further into his chest.

“But how can you be sure?” You asked once again, hoping to quell the worry swirling in your mind.

“This is true love. You think this happens every day?” He questioned, before leaning down and capturing your lips once again. He held you there, your lips dancing in sync as you tasted the salty tears that escaped your eyes. He pulled away, both of you panting quietly. He kissed your forehead lightly, pulling away from your embrace and walking towards the horizon. You felt empty as he did this, watching as he left. Before he went completely out of sight, however, you saw him blow you a kiss. And so, you returned it, tears spilling down your cheeks at a rapid, unstoppable pace, staining them.

“Steve didn’t reach his destination. His ship was attacked by Hydra and their leader the Red Skull, who never left captives alive. When (Y/N) got news that Steve was murdered-” Scott’s narration was cut off by his daughter’s exclamation.

“Murdered by Hydra, that’s a good start!” She cheered, Scott sending her a glare, unhappy with her reaction to Steve’s death.

“She went into her room and shut the door, and for days she neither slept nor ate,” Scott narrated.

You sat in your room, staring at the wall. Your eyes were raw and puffy from your constant crying.

“I will never love again,” You croaked, tears spilling down your face. You did not sob, however, having no energy nor voice to do this any more than you already had.

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thefilmfatale · 7 years

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HONEYMOON (2014)

Horror has always been a unique genre in how it enables the exploration of complicated, real life issues in a hyperbolic manner that’s strangely cathartic. Horror’s over-the-top nature lets audiences tap into (and consequently release) deep-seated emotions from that safe distance on the other side of a screen--a cinematic therapist’s office, if you will. Got mommy issues? Watch Carrie and channel her rage as she lashes out at her overbearing mother and bullying classmates. Worried about the challenges of coming-of-age? The French film Raw tackles that subject with delicious creativity. Pregnant and paranoid? A little Rosemary’s Baby will be sure to shock the pre-partum anxiety out of your system. Are you a teenage girl who’s confused and disturbed by the changes your body’s going through as you grow into adolescence? Ginger Snaps or The Witch can be perfect allegories for those experiences.

Horror is a fantastic avenue for telling very interesting, realistic human stories in a fashion that both challenges our imaginations and provokes our baser instincts. The 2014 film Honeymoon does just that, tapping into a very real experience that most couples face, but couching it in an engrossing, thoroughly entertaining horror context that becomes the perfect backdrop for hashing out these issues.

The film, starring Game of Thrones’ Rose Leslie and Penny Dreadful’s Harry Treadaway, is about young newlyweds Paul and Bea who embark on their honeymoon in a secluded lake house in an unknown sleepy town. After a few days of blissful lovemaking in their quaint cabin, their post-marital ecstasy is interrupted when one evening, Paul wakes up in the middle of the night to find that Bea has mysteriously disappeared. He scours the dense forest around the cabin for her and finds her frozen, naked, in the middle of the woods. In the morning, Bea explains that she was merely sleepwalking, but Paul isn’t buying it. Confused, Paul racks his brain for explanations, though he can’t help but immediately suspect Bea of indiscretion after an odd exchange with Bea’s childhood friend Will, who lives in town and whom they ran into earlier during the day. What ensues next is a series of paranoia-inducing overtures leading up to a shocking revelation.

Initially, The Honeymoon flirts with a couple’s fear of being in a committed relationship. Do you ever really know a person, even after you’ve been together for years and have married them? Once you’re married, there is a sense of being trapped, and what if you’re trapped with someone who turns out to be a complete stranger? These are the thoughts that race through Paul’s head in the beginning of the movie, and invariably it’s something that any couple watching the movie will default to out of familiarity. But then the story quickly becomes stranger and stranger, with Bea acting less and less herself, much to Paul’s frustration. He tries to pry information out of her, but she seems hellbent on evading his questions, feigning sickness or collapsing into a wordless stupor. Eventually, Paul uncovers the shocking truth, and the film concludes with a satisfying ending that manages to be equally subtle and utterly frightening.

So my boyfriend and I watched this movie together and we couldn’t help but chuckle at how prescient it was. Like most couples we’ll have the occasional disagreement, and the way it usually goes is something happens - whether it’s a flippant comment, curious remark or simple misunderstanding - after which I become quiet and moody. He’ll notice and ask me what’s wrong. He calls it “Blair Witching” - where I basically stalk off, avoid eye contact and get suspiciously quiet and distant. When he probes, I tell him I’m fine, nothing’s wrong, that I’m just tired - something benign and non-confrontational that will buy me some time before I eventually have to divulge what’s bothering me. That painful, exasperating dance of freezing your significant other out, them asking what’s wrong and not getting an honest response...it puts a real strain on the relationship and can lead to some serious resentment. Not being able to communicate and feeling distant from your lover is an incredibly lonely feeling, and enough of those interactions can quickly snowball into anger and frustration. Honeymoon taps into that tension, that exhausting back-and-forth where significant others try desperately to figure each other out.

While Honeymoon brilliantly winks at this as a common quandary in relationships, it doesn’t do so in a heavy-handed manner. In fact, it makes no direct mention of it at all. Honeymoon plays on tried and true horror movie techniques to tell a relatable story with a scary twist. The scares are definitely there, and the story pays off if the audience remains patient and engrosses themselves in the couple’s tribulations. Honeymoon serves as a great metaphor for the communication challenges couples face, but it’s also a very well-executed horror movie that taps into those subconscious fears and relationship anxieties. The film’s pacing was on point, giving viewers enough of a sense of normalcy at the beginning of the film before slowly transitioning to the horrifying events that follow. This resulted in an almost organic development of events that wasn’t jarring at all or designed for shock and awe. I’m a fan of horror movies that patiently let the story develop and rewarding those audience members who go through the necessary motions, instead of the usual style of introducing a Big Bad early on and then amping up the violence or gruesomeness from there. Honeymoon doesn’t do that; in fact, the “Big Bad” barely makes an appearance, making it seem like psychological terror between the couple. It had a claustrophobic, almost theatrical quality reminiscent of Bug, which I really liked.

All in all, Honeymoon is a cleverly written horror movie that plays on very real anxieties in a creative way. It takes smart risks, and ends on such a satisfying note! The film is available on Netflix, so go and see it with your significant other and give each other a big hug when it’s over.

#honeymoon #rose leslie #harry treadaway #movie reviews #horror

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daretogobeyondtheunknown · 7 years

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Under These Fluorescent Lights 4/4

Trust is a fragile thing. Easy to break, easy to lose and one of the hardest things to ever get back.

It was half past noon on a Tuesday and nothing was notably off about the day. It was sunny with a touch of haze and Winn was certain air conditioning had been invented with Californian summers in mind.

Glancing at the diluted brown colour of his once iced coffee, Winn mused only someone truly senseless would willingly subject themselves to such a scorch.

Clearly, Alex was one of those types.

Cautiously, Winn approached her outstretched form. His sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, assisted by the beads of sweat seeping from every pore of his body, and Winn wondered if perhaps she was dead. It was considerably warm and Winn had honestly never seen Alex outside of the hospital wards.

“Alex?”

She was dressed in the most horrendously warm looking sweater – perhaps of a wool blend – and form fitted jeans. With her arm bent to obscure her face, Winn wondered if he shouldn’t find the nearest staff member. Hate might have clouded his judgement from time to time, but Winn would never wish death upon anyone, least of all Alexandra Danvers.

Kara would never forgive him.

“Hm?”

It was only the faintest of sounds but it brought pause to the incessantly gruesome trailing of his thoughts.

“Are you dead?”

It wasn’t his finest choice of words and it earned him the oddest of chuckles. Perhaps it was the delirium of the heat, addling his senses to the point of mirage, but Alex did not hm or chortle. If Alex hm’ed or chortled than Winn could draw and Winn could not draw.

“Dead? That seems a bit extreme doesn’t it?”

At least this mirage was conversational – a far cry from the Alexandra Danvers he had come to know, all onion layers and less than forthcoming.

“So does lying outside in a heat wave wearing that.”

“I get cold flashes.”

Sucking on his straw, Winn was now more than certain this was a product of his heat addled mind. Who even got cold flashes?

“Many people do. Some argue it can be triggered by stress or anxiety. The symptoms range from select segments to the body in its entirety. Individuals may suffer chronic or acute symptoms.”

But then again, chronic and acute were words not even a heat addled brain could conjure. Blinking owlishly, Winn refrained from prodding the figure before him.

“Alex?”

“Hm?”

The contents of his drink drained on his last guzzle, Winn sighed. If only the skies might have opened and some unforeseen rain God might smote him. But that would take belief and Winn didn’t believe in rain Gods or smiting. It seemed violent and really?

“I’m not imagining this, am I?”

“Go inside, Winn. Kara would hate me even more if you suffered heat stroke on my behalf.”

Rising to his feet, Winn felt hesitant.

If this truly wasn’t a hallucination then this was the most Alex had ever spoken to him. It left a gaping hole somewhere in his chest where he imagined cold iced coffee might be nice and it left him wanting more. But maybe Alex was right and whether Kara hated Alex more, he needed air conditioning.

“Okay. But uhh… cold flashes or whatever aside, come inside soon ‘kay? If Kara would hate you then she would kill me.”

* * *

“Did you always want to act, Winn?”

Acting was never a vocation Winn grew up envisioning.

When he had been young it was gizmos and gadgets, fascinated by the way the tap of his finger could produce an outcome. Some said computer technician, others said video game creator. Regardless of title, each pointed him to a school, a class, a program, claiming it would “one day help”.

It had been his intention – to follow their prodding suggestions. To follow the script they had created for him, to pursue his passion. Acting had truly been an accident, not remotely a passion.

“Hardly.”

The snort was unintended.

“I always thought I’d be playing video games. Maybe be an IT guy. Not the creepy kind. You?”

Buoyed by a mountain of pillows Winn had never before seen, Kara seemed infinitesimal, swallowed by a sea of physical comfort and mental discord.

“Maybe? Not really.”

There was a flicker of pain that throbbed beneath the surface. It was difficult to say whether its cause was the by-product of the accident or ever present - just deep enough, masked by the warmest of smiles - that Winn had simply never noticed.

“I always loved singing. I started singing.”

It had been her work in a small off Broadway piece that Winn had first noticed. Her singing had been remarkable and her kindness a breath of fresh air. It had been months later when a script reading formally brought Kara into his life, all smiles and brightness.

“But it was never something… I mean my parents both had such profound careers and well I… I just wanted to be with Alex. I imagined a life and growing old together and… and…”

In the tremors, it felt like broken dreams. In the tears, broken memories drowned. Winn saw the fading glimmer of a once brilliant star: hopeful, wishful, and so utterly in love.

“Alex was always just so brilliant. When I struggled to speak English, she learned Kryptonian. She never made fun of my lisp or my confusion around all these little English nuances. I guess, I just thought, it would always be her and I and one day we’d have a little boy and a little girl.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Winn caught movement. Alex stood uneasily outside. He guessed she had never meant to overhear and Winn wanted to ask if she too felt hospitals were far too small and all too intrusive. But there was Kara and her broken aspirations.

And there was Alex, crestfallen.

“At least it wasn’t plumbing. That’d be a pretty shitty thing.”

* * *

Kids were not something Winn would say he excelled with.

They were unpredictable and spoke far too many blunt truths that it made Winn squirm in his skin. For the sake of his fans, he had learned to plaster on a face over the discomfort and it had earned him the approving nod of parents Winn would never know.

But he never would have guessed that Alexandra Danvers was some sort of child whisperer, all full smiles and robust laughter. He supposed he was never supposed to know. Pediatrics was on the opposite end of the hospital from long term recovery and Winn rarely strayed.

Until today.

“The kids love her.”

Kathy, a nurse Winn vaguely recognized, uttered from his side all breathy and equally awed. Like the way Alex animatedly read to the gaggle of children was a nebula, brush stroked in human form.

It was terrifyingly captivating.

Winn deliberated if maybe this was what Kara had always known, had always loved. Maybe this was the child Eliza Danvers had backhandedly praised.

“Does she come here often?”

Like a proud parent, Winn watched Kathy beam, bright and triumphant.

“Girl always seems to end up here. You’d think they were all her own. You don’t get that much. People like her, making the effort.”

It was a broad brushstroke and Winn wondered if this was how others felt when his half regurgitated thoughts spewed out; lumpy with some liquid like consistency.

“People like her?”

Kathy was all smiles. The light tap against his elbow felt both reassuring and perplexing. Like a tap of kind pity. Like Winn was supposed to have known.

“Oh honey, you know, the big wig kind. The suits that sign the cheques and only show up for the pictures? That girl should have the whole pediatrics and cardiac unit named after her!”

None of it made sense and the words Kathy spoke as she parted offered little comfort.

* * *

“Kara, please, let me help.”

Inside the room, Winn heard the shuffling of sheets and groans of pain.

“No.”

It was angry, laced with venom and every bit stubborn.

“Okay. You don’t trust me. I get it. Soon, you’ll be all healed and you won’t need anyone and when that time comes, you’ll go back. I get it. But for now, please. Let. Me. Help.”

Every turn in this hospital held secrets and whispered conversations and Winn wondered when it would all stop feeling so insensitive. When life would go back and this chapter could be just that, a chapter.

Something of the past.

“If you got it, you never would have run off. If you got it, you never would have left. What, when things got tough it was okay for you to go gallivanting off but I’m just supposed to accept your help now that you’re back? What do you think this is, Alex?”

But maybe that was sweeping it under the rug. Because this kind of hurt wouldn’t just mend the moment Kara left through the sliding front doors. This kind of hurt couldn’t be erased by the bright lights of stardom or the affection of adoring fans.

“Okay.”

It sounded deflated – defeated. It sounded every bit like how Winn imagined Alex would have sounded, shoulders drooped, under the haranguing outline of Eliza Danvers. Had she dared to speak.

“Heh, is that it?”

Winn had never heard the sarcasm, so thick it felt tangible, wafting through the air. Sarcasm had never been a manner of treatment Kara had been fond of. It was cutting - a pocket of joy at the expense of another.

It always cost someone, Kara had explained.

“And what would you have me do, Kara? You won’t allow me to help and if I were to leave, it’d be condemnation. Am I just supposed to watch you suffer? Is that it?”

But Winn wasn’t sure who it had costed more, because he was certain both sounded distressed, fragmented, and all together unsure how to navigate the space that existed between them.

“I… I don’t know.”

* * *

“Why did you do it?”

It was odd, to watch such tenderness exuding from Alexandra Danvers, and lost in the overwhelming confusion of the matter it had slipped. But Winn would be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind often. It was all he seemed to gravitate towards in the presence of the other woman or in the lurking uncertainty in everything that was Kara.

“You’ll have to elaborate. I don’t read minds.”

Hung from her back like a living, breathing, human embodiment of a koala, was a small girl. Sam.

“Like Professor X!”

Winn couldn’t help the smile that crept to the corners of his lips. It stole from Alex the rough exterior and the darkened undertone to her words. It lifted the corners of her lips and the words Winn might have struggled to form under the intent gaze oozed like liquid.

“Leave.”

But it appeared there was no permanent cure for the Kara sized hole that gaped in the chest of Alexandra Danvers.

“If you’re searching for cause to complete the narrative of an Aristolelian heroine, Mr. Schott, I have nothing for you. But I suppose that wouldn’t matter because you’ve already formed the script, haven’t you? Shaped the narrative and condemned me to its fate?”

The doors to the ward opened and any remaining words grew lost in the cries of jubilance of the young children returning. Each greeted Alex and her koala like companion with a hug and excited chatter of tales and the adventures of the morning.

Slipping back, Winn frowned.

Whether it was from the lack of forward response or the implication of an already painted tale and the prodding for affirmation, Winn wasn’t sure.

* * *

Kara was with the doctors.

A few tests. Nothing serious. But it made his heart climb into his throat and his skin crawl. Waiting felt unmanageable and so Winn allowed his feet to carry him up and down the hospital halls.

Pediatrics was off limits.

His penchant for children hadn’t miraculously shifted and his previous interaction with Alex had left the most unsavoury of tastes lingering in his mouth. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her, except he was.

It was half a dozen twists and turns until anything overly notable appeared. Hung on the wall were a set of plaques – a wall dedicated to the hospital donors.

The splashes of colour emblazoned in golds or silvers - or whatever shiny looking metal it was - felt alien in the sterility of the hall and the calls overhead. His conversation with Kathy hung heavy on his mind – of big wigs and suits.

The three plaque monologue dedicated to the Aurora Organization made sense. It explained the familiarity. It explained the assistance and the above and beyond measures. It explained the room Alex slipped away to, clearly never meant for her.

But how had Eliza Danvers never known?

How had Kara never heard?

As a code blue echoed through the speaker above, Winn wondered how Alex had maintained such anonymity in a world that painted her face across plaques.

The notice of Kara’s release brought with it a certain kind of fanatical.

Lucy poured over the final details: security, paparazzi control, release forms. It was a list that never seemed to end and it made his eyes turn cross. But Lucy held a composure that rolled off in waves and caught like a cold. It soothed the nerves in a way Winn always imagined sedation would.

But leaving meant uncertainty, namely the uncertainty called Alexandra Danvers.

Nearly three months had passed and Winn wasn’t any more certain on his stance surrounding the woman. Instances scattered across a spectrum with no foreseeable ends. It left questions and holes and nothing made any more sense than that first moment when Alex had sat rigid and unmoving under the fluorescent lighting.

Alex was still as much the enigma.

And yet, none of that mattered. Because Alex was never the enigma of his life nor was she the reference or the defining feature, it would always be Kara. Kara’s choice: a choice neither Winn nor Lucy knew.

But what Winn knew was that what they had existed in the most intangible of ways, paper thin and shaking like a leaf in the wind. It existed under the guise and security the hospital walls afforded and far from the reach of flashing lights and public scrutiny.

If it was a choice for Kara, it was equally a choice for Alex.

* * *

Traffic was a mess. It was backed up every which way and where Winn had aimed to be hours ahead of schedule, he felt himself stumbling in just on the wire.

Lucy stood outside and Winn heard the faint sound of voices.

There was no explanation, only his disheveled state and the freedom of his imagination. It wasn’t loud enough and the words weren’t clear enough and catching the sympathetic regard of Lucy, Winn knew it had been that way from the start.

When the door finally opened, and Alex emerged, Winn caught the red brimmed eyes and all too defeated look. It felt heavy – suffocating – and all too final.

Like goodbye.

And as Kara was wheeled to the exit, where security was tight and not a camera was to be seen, Winn wondered if that was it. That true love and happy ending didn’t exist.

Then again, Winn wasn’t sure just what true love and happy endings meant and maybe, just maybe, this was it.

* * *

#kalex #alex x kara #kara x alex #fic: under these fluorescent lights #celebrity au #alternate universe - no powers #musings #writings

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colleydogstar · 7 years

Text

A Ranger’s Tale - 3 - The Three Sisters

Story and all other character by @rollem-bones. As mentioned before, the log has a mix of 1st/3rd person tenses due to play styles.

Our story continues...

The standing stones. 'The Three Sisters' as Salicia explains to you when you arrive to the clearing. The three stones with their runic carvings aren't the only ones, merely the three centerpieces of a megalithic site. "Pritchard's going to do his thing," Donnel explains to you while the caster makes his way to inspect the stones and speak in strange whispers. "In the meantime, tell me what there is to you?" he questions, arms across his broad chest. It would seem, you think that the canine demihumans at least are no shorter than the humans.

Rhodie watches with curiosity to see what Pritchard is about to do. She then looks at Donnel, slightly intimidated by a combination of now being shorter, and him just seeming a bit intimidating since they first met! "What there is to me?" She rubs the back of her head, "Not sure I follow exactly. Like... what's special about me?" She shrugs, "I'm just some guy who tries to entertain people back home. I've never really been the big adventure-y type outside of the tabletop games my friends and I would play. Was just a guy with a show and a pencil to draw when I wanted to."

"Games?" Donnel asks. "You roll bones, then?" he gets a chuckle out of that. "A right gel she is. Maybe you'd fit in with us more'n I thought." He takes a few steps away, looking over the slightly sloped clearing around the Three Sisters. "Gel, Salicia gave you that knife. Come on over here and show me how you handle it."

"Is it weird being called a 'gel' feels less weird than being called a girl? That's probably weird." Rhodie shakes her head, more things to get used to. She slumps a bit at Donnel's request. "Aaaaand here goes all the good things you were starting to think about me, right out the window." She takes the blade out, giving it a good moment, to judge the weight in each hand before gripping the handle. Rhodie's other hand hovers over her gripping one, almost like a guard, as she steadies her breath. This guy is way, way more knowledgeable on this stuff and is probably about to kick her ass. Still, that's probably gonna happen at some point, so better to do it now, right?

Donnel draws his blade. A simple looking longsword. It doesn't look like the ones from the faires. It isn't ornate. It isn't costumed, it's worn and stained from oil and use. The handle is wrapped in leather and the pommel is scratched, the crossguard has clearly been used. It doesn't look cool or shiny, but it does look very used to being used. And the stocky schnauzer turns and wields it like it were made of air. "Now then. Let's not draw much blood. No use in wounding. But don't you hold back none," he says, eyes focused on you as he holds his sword cross and his bushy mustache twitches.

Rhodie lets out a nervous laugh, "And here's where I embarrass the hell out of myself." She takes a breath, and then goes to strike. She tries not to swing to widely, more 1/4 circle angle, than half.

Donnel is waiting for the attack. The flat of his blade catches your arm and he steps aside, letting you slash the air with a slight push. "Fast," he remarks, keeping his guard up and waiting for your next move.

Rhodie immediately turns and moves to get in closer. "Lighter body, feels FASTER!" She says the last part as she goes for another short swing.

Again Donnel is waiting. You're lighter, probably stronger pound for pound, but you're untrained and the older Sergeant makes that clear when he steps into your swing and bops you on the joint of your neck and shoulder with the worn pommel of his blade, then gives you a shove back away from him. "You're green, gel. I won't be holding back next time."

The older demihuman presses his attack. With you bopped and pushed back, he makes for a relentless assault against you, stepping in and thrusting his blade, pushing toward you to keep you on the back of your heels, or paws as the case may be.

The setter girl lets out a yip as she's bopped, stumbling forward. She recovers in time to turn, and sees the follow-up coming at her. She goes to try and dodge to the left of the blade, twisting her body.

Fast as you are, Donnel is a step ahead of you. His thrust, which you deftly avoid, turns into a swift elbow at your ribs. Just a bit winded, you're not licked yet. However, the older man hasn't broken a sweat yet.

"Came in too fast, gel, can't feint like that," Donnel says, reading your motions. Your swing meets the flat of his blade, catching on the crossguard, and then you find that his open hand finds it slapping hard across your face. He steps back again and makes one more quick rush. "Let me show you how it's done," he says before he quickly reroutes his motions in mid step. Faster on his feet than he looks.

Rhodie stumbles back with another canine yelp as she's slapped in the face. She tries to bring the blade down to defend against the sword, using her free hand to try and reinforce her grip. "Crapcrapcrap"

The former human is starting to look panicked. She knew she was going to be outclassed in every way in this, but it doesn't really do much for her anxiety knowing that! She goes for one more attack, at the last moment, transferring the knife to her free hand as she tries to jump up and punch Donnel right in the dog nose.

Your jumping catches him off guard. He turns, moves from you. But you're on the ground running. Running and darting. Smaller, with a smaller weapon, but you're faster than him. Still, you're expecting an attack from one direction, ducking under the blade swiftly, when right before your eyes his closed fist appears as though from nowhere.

Rhodie grins a bit, she's starting to adapt a bit to the body. Then the fist catches her right in the dog face.

And you go tumbling tail over tea kettle on the grass. The world spins as you've been knocked for a loop, but it focuses on Donnel looking down at you a moment later. "You got quick feet, gel," he says, reaching down to take your hand and clasp your shoulder so he can hoist you up to your paws and pat down your cloak. "But you fight like a street urchin. All slash and know control."

Rhodie grunts, holding her muzzle, and wincing as she's helped up. "Hnngh, like I said.. was all training for shows, not actual combat." She hangs her head. "Well, I'm as good as dead in this world if I ever get into trouble."

Donnel barks a laugh, clapping you on your back. "Nonsense," he cries. "We'll learn you good, gel. You ain't too old to teach. We'll start with that little thing you got there. You ain't got the arms for Salicia's axe, but I can show you how to use a blade and a bow proper. How'd you like that?" he offers, holding his hand out to you.

Rhodie looks at the hand, still holding her muzzle. That hurt, she hasn't been punched like that since high school. She takes Donnel's hand with her free one. "I'm all for learning if it means I don't die as an Irish Setter... or a girl..." Donnel's laughing, he's not glaring angrily at her. This is good right?

"Good," Donnel says. He walks back over to Salicia to speak with her. He leaves you to stand on the grass while the two of them talk, and Pritchard walks about the stones, still focused on whatever it is he is doing with them.

Rhodie replaces the blade in her belt, pausing to look over her hands and arms. Her tail sags behind her as she sits down on the ground. She pulls her legs in to rest her head on her knees as she looks out at Pritchard. She's sorta watching, but also sitting in thought.

Pritchard works, stopping at some of the runes carved into the old stone. He runs his fingertips over them and a faint silver wisp rises from them as his lips speak silent words. He's a fairly tall man, young, it's not hard to notice his hair being a grey that doesn't quite look natural, especially for his age. He stops at the second stone and the wisp rolls against the runes there, glowing faintly in his passing. He stops and looks to the side, at something, but seemingly only he can see it at the moment.

The dog-girl watches, but not even the impressive real magic happening in front of her seems to be snapping Rhodie out of the funk she let herself slip into. At first at least. She lifts her head when Pritchard doesn't move toward the third stone. Should she ask if he's OK, or would that interrupt... ah screw it, "Everything OK, Pritchard, sir?" She calls down

Pritchard stops. He hums and looks over his shoulder toward you. "Were you watching?" he asks. "Are you curious? If you'd like, come closer. I know this must be more alien to you, far from the dullness I'm inflicting on Salicia and Donnel."

Rhodie gets up and cautiously makes her way over, straightening her borrowed cloak. "Completely and utterly alien. I've only seen stuff like this in stories back home. But yeah, definitely color me curious."

Pritchard holds his hand over the runes. "These glyphs speak to old power. In reading them, in passing some of my own talent through them, I can speak in a way to that power." He looks at you and offers his hand to you. "I do this to consult with the entities of these forests to understand their concerns. This land may be owned by the Meister, but even he must pay fealty to the forces at work here."

Rhodie looks the glyphs over, and then over at Pritchard as he talks. She reaches out to take his hand. "So the lands here are in a way, somewhat sentient?"

Pritchard nods. "Spirits, gods, geists, what you may call them." He interlaces his fingers with yours to lift your hand up to the runes. They glow under your fingertips, or probably under Pritchard's. "Listen with your mind, not with your ears," he says, though his words sound like they come from the far end of a tunnel despite him being next to you. The world seems to pale about you, covered in a rolling fog that seems to hide shadows and shapes moving in the swirls and eddies. They watch and whisper in languages you don't understand.

"Sooo... surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the galaxy toge-" She stops when she sees the glow, staring at their hands. "My mind... right." She takes a breath and tries to focus. "Oh.... oh wow." Comes an awed whisper.

Pritchard pulls your hand from the runes. "Less binding and more a terribly dangerous group of forces that can demand your attention should their whims dictate, but can also help you if your needs align," he explains to you, releasing your hand.

Rhodie nods, taking it in. She ponders, "Could their powers be along what you mentioned my first night here then? Like.. what brings the..the.. Oh, what you called me. But brings people like me here for whatever purpose they might have?"

"It is possible," Pritchard admits with a nod. "The Three Sisters is a holy site. One of several. Older than the Meister's grounds. I may work for Silberschmidt through the Order, but I understand what really controls this forest and that's the powers that be here." He looks at the third stone. "Not much left to speak with here. There are dangers, weeds that need culling. Something is making restless dead." He sighs, looking back at you. "You will assist us, won't you?"

"Holy site... Wow, OK, them gathered here like that makes a lot of sense then." She then thinks, and gives a small bow in direction of the pillars, hoping to show a sign of respect. "Thank you..ah.. forces.. for allowing me to listen, even if I don't understand what was said yet." She looks back to Pritchard. "I'm still not sure I won't be more of a hinderance, but I'll gladly do what I can. You three are helping me, it would be rude not to return the favor."

Pritchard smiles at you. "Thank you, Rhodie, I appreciate that," he says, putting a hand at your shoulder before he walks off. "But with the information gained here, I think we can move on with a slight detour to put some dead back into the ground." He pauses. "Also, I'm not really a holy man, or a druid, take much of what I say with a grain of salt. My philosophy is at odds with many of theirs."

Rhodie laughs a little, "That ok, most of the holy men on my world are at odds with each other as well. No one person is ever going to get it right by themselves. ...Wait, dead back in the ground. Like... zombies? Undead?" Her tail sags again.

"Of course," Pritchard says in a matter-of-fact sort of tone. Indeed the undead, in such a casual manner.

#Ask Rhodie #rhodie #rhodie's tale #ranger's tale #irish setter

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