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hercleverboy · 4 years

Text

time

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer learns the truth about why the reader left the team so suddenly during his post-prison showdown with cat adams.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ cancer, main character death, crying, pleading someone not to die, please do not read if these are triggering for you.

word count ↠ 3.6k

“Death is peaceful, easy. Life is harder.”

Breast cancer had a history in Y/N’s family. Her grandmother had died from it, and it seemingly skipped her mothers generation. Y/N was not so lucky.

When the doctor told her, she stared blankly she’d at the wall. He was talking at her but she only seemed to pick up on parts of what he was saying.

“Breast cancer”, “stage 4”, “has unfortunately spread to other parts of your body,” “eight months if you’re lucky”

Lucky?

If she’s lucky?

The doctor sent her on her way after discussing some treatments with her. He told her what the side effects of those treatments were going to be, and she’d shaken her head. The doctor looked shocked, but Y/N had just given him a small smile. If she was going to die, she was going to spend her time doing everything she wanted to, not being poked and prodded and given treatments that were unlikely to work anyway.

Initially, she didn’t tell anyone at the BAU. She certainly didn’t tell Spencer, who she’d been crushing on for years at that point. They were best friends, they had been since she started all those years ago, and they were always there for one another. She was always too nervous to tell him how she felt, but it’s funny how finding out your days are numbered will encourage you to do things you never thought you’d have the courage to. So one night at the end of the work day, when the bullpen was empty apart from her and the resident genius, she threw caution to the wind and walked right up to his desk.

He grinned at her as she approached. “Hey, Y/N. Did you want to grab something to eat before you head home? There’s that new Chinese place a few streets over-“ He was interrupted by her saying three words he never thought she’d say to him.

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You what?” He manages to get out, his mind was spinning.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry, you just have to know.”

“Y/N I don’t know what to say I-“ He stumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones. Truthfully, he was in love with her too. Though his own insecurities and stupid thoughts always got in the way. Y/N took his lack of response to mean that he didn’t feel the same, and so she took a deep breath and smiled at him reassuringly. Before he could tell her that he was very sure he loved her too, she was gone, the bullpen’s doors closing gently behind her.

Y/N felt the weight lifted off her shoulders. Despite her thinking Spencer didn’t return her affection, she still felt the sweetest relief imaginable. Because fuck it, if she was going to die she’d be damned If she did so without telling Spencer Reid how much she loved him.

And now he knew.

It brought her a sense of peace.

She told Hotch, but that’s only because she had to give him a real reason as to why she was leaving, after he heard the lie she’d fed the team.

“I’ve been offered a job in the orginised crime unit, I just can’t turn it down.”

“Y/N, can I speak with you?” He’d asked after she’d announced to the team that she was leaving. He led her to his office, closing the door behind her. “I’ll get straight to the point. There is no new job with the orginised crime unit, I would’ve been notified if you’d been offered a new position. What’s going on?”

She couldn’t lie to him, she knew that much. So she took a deep breath and spoke. “I’m terminally ill, sir. I haven’t got long left. I would like to live what is left of my life.” Hotch was understating. He didn’t show it, always very good at masking his emotions, but his heart was broken. He’d even hugged her, telling her what a pleasure it was to work alongside her, how the world would suffer greatly from the loss of her kind heart and unmatched intelligence.

On her last shift, which was a paperwork day thankfully, the team got together and threw her a little in-office going away party. Y/N felt guilty about not telling her friends, her family, the real reason she was leaving but they shouldn’t have to bear that burden, they shouldn’t have to carry around the guilt. And she didn’t want their pity or worry either. Hotch had been surprised at how soon she’d wanted to leave the BAU after telling him of her condition, but she told him it was because she wanted the team to remember her how she was. Strong and confident. She didn’t want to them to see her so weak and vulnerable, how she knew this disease would reduce her to.

JJ found out that day, unintentionally. After laughing and eating some cake with the team, Y/N felt incredibly nauseous (she found she was struggling to keep food down these days), so she excused herself to the bathroom, and was violently sick in the toilet of one of the stalls. JJ had followed her in, noticing how she’d barely touched her cake earlier and that she looked awfully pale as well.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” She asked, opening up the stall door behind Y/N, who was panting over the toilet bowl.

“I’m fine, JJ. I promise.” She smiled weakly but JJ wasn’t buying it. The two women had become best friends over their time in the bureau, almost like sisters.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” JJ joked as Y/N stood up on shaky legs.

“No, I’m not pregnant Jayje.” Y/N couldn’t look her best friend in the eye, tears filling her eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry. It’ll be okay, what’s wrong?” JJ’s motherly tone made Y/N wanted to laugh but she couldn’t force one out if she tried. Y/N’s lack of response frightened JJ.

“Y/N, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong, please.” She begged.

“I’m sick, JJ.”

It didn’t take the blonde long to figure out that she didn’t mean a common cold. Tears filled JJ’s eyes.

“I haven’t got a lot of time Jayje.” Y/N cried, and JJ began to sob, pulling Y/N into a tight hug.

“Well there are treatments right? Chemotherapy or something? Something has to work.” JJ was begging, praying that there was something. Her heart shattered all over again when Y/N shook her head.

“I won’t spend the rest of my time hooked up to countless machines receiving treatments that may or may not work. I don’t want to fight this. I’m already so tired, I just want to go peacefully when the time comes. Please?”

JJ just cried harder. She understood Y/N had already made peace with her fate.

After calming down slightly, Y/N pulled back, holding JJ by her shoulders. “You can’t tell anyone. Only you and Hotch know. I won’t burden anyone else with this, okay?”

“Y/N, this isn’t a burden. You’re sick. The team deserve to know, they deserve their turn to say goodbye.” JJ tried to convince her.

“Please. You can’t say a thing. I know they deserve that but god I can’t have them all pitying me. Garcia will buy me gift baskets to compensate, Derek won’t know what to do with himself so he’ll make jokes, and Spencer, god Spence will go into overdrive trying to fix me. I just want to live out my days peacefully, please let me have that Jayje.” She begged, and the blonde nodded.

“I understand, Y/N. But Spence.. he’s one of your best friends. He has been for years now. I know you told him you love him and he didn’t say it back but.. this- this will kill him.” She whispered the last part and Y/N looked away as she fought to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

“I know. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish but I’m dying, I think I’m allowed to be a little selfish.” Her attempt at a joke was met with a stern look from JJ.

5 months after Y/N left the BAU, Spencer ended up in trouble in Mexico, and before anyone could do anything he was awaiting trial in a prison cell. He had lot of time to think over the three months spent behind bars, staring at blank walls, fighting to survive long enough for the team to prove his innocence. Every night he slept in his bed he thought of Y/N.

How much he missed his best friend.

How much he loved her still.

He realised how stupid he’d been to let her get away. He regretted not going after her that day in the bullpen and promising her he felt the same way she did. He promised himself the moment he got out he would tell her how he felt, and they could make up for the time they’d lost. He yearned to see her, and If prison taught him anything, it was that time was precious. And he wanted to spend all of his time with her.

When JJ turned up to the prison one day, he’d never felt a relief quite like it.

“We’re taking you home.”

He was relieved that now he could focus on finding his mother, and once that was done he could prioritise Y/N. He would tell her how he felt, how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, no time to waste. He could tell her the words he’d thought a thousands times of the last three months.

I love you. So much.

He just had to win one final time, play Cat Adams stupid game and then everything he’d ever wanted would be his. He could live the life he’d dreamed of when he was in prison, Y/N by his side.

“Even if you are pregnant the baby’s not mine.” Spencer was mortified that she was really trying to persuade him that her baby was his, let alone that she was even pregnant in the first place.

Cat clicked her tongue. “Except for the part where it is.”

“That’s preposterous, you’ve been in prison. And besides we’ve never-“

“So have you, and I know we never...” She trailed off, that smirk on her lips. “Ask me how I did it.”

Spencer was really losing his patience. He didn’t care for, nor did he want to play Cat’s little game anymore.

“Come on, ask me.”

“How did you do it?”

“I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time.” Cat smiled at the look of confusion on Spencer’s face. “I told her to pretend to be Maeve.”

That hurt Spencer more than it should’ve. 4 years since the tragic death of his girlfriend, and the wounds were still fresh as anything. Of course Cat knew about Maeve.

“But perhaps it would’ve worked better if I’d told her to pretend to be Y/N, the best friend that you’ve always loved but never told her. It’s a shame that you might never get the chance now.” Cat snarled.

“What do you mean I’ll never get the chance?”

“Oh my god. You don’t know, do you?” Cat teased, and Spencer gripped the edge of the table so harshly his knuckles turned white.

“Know what, Cat?”

“Dear little Y/N has terminal cancer. She was given around eight months to live, from what I know. That would mean-“ She theatrically looked at Spencer’s watch that sat on her wrist. “Any day now, if my timings right.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Cat’s head cocked to the side. This wasn’t part of her original plan, but any opportunity to mess with Spencer even more was not to be missed.

“Yes you are, that what you do.” Spencer seethed, the words like venom on his tongue.

“I’m not. Just ask blondie in there.” Cat pointed to the double sided mirror. “She’ll tell you. It is her that Y/N chose to confide in, after all.” She teased.

Spencer shot up from table with loud bang and stalked out the room, slamming open the door to where a gobsmacked JJ stood.

“Is it true?” Spencer asked, his tone cold and unforgiving.

“Spence..”

“JJ! I asked if it was true?” He shouted, slamming his hand on the wall next to them. JJ flinched, and for the first time in their friendship JJ was afraid of the man in front of her.

“Yes.” Her voice was small.

He whipped out his phone, calling Garcia. “Garcia I need you to look up Y/N Y/L/N’s medical records.”

“Our Y/N Y/L/N? Why?” The chipper woman replied, confused.

“Just please, Garcia!” Spencer shouted desperately.

“Okay okay, I’m looking and everything seems fine- oh wait- what’s this?” Garcia murmured to herself as she clicked through the files, her eyes widening and tears forming in them as she gasped. “She’s sick? W-why didn’t she tell us? Oh my god.”

“She’s alive, right? Oh god please tell me she’s alive?” Spencer begged.

“She’s alive, but she was admitted to the hospital 2 weeks ago after she collapsed. They’re keeping her in the hospital, just trying to make her comfortable- oh god I can’t read anymore.” Garcia was sobbing down the line and JJ had a hand clasped over her mouth to keep her own sobs at bay.

Spencer sobbed too, for the first time since he went to prison. Everything seemed to hit him at once.

After a moment, JJ’s trembling voice reached his ears. “Spence, I know this is a lot to take in but if you want to find out where your mother is you’ve got to carry on.”

He’s knew she was right, but he just glared at her coldly. “How long have you known?”

“Since she left.” JJ cried. “I’m so sorry, but she begged me not to tell you, or anyone else for that matter. How could I deny her that?”

Spencer understood it wasn’t JJ’s fault but he was still so angry. The anger burned within him like a wildfire and he didn’t posses the restraint to put it out. “There was no new job in the organised crime unit, was there?”

“No.”

“Fuck!” Spencer shouted, pushing some files that sat on the table onto the floor with a loud crash as he cried.

“Spence-“ JJ attempted to comfort him but he was downright inconsolable.

“You know she told me she loved me. Before she left.” Spencer spoke quickly and fiercely, though the tears trembling down his cheeks told a different story. He finally looked JJ in the eye, and she nodded. “I didn’t get to tell her I love her but I do JJ, god I do and now I’m gonna lose her.” He let out a heartbroken cry and JJ felt so guilty.

“Spence you have to go back in there and win her little game. Save your mother, and then you can worry about Y/N. Okay?” JJ tried, and this time it seemed the words sunk into him.

Spencer hated that she was right. So with a sniffle, he wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of his blazer, before taking a deep breath and returning to the room with Cat, one even more determined to win.

After winning the battle against Cat, Spencer escorted his mother back to the sanitarium. As soon as she was safe and settled, Spencer was immediately on the phone with Garcia.

“Garcia, which hospital is Y/N at?”

Once he got the address he was there in minutes.

He sped up to the front desk, panting as he spoke. “Hi, I’m here to see Y/N Y/L/N.”

The receptionist nodded, typing away on her computer. Spencer stood as he waited to hear what room she was in, tapping his foot impatiently on the white floorboards. A doctor who had been standing near the desk stepped towards him, and he looked him as she approached. “Sorry sir, Did you say you’re here to see Y/N Y/L/N?”

Spencer turned to her, his voice desperate. He prayed he wasn’t too late. “Yes, yes.”

The doctor looked at him with a small smile. She looked him up and down, coming to a conclusion. “Are you Dr Spencer Reid?”

Spencer gulped, unsure what to say. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Y/N- She talks about you, when she’s in between consciousness. She showed me pictures a few weeks ago, told me all about the man she loved who she was so sure didn’t love her back. She’ll be so glad to see you.”

He wanted to smile at the information but he felt so sick that he couldn’t force his lips up into even a grimace. “How is she?” He dared to ask.

“I’m sorry, Dr Reid. Y/N is incredibly ill. We’re just trying to make her as comfortable as we can, I’m afraid it won’t be long now. Follow me, she could use your company.”

His heart broke but he followed her, attempting not to breakdown in a fit of cries.

When he saw her his heart broke even more. Her cheeks were sullen and she was thinner than he remembered. But she was still so beautiful to him. He thanked the doctor and pulled up a chair next to her, taking one of her frail hands in his. She turned to look at him, flashing a weak smile.

“Spencer? Are you really here?”

“Yes sweetheart. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He choked out, attempting to smile for her sake.

She nodded, and he brought his lips to her hand to place a gentle kiss on it.

“I’ve missed you.” She whimpered out. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve missed you too.” He felt like breaking down but he had to be strong for her. “Y/N, I have to tell you, if this is the last chance I get I- I love you. I always have done. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all those months ago. I’m here now, but I’m too late.” He sobbed.

“Hey, hey. . It’s okay. It was a privilege to love you, Spencer Reid.” She smiled, moving her frail hands up to cup his face. It made him sob harder.

“I wish we had more time.” He cried, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I know, me too.”

They talked for the whole evening, and then, when she got too exhausted to continue conversation, he pulled out her favourite book from his satchel. He read to her, listening to the sound of her shallow breathing.

The team visited, all too shocked to say much, but they came to say goodbye. Y/N was barely conscious enough to realise what was going on, but she still managed to give the team a weak smile and a whispered, “Love you guys.”

JJ and Garcia had to leave the room so they wouldn’t collapse in tears front of her.

When the heart monitor went flat in the early hours of the next morning, that loud blaring sound filling Spencer’s ears, his sobs started again as he rested his forehead on her still chest.

“Please. Please don’t go. Come back, I love you.” Spencer begged, his shoulders moving with the sobs that wracked through him. He’d never felt so utterly heartbroken. Not when he watched his father leave, not when he saw his mother’s condition worsen, not even when Maeve was killed right in front of him. None of that compared to how his chest burned and his throat was sore from the sobs that ripped from him, and the tears that relentlessly cascaded down his cheeks.

“Please, baby. Look at me. Let me see them gorgeous eyes, yeah?” He begged, he prayed to every god there ever was that she’d look at him again with those beautiful orbs that he’d fallen so In love with. Those stunning eyes that would never open again.

The doctor, with tears in her own eyes at the scene before her, moved to turn the heart monitor off, the obnoxious withstanding beep cutting off. It made Spencer’s head ache.

Spencer clutched Y/N’s hand desperately to his chest, his head resting on her chest as he cried. He squeezed her hand, and some foolish part of him almost believed that if he squeezed hard enough he’d wake up from whatever nightmare this was. He twisted his eyelids shut and dreamed. He dreamed of waking up next to Y/N, in a bed that they shared, wedding bands on their fingers and their children’s footsteps and laughter filling their home. He dreamed of a life with her, of raising a family with her. He dreamed of the life she deserved.

He wanted to scream. How was this fair? How were murderers and serial rapists walking around with no consequence but people like Y/N had their lives ripped from them?

It was unjust.

But the world was cruel, Spencer knew. It was cruel and it was cold and it was unforgiving.

He raised his head from her chest, using the hand that wasn’t holding hers to place his hand on her cheek. He pushed forward, placing a gentle kiss on her cold and lifeless lips.

it was a goodbye. one that needn’t be spoken.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll honour you for the rest of my life, I promise.”

Spencer Reid never recovered from losing Y/N Y/L/N.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #mgg x reader #mgg #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds x reader

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lilytriestoexist · 4 years

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aeIin gaIathynius, queen of terra/sen colonialism

i'm sure countless other (and far superior) antis have already dissected this disgusting section but i'm tired and full of rage so let's get started.

[all the excerpts are italicised and taken from Empire of Storms by Sarah J. Ma/as, pages 1083-1085 (at least, in my ebook)]

“You could, you know,” R0wan said, his tattoo stark in the lantern light. “Take it [the world] for yourself. Take it all. Use Maeve’s bullshit maneuvers against her. Make good on that promise.”

hmm just because you can doesn't mean you should! though i suppose i can cut him a tiny amount of slack as he's been in doraneIIe/in maeve's service his whole life and doesn't really understand the consequences of colonialism, which the people of eriIea were well acquainted with due to adarIan's imperialism. still though, not off to a great start from r0wan.

“There was no judgment. Only frank calculation and contemplation. “And would you join me if I did? If I turned conqueror?”

“You would unify, not pillage and burn. And yes—to whatever end.”

that...is such an idealised take on colonialism. i get that he hasn't experienced it first-hand and probably doesn't understand the ramifications of greedy imperialist nations trying to 'unify' countries that never asked to be unified and don't want to be unified, but come on. does r0wan/sarah think the other eriIean nations would bow down and kiss aeIin's feet if she strutted up to them and demanded they join her empire? that's not realistic at all. these are independent nations with divergent cultures; they wouldn't just throw their lot in with terra/sen. there'd be fighting and conflict, and since aeIin's still got some of her fire gift, there'd be burning. though sarah probably would like to think that aeIin's just that good of a queen they'd be eager to be vassalised.

also, 'to whatever end', especially in this content, bothers me a lot. i know it's meant to be romantic and a declaration of love and devotion, but you shouldn't just follow and agree with your significant other blindly? if they mess up or say something harmful you should call them out on their mistakes. it's how people grow. validating their bad behaviour no matter what out of so-called love isn't emblematic of a healthy supportive relationship! if your partner suggests colonising other nations please don't go along with it!

He nodded. “But if you could … would you?”

For a heartbeat, she could see it—see her face, carved into statues in kingdoms so far away they did not even know Terrasen existed. A living god—Mala’s heir and conqueror of the known world. She would bring music and books and culture, wipe out the corruption festering in corners of the earth …

not only is this gross, this is also wildly inconsistent with the trauma she's faced in the past. first of all, this is such blatant idealisation and glorification of colonialism that i want to throw my phone at the wall. the fact that aeIin is even entertaining this idea, even justifying it in her head, is disgusting. music and books and culture? bitch, they already have their own music and books and culture. they're civilised nations, not poor barbaric cave dwellers just begging for their white saviour to come and show them the light. this is exactly the kind of mindset that led to western imperialism - white people thinking that other countries need to be westernised in order to be successful and civilised, as if they didn't already have rich, ancient culture and history that was ignored in favour of spreading western ideals and western power.

and more than that, as i saw another anti elaborate wonderfully on (i can't recall the @ but it was very great and articulate - edit: it was @bleeding-star-heart) aeIin was herself a victim of adarIan's imperialism. the king of adarIan wiped out terra/sen's royal family apart from her and basically took control of the country, bringing it into his adarIanian empire. all the trauma in her life happened as a result of adarIan's imperialism and empire-building. so why is she entertaining the idea of becoming a conqueror herself? it doesn't make sense and it doesn't add up with what's happened in her past. i am an avid disliker of aeIin but if her characterisation was consistent she would abhor colonialism (she's arrogant and powerful but with everything she's suffered leading back to colonialism it's not right for her to buy into it).

She said softly, “Not now.”

“But later?”

“Perhaps if being queen bores me … I’ll think about making myself empress. To give my offspring not one kingdom to inherit, but as many as the stars.”

what's with this goddamn romanticism of colonialism?? 'as many [kingdoms] as the stars' FUCK. OFF. @ sarah don't use pretty flowery prose to try and paint colonialism as some sort of gift for rowaeIin's future super special progeny. the word choice is deliberating pushing a pro-imperialism narrative and it's so utterly disgusting. conquering other countries isn't cute!! building an empire for no reason other than your own greed is not cute!!!

There was no harm in saying it, anyway. In thinking about it, stupid and useless as it was. Even if wondering about the possibilities … perhaps it made her no better than Maeve or Erawan.

at least she fucking admits it lol.

also, i'm editing this to add that this scene could've been a great scene to highlight greed and arrogance as aeIin's flaws. this discussion of colonialism could've been used to characterise and develop aeIin. but it's a shit scene because sarah can't stand her precious aeIin having flaws so she, through r0wan, validates and justifies the idea of empress aeIin instead of calling out imperialism and allowing her protagonist to have meaningful flaws. also, this is the woman we're expected to root for to become queen of terra/sen. and at the end of the series she does become queen. my thoughts would be different if t0g had subverted the lost heir trope and ended with aeIin recognising she isn't prepared to be queen and giving up her claim to the throne, but it didn't, and so this scene isn't a character building, ending hinting scene, but instead a useless at best, grossly pro-imperialism at worst scene.

#long post #anti tog #anti sjm #anti aelin #anti aelin galathynius #anti rowan #anti rowan whitethorn #anti rowaelin #anti colonialism #anti imperialism

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sergeant-spoons · 3 years

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Bring Me The Night (Maeve)

Dearest @vintagelavenderskies sent in all the requests for all my girls 😂 ILY HON

So here’s a little Maeve content 💕

Bring Me The Night ~ Sam Tsui 🏹 x 🎨/🎵

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Bring Me The Night

Maeve R.L. O’Leavy - Gallant Heart

Taglist: @easy-company-tradition @vintagelavenderskies @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @indecisiveimpatience

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Swear I don't know if the days are as slow as they seem, Wondering when you'll be with me again...

Maeve had learned to take issue with the daylight years ago, when she'd first taken up this calling. There was little stealth under the sun, the potential of exhaustion from its rays, and once- luckily, she'd been alone -on a day of particularly fearsome summer heat, the brush about her began to smoke. She still remembered sprinting through the field, strangely calm, for she was certain this could not be her end. She had so much more to do, so many more to save. She made it out of that field intact, hacking at the smoke burning about her throat, and as she slumped against a boulder, slinging her bow to the ground so it would not be crushed behind her back, she began shaking.

How much she wished someone had been there to hold her hand.

And then, a few weeks later, someone did.

And this finally can be more than just a dream.

Him. She missed him. More than her family, more than her home, more than the sleep she so sorely lacked. Moments to think of him were so brief. So short a time to know him, so few memories, but each as sweet and precious as a twinkling star in the heavens of her heart. The image of his smile could keep her going when her legs meant to falter. 'Home' had always conjured, to her, the visage of her childhood, family, country- now, she thought first and foremost of him, in the center of that portrait of her home.

For so long, she'd gone through the war with little regard for her own continued existence so long as she went out doing good.

Now, she fought for so much more.

But when I close my eyes, I want only to stay Where the farthest you are is a heartbeat away.

She didn't even know if he felt the same. Yet she hoped and she yearned and she dreamed and she loved. She could see herself, shockingly vividly, at his side, under a tree on a warm day, loving the sun again, sharing inside jokes, make plans and dreams, together. Where his hand held hers, hopeful and gentle, as everything she could ever need bloomed in his smile. The tree would be a willow, by a brook, somewhere she'd never been but he had and because of it, she'd feel right at home.

So bring me the night, send out the stars, 'Cause when I'm dreaming we don't seem so far.

One night, Maeve stretched her hand up at the night sky. She tilted her palm, studying the stars against the pallor of her skin, pinkened by the ardent sun during risky travel the previous day, dirt under each fingernail and staining every crease of skin it could reach. Was he looking at the same sky? What a thought, she scolded herself, and promptly kept thinking it. She hoped he was sleeping, that he was as safe as he could be (they were in a warzone, security was never assured and often limited), that if he was still awake, he might be thinking of her.

Darken the sky, and light up the moon, So that somehow you'll be here with me soon.

A hundred miles away, Shifty stared at the heavens. Covered by clouds a mere ten minutes prior, the stars waved in their lofty perches. Their light was distant. Like her. Shouldn't he feel bad, to think of her, when he had home to miss and friends to mourn, so much to grieve? No. She was the very incarnation of his hope. If she made it through, he truly believed everything else would, too: himself, his family, his home, and, though she knew not, his heart.

Bring me the night.

Maeve let her eyes flutter closed. With no children to keep the watch for, she could catch up on the slumber she suffered missing. Once this war was over, she'd sleep in every morning, and go to bed early, she promised herself, as much as it took to finally feel rested again.

Preferably, she thought, a shy smile slipping onto her face though no one was near to see it, side-by-side with him.

Bring me the night.

Shifty stepped back, hands in his pockets, spine curving back as he turned in a little circle. Up, up, up- those stars, if he squinted, seemed closer. Warmer, even. Like the twinkle in her smile. Precious.

That brings me to you.

Her fingers curled around nothing, reaching from the deepest burrow of her heart, and a hundred miles away, he did the same, tilting his chin up toward those stars.

And somehow, for just a moment, they felt so near.

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Song inspiration: “Bring Me The Night” by Sam Tsui.

Thanks again Krysta for all the love you’ve shown to my girls! 🥺💕

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sims-and-counting · 3 years

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Time Jump - Part 1

(AN: this is part one of ? of the time jump I mentioned; bear with me while I tie up some loose ends, and then I’ll get back to the story!)

Hi everyone! Gracie here! It has been SO long since I last updated my blog! The Lord has kept our family very BUSY with courtships, weddings, new babies, and mission trips! Right now only our youngest SIX children are living at home! Wow!

Here’s a cute family picture we took the other day! You might notice a new face... that’s right, we had another CHILD! Baby #18 was a complete surprise to us! We named her MIRACLE BLESSING because having a child at my age was such a MIRACLE, and her birth was a BLESSING to our family!

Isn’t little Mira the CUTEST?! She looks just liker her MAMA with her beautiful BLONDE curls and LIGHT skin!

We have four TEENS in the house right now (and two sets of TWINS!). Michael (Mike; far left) and Mallory (far right) are 16, almost 17! Mike has been TRAINING as a carpenter with his older brother, Matt, and Mallory is our current homeschool tutor and cook! Morgan (next to Mike) and Maeve (next to Mallory) are 14. They LOVE leading WORSHIP GROUPS with their friends from church! What GODLY examples they are!

Magnolia (Maggie) is 11 and is growing into a GODLY young woman with a SERVANT’S heart! She is always helping and caring for precious Miracle! Mira is 4 and is just the SWEETEST! I can’t believe that one day she’ll be grown up with her OWN children!

#meet the kenneys #time jump #update post #meetthekenneys

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sobbinscenes · 4 years

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At last! I’ve finished Heir Of Fire

This one took me forever to read.

And it’s not because it’s longer— while yes, I did usually finish the other books in like a week and they were shorter, this one I just got so unmotivated to read because it felt like it was going nowhere in the beginning.

And I mean, it was, but since Celaena had to do things less action based— and so did the rest of the gang— it felt like not too much was going on :,)

BUT! I just read 300 pages yesterday and the last 40 this morning and it’s done and over with, so now time for my thoughts n feels.

Overall it was a good book, like I said it was definitely less action-based which was different than the last few books. And it wasn’t bad or anything— the pacing was good, I’m just impatient lol.

I was really happy they developed more of the fae part of the world, magic is one of my absolute favourite things to read about and it was cool seeing how to overcome it and all.

Rowan originally really reminded me of Chaol (because of how he was introduced lol), which kinda made me think he’d end up with Celaena for some reason. They didn’t, kinda disappointed but ah well.

Otherwise he’s a really cool character and it was interesting seeing the layers to his emotions over his lifetime. The rest of the bunch at Mistward were also great, they’re all so wholesome must protect.

Not gonna lie, the whole mate thing and the fact that Celaena was 19 and Rowan hundreds of years old kinda put me off— maybe it’s a good thing they didn’t end up together lol.

Oh, and again with the creepiness! SJM is always great at creeping me out with the creatures and the way she writes them; now I get to add skinwalkers and the valg princes onto my list of nightmares, what fun :D

Manon’s pov was really cool to read about. Again, was nice learning about more magical beings amd the witches really interest me— especially after what the crochan witch had said near the end— but it was a bit meh to read at times because it didn’t actively relate to the plot that was going on then and there.

I found Manon’s arc catching. I liked how you see her so mercilessly hunting crochan witches to eventually be offered one and not hesitate, but question. Question if she should really be doing this, if she was wrong because of the ways she was raised and if she did in fact have a heart.

Sorscha! My girl, I love you. I was so sad when she died because I was hoping that if in the far future she became queen, she’d prove herself wrong and develop in that sense. But unfortunately I was wrong :,) I actually really liked her as a character though, it was refreshing after all the strong-headed women like Celaena and Manon. Rip 🙏

Dorian. My boy, my poor poor boy. Imagine seeing your lover get their head chopped off right then and there. Ouch. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t burn the place to the grown (or rather freeze) but he’s not Celaena so makes sense lol.

Oh and Dorian didn’t say ily back to Chaol AHAHAHA. Still though, best bros.

As for Chaol, w ow. He did a lot more behind the scenes in this, and it was interesting because, while he did ‘betray’ everyone, he simultaneously stayed loyal by staying true to his beliefs. So don’t beat yourself up, cap. I’m really surprised he brought Fleetfoot with him though. I know there’s some emotional baggage and stuff with that dog, but it’s a d o g. Not very inconspicuous.

Yo what if once they leave Adarlan the dog turns out to be a of fae descent and the dog is her other skin— haha jk... unless

I like that we’re finally going back to Arobynn Hamel, I’ve been waiting to meet him since book 1.

The flashbacks were fun to read, makes the king even more of a jerk :))

Aedion made me laugh quite a few times. I’m surprised anyone can hold on against their enemy for so long. Makes me wish he really does end up escaping and finding Celaena. Family reunion guys come on :(

Also why did I get the slightest feeling that Ren and Aedion had a thing going on LOL. Maybe it’s just me. Honestly, Aedion is way too much of a simp for Celaena to bother with those types of things.

What I’m Anticipating in Queen of Shadows:

What is Rowan gonna do? He himself said, “Or am I just going to be left to sit on ass for months”

Will Chaol give up the Eye of Elena once he sees Celaena again?

How does the King not know that his Champion has been Aelin? They look so similar???

Will Celaena be accepted with “open” arms in Adarlan or do they know who she is?

More news on Kaltain and what’s-his-face. Are they trying to escape? Have they succumbed to the dark magic?

Will the witches (or more Manon and the Thirteen) turn on the King once they realize why the men taste so bad and what he’s doing? Orrrr will they go all murder-mode and relish in the monsters at their disposal

Manon going against her grandmother! Please!

Celaena practicing her water-type magic. I know she barely has an affinity for it, but that could be a useful skill to have

Aedion and Celaena reunion

Chaol getting over Celaena (I mean this in a kind way lol, as much as I shipped Chaol x Celaena, it’s clear it’s not happening anymore so I hope for him to move on and be at peace with that)

Luca, Emrys and Malakai not dying (I know this doesn’t count but hey they’re too precious to be involved in this)

More on Maeve. (She clearly still wants the Wyrdkeys, will she fight the King herself? Has she been secretly preparing to go against him?)

Is Dorian going to succumb to the darkness? (Please no, this boy needs to be King, I trust no other)

Hhh that was reallly long. Now I guess I’ll start Queen of Shadows then! Convenient since I have it with me already :))

#sara reads #reading #books #sara sobs #sarah j maas #sjm #throne of glass #tog #heir of fire #hof #thoughts and feelings #review

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soulangel · 4 years

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Angel Gets a Big Bro

Summary: Nervously awaiting her audition which is coming up soon, Angel turns to a friend and family member of hers to help her with her nerves. And somehow ends up gaining a self-proclaimed brother in the process of following her dreams?

Group: Angel

Genre: Family Fluff and Friendliness

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,897

Masterlist Angel’s Masterlist

Reading the information in the email 18 year old Róisín (roe-sheen) had in front of her, she could feel her face heating up about 10 degrees in her surprise at being accepted to audition for one of her favorite record label companies. Jay Park himself signed the email saying he was “looking forward to seeing a fellow Seattlelite’s skillz.” Róisín turned to her great grandmother who was seated across from her at the dinner table. “Mimi, guess what?!” She squealed with a happy grin before setting her phone down in front of the elder. Glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, Róisín’s great grandmother, Maeve started reading the email to herself, lips moving as she silently worded what she was reading. “Seattelite skillz? What does he mean by that? Is this a trick? Who is this Jay Park again?” Maeve asked the bouncing redhead in front of her. Róisín pouted and sat down in her seat again. “Awww Mimi....don’tcha remember the video I had you help me make? The music recording? My tears as I kept failing at getting the song just perfect?” The teen whined, seeing the light shining in the elder’s eyes. Maeve started laughing and nodded her head. “Of course I remember Little Rose. When is the tryout? We should go together.” The woman suggested, earning a bright smile and a laugh of disbelief from the teen who immediately jumped out of her seat and grabbed her grandmother into a hug. “Are you serious Mimi? ‘Cause if you are I need to get ready NOW! I need to call Kylee and Ryan!” Róisín started rambling to herself, immediately looking down at her phone to call the two girls she’d just listed off. The elder shook her head as the redhead disappeared around the corner of her home, animatedly talking to her cousins in the only volume she had, which was LOUD. “This child is definitely going places.” Maeve mumbled to herself with a shake of her head. She wondered when she’d get the chance to tell her great-granddaughter they were both going back to her own home for a year, to give the younger of the two a chance to learn some of her ancestral roots.

xXx

Nervously waiting for her number to be called, Róisín looked one last time to the tiny crowd in the stadium area she was given the directions to. There in the front row giving her a subtle thumbs up was Mimi Maeve, grinning at her in encouragement. Róisín gave a tiny suck of a breath in to calm herself, waited about 5 seconds, and then released the breath through her nose, nodding to herself a couple times. She wasn’t the only one to have gotten the audition email, but it certainly helped there wasn’t 50 people like she thought there would be. “Number 11, you’re up!” Someone called out over the softly talking people backstage. Freezing in surprise, she looked up wide eyed at the person checking their clipboard, making sure their information was correct. She quickly stepped up to the person and cleared her throat. “I’m here! Right here!” She called out, waving her hand when the person looked up at her voice. They guided her to the curtains by stage left and gave her the basic rundown. “Just know, they’re waiting for you to start and finish with the song. Try not to look so frightened, loosen yourself up. If it helps, you can close your eyes to focus solely on the music. Find peace somewhere within yourself. Jay is looking for someone who enjoys what they’re doing.” They told her, smiling a little when she blinked at them in surprise before clapping her on the shoulder with a “good luck!” thrown at her. She stumbled only a couple steps before managing to twirl her body in a semi graceful spin and somehow stopped perfectly in front of the mic with a bright smile on her face. A smirk was returned to her from Jay Park as he nodded in approval at her entrance. “Number 11, that was definitely an interesting entrance. Your name is...Row-Roo.-” “Róisín! Like Roe- and sheen.” Her grey haired Mimi called out for the girl. The celebrity chuckled softly. “Róisín, that’s very pretty. I’ve just got three words for you, ready?” He asked her. Róisín gave him a confident smirk, ignoring the butterflies in herr stomach thanks to Maeve’s interference in her mental struggle. He smirked back at her and sat back. “Alright then. Do that thang.” He called out, flicking his wrist to get the music to start. The instrumental for the song You Always Believed by In This Moment blasted through the speakers, scaring some of the others auditioning and making the man in front of her furrow his brow in confusion. Rock was not something he excelled in compared to his own music. But the confusion gave way to shock and awe when he heard the clear as a bell voice belting lyrics like she was made for the stage. Sounding like a mix of range between her favorite singer Amy Lee of Evanescence with the strength of Christina Aguilera, there was no way this girl was real to him. He could clearly hear the practice in her voice from how much she sang the song, to the notes she hit just about perfectly for not having any training except a couple years of choir. He could even hear hints of gravely tones peaking through certain words showing him that, if she really wanted, she’d probably be able to get out some growling, right? growling? He had no idea. He was too focused on the powerhouse vocals he was hearing. The surprise judge he brought with him, who was hiding behind his chair snuck around for just a moment to whisper something in his ear, and if Róisín hadn’t have closed her eyes during her chorus, she would’ve seen Simon Dominic muttering to Jay Park something along the line of “potential” and “change her sound but keep her essence” to the CEO. Luckily for her though, Mimi Maeve kept an ear trained in their direction and smiled proudly at the fact her precious child was getting noticed for her talents, just like she knew the girl would.

xXx

Licking the ice cream happily after Maeve had bought some for the two, Róisín glanced up at her grandmother and just beamed happily. “I still can’t believe they let me in! Jay Park signed me Mimi!” She squealed with a giggle. The elder just smiled fondly and ran a hand through Róisín’s hair, love and affection in her gaze as her granddaughter focused on the ice cream in her hands, ignoring most of the world around her. “You did amazing Little Rose. I’m so proud of you. Your family will be too! So, you ready to go tell them?” Maeve replied, hesitantly watching the teen’s reaction at the suggestion. The smallest tense of the shoulders is the response she got as Róisín slowly nodded her head, knowing it was bound to happen sooner or later since she’d have to explain she needed to leave for South Korea. “No, but you’re right. I do need to tell them before I leave for South Korea....” She said softly, biting her lip as her thoughts distracted her. Maeve stared at the redhead for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “There’s something else too Little Rose.” The woman started, finding them both a spot at a picnic table under a tree. She sat down and patted the seat beside her with a gentle smile, letting Róisín sit down beside her before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “You know how you’ve always wanted to know where I came from? And see where I go when I have to return home?” The woman asked while seeing the wheels turning in her granddaughter’s head. The nod of Róisín gave Maeve the approval to continue with what she was saying, no matter how confused the first of the two seemed. “Well, you might have to get ahold of your new boss and tell him.....you’re going to IRELAND FOR A YEAR!” The elder cried out happily, throwing her hands in the air to celebrate what she’d said. Róisín stared at her grandmother for a minute, trying to understand whether or not she heard the woman correctly. “Hang on, back up a minute.....you said I’m going to Ireland with you??? When? For how long?! NOW?!” She couldn’t help but start panicking a little, wondering how she was going to plan all of this new information rolling in her brain. She’d felt her phone vibrate and glanced down at her pocket momentarily, wondering who it could be as she still reeled in confusion with all the information she’d been given in such a short time. “Waaahhh uh, what?” She mumbled, furrowing her eyebrows while pulling the device out of her pocket. She checked her email to find an unread one from Jay Park himself?! Eyes wide she shakily read the piece of mail, Maeve reading behind her like the nosy elder she was.

“Hey Girl!

So glad you were able to make it out to auditions today! You were hella amazing on that stage and I am so proud to have you sign on with us! I promise you, it’ll be the best experience of your LIFE! We all look forward to workin’ with you.

Let me know if you have any questions aight? I’ll take care of it! Just call me Big Brother Jay!

Your brotha Jay Park.”

It took her a couple times to read over the email and truly understand what the guy was talking about. “Big Brother Jay? Is he serious right now?” Maeve muttered softly, tilting her head as the younger of the two put the phone away into her pocket once more. She looked to her grandmother and chuckled a little to herself. “I like it. I think I’ll get along with him real well! Plus it sounds like he’s willing to help me with whatever I need, meaning he can help me expand my musical range! OH! I need to email him back about the trip! Hopefully he’ll be okay with it.” She rambled, gasping softly before she took her phone back out of her pocket to start the email, explaining to him the situation she suddenly found herself in. She sent it after a couple minutes of reading and refining, wanting to sound as professional as possible until she remembered what he sent her....as the CEO welcoming a new recruit. So she then decided to re-refine the work and sent it out to him, then glanced up at her Mimi. “Alright, let’s go tell the family!” She cried happily, jumping for joy as the two finally stood up from the picnic table to get back to their car. Róisín pulled the keys out of her other pocket and wrapped an arm around Maeve, the two heading toward the car parked across the park they were in to celebrate the teen’s victory. Maeve stepped closer to wrap the teen up in a one armed hug, a proud grin on the elder’s face. “You did good Little Rose. Everyone is going to be so proud of you.” She said softly, luckily saying it soft enough Róisín didn’t hear her.

#kpop #kpop au #kpop x angel #all about angel #angel #aomg #aomg au #aomg x angel #aomg imagines #aomg scenarios #aomg jay park #aomg simon d #skye.works #angel fluff #fluff

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marieschunne · 4 years

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SGE AU: Chapter One

Author’s Note

This story is based on the fiction world created by the very talented Soman Chainani, an alternative universe/fan fiction written by a reader and is not at all affiliated with the original series. This story will not include the series’s main characters (notably Agatha, Sophie, or Tedros) and is focused solely on telling the story of a fictional main character that I made.

Note that I have made changes to some parts/story concepts, as well as including darker themes to better suit on describing the tale of the Evil Queen’s daughter.

Summary

Maeve of Avalon is the princess of the most famous evil kingdom in all the woods. Growing up, she has been groomed by the Evil Queen to become her successor, to continue the legacy of evil.

But it was soon proved to be in vain when the invitation for the School for Good came instead. Her fate was not at all as as she thought; for Maeve found herself trapped in the worst of nightmares and the thin line between good and evil, forcing her to choose between her wicked destiny… or accepting her mother’s wrath.

The room tilted under me as my head spun with disbelief, my fingers clutching the Flowerground ticket—the pressure of my grip on the shining, glossy surface creating a crease on the edges. My name gleamed under the casted dim light from the chandelier above, dripping of oil and cobwebs in which the spiders have long since crawled away to avoid the wrath of my broom. There was no mistaking it, I thought, as my eyes widened and once again ran over the glittering words: Princess Maeve of Avalon; 1 Passage Ticket; the School for Good.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I placed the ticket on the edge of the windowsill where I’d found it earlier. My shoulders suddenly felt heavy… too heavy, as though invisible boulders have been dropped against it. I fell to the ground, feeling the rough surface of the carpet tucked between me and the cold stone floor. Pressing my hand against the bridge of my nose, I struggled to keep the emotions from rising, though it was clear a raging thought appeared in my mind, in bold black letters atop the small words screaming in my head: Mother is going to kill me.

I shouldn’t have opened the windows this morning, though I always do it every day. Even if the letter hadn’t fallen straight to the windowsill for me to find, it would have somehow ended up in my hands anyway, although I doubt it wouldn’t cause a sort of chaos in the castle, not to mention my mother’s bubbling wrath. Ever since I turned fourteen and the date of acceptance came near, Mother would not stop talking about the School for Evil, where my place as a student must have been guaranteed already after the success of Mother’s story. She was the Evil Queen in Snow White’s fairytale who didn’t even bother with burying her stepdaughter or her foolish prince; instead, she had them both cremated and frozen in the dungeon so that whenever she brews a potion of mischief, she could do so while staring at their dead souls.

For years I have been training for this moment—hours spent in the dungeon following Mother’s potion and spell books, creating explosives and capturing doves, putting them in a cage just for the fun of it. When I was seven, I remembered catching a mouse hiding in a small corner near the throne room before presenting it to Mother, always eager to earn her approval. That was when she told me to kill it.

I cried then, refusing blatantly. In return, Mother lashed my palms and killed the poor animal right in front of me. A pitiful soul is unbecoming of a villain. Since then, I never cried; nor did I blink when I saw other creatures getting murdered before me.

What would she do when she finds out about my ticket? Lash me again? Torture me in her dungeon? Kill me before another villain could and cremate me beside my stepsister?

Though ashamed, I don’t want to die yet. Mother used to tell me that to die is a weakness—of course, except for the years catching up on you—and to live is to win in the universe’s game. If she ever discovered the existence of this wretched Flowerground ticket, if she ever found out that her blood daughter is a student of Good—

My hands shot out to the metal ball at the end of the bed, one I used for practice torture, before flinging it at the gilded mirror. The echo of glass shattering pierced my ears, but I could barely hear it over the sound of my pumping heart banging against my eardrums, adrenaline coursing through my blood. If there was anyone I fear most in this world it would be Mother, and should she ever find out that a stymph bird never came to whisk me away to that school, I might as well be doomed.

Suddenly, a hard knock came from the door, snapping me out of my dark thoughts and back into reality. Quickly, I grabbed for the ticket and stuffed it inside my drawer. I barely had time to push the thing shut before the door opens, revealing an ugly goblin that is the castle’s Chief Steward standing in the doorway, her rock grey skin murkier than usual. She sneered at me with her crusted lips, her eyes a muddled green, “the Queen is awaiting your presence at the gates.”

Hiding my shaking fingers, I forced my expression to remain calm. “What for? Is she going somewhere?” I truthfully doubt my ability to remain neutral and not give away the yawning chaos of fear inside me if I were to face her at this time… but do I have a choice?

“It is the weekly trial, girl,” the goblin said, narrowing her eyes as though she could smell my skepticism.

“Right,” I said, straightening the creases of my black sheer skirt. “And it is Your Highness to you, Gill. Or simply princess should suffice.”

Ignoring her dark expression after being scolded, I rushed out of the door without another glance, blood still roaring in my ears.

✧ ༄ ♥ ༄ ✧

“At last!” Mother announced, tapping her long, slender fingers against the carriage door, her red nails the color of her enemy’s blood. Her lips were turned upside down in a frown—an expression between upset and irritated as she sighed, “where have you been, Maeve? The people are anxious for this trial! They demand justice!”

They always do. Under Mother’s rule, the people have grown to be either cruel or cowardice, with no one daring to lift a finger for rebellion. How can they, when Mother was a product of a successful Evil story, read by every single child in the Reader world? Besides, Mother would of crush them into pieces in a blink of an eye.

“I lost track of time,” I mumbled, carefully tiptoeing the apology at the edge of my tongue. Was this why the School Master appointed me as a Good student, instead of Evil? Because he knew that somewhere deep inside, a small part of me cared enough to say sorry?

“Villains don’t just forget about time!” She scolded sharply. “If I were a tad bit late in killing Snow White, she would have been a queen in my stead!”

“Yes, Mother,” I said, forcing my voice to be firm.

She climbed into the carriage first and I followed, feeling the dark velvet of the chair cold as any stone under my skin, keeping the whole aura always in gloom and doom, just as Mother liked. If I were her, I would have added something red, or perhaps a lighter color…

I cringed in disgust. Pink is a color for good princesses. It is a color that should never enter my eyesight.

Not letting my thoughts run any deeper, Mother quickly engaged me in a conversation that always included bits of advice on torture, death, and more misery. Her lips widened to form her trademark storybook sneer, her dark brows arched elegantly. “Only a day more until you must leave for the School, Maeve. Now, remember to make sure that your windows are always open to easier access for the stymph birds. No nonsense of pretending to be asleep in bed; absolutely ridiculous! I was more awake than I had ever been when they took me.”

“What were you doing when they took you?” I wondered, the invisible weight of the Flowerground ticket still pressing against my palm.

“I was carving open my old Gran’s heart—I didn’t need her to pester me while I was at school,” she told me, her eyes far away as her face contorted with satisfaction. My stomach dropped. If Mother was cruel enough to kill her own blood, then what was there to stop her from killing me?

It felt much like pushing myself off a cliff when I dared myself to ask, “Mother, what do you think of the School for Good? What—What if, in some extraordinary case, one of our people was taken to Good?”

She frowned, taking her time to think about it. Probably imagining all sorts of torture for this imaginary Good person—who also happens to be real, and that person is me. “I wouldn’t be able to reach the School for Good to kill that child myself… there are violations set by the School Master. But the family… oh, yes. The family should suffer enough that the child would be too afraid to ever set foot upon this kingdom again.”

I pursed my lips. Now I’ve heard enough. After acknowledging her reply with a curt nod, I inclined my head to look out the window, at the sight of our kingdom. Like the castle, the richer part of the kingdom is dark, built from the smooth ground with precious obsidian and silver. The trial has always been held at the Square, in the middle of the village. Soon, our carriage rumbled down the jagged streets over dirty pebbles down the less fortunate neighborhood. Here, the houses are in ruins, some of the stones crumbling down over roofs and causing a leak to trickle all over the already damp curtains. Iron buckets were placed on the doors after being emptied from the rain that poured heavy last night. I’ve noticed that some of them had enough gall to try and plant flowers, only to have it wither and die on the small boxes placed on their broken, dirty windowsills.

“Such a hurtful sight to my eyes,” muttered Mother, tone tainted with disgust. Her eyes ran critically over the neighborhood that we passed by every week, though I know beforehand that she thought it unnecessary to mend the slum. They must work their way for money; that’s the only way they’ll repair their hideous homes.

Finally, the carriage rumbled to a stop and the door was opened by our coachman: another goblin, this one grim looking. He bowed at us as we descended the small flight of stairs to the Square, where a crowd has already gathered to witness the trial. Every villager must be present for the trial in respect for the Queen and to see by their own eyes just how cruel the punishment if they dared to cross the line.

We approached the dais in which two thrones—one made of great obsidian, and the smaller one of iron—have been placed atop. Mother took a seat first and the people bowed in her presence, no one daring to meet our eyes. Even when I ascended they feared me too, though whereas Mother was full of glee to have her part of the cruelty of the week, my face remained blank; an expression I’ve long mastered to not give away my true feelings.

Perhaps I used to feel sorry for them when I was young. Remorse on their behalf, even. But now I felt nothing; just a cold abyss robbed of emotions. Perhaps if I were taking a more gleeful perspective, the School Master would consider kicking me out of the School for Good?

With that in thought, I plastered on a smile. Mother looked at me suspiciously but didn’t say anything. She lets the people stay like that for a whole minute, relishing in their tired shoulders, before her voice, cold and loud–like a mallet hitting glass–echoed in the Square: “Rise, my people.”

The people rose. While some of the lords and ladies wealthy enough to live in the richer neighborhood stood at the front lines, smiles on their faces in respect for the Queen are displayed, the peasants standing behind them looked as miserable as ever, their faces powdered with dirt and ash. An awful odor hung in the air—the scent of previous corpses whose lives had been taken here before.

At the center of the Square was a stage, which I think used to be a place to house performances instead of a large, hulking guillotine made of wood with a blade at the top, sharper than any knives. Mother made the blade herself—it never failed to perform a kill filled with blood instead of a clean one, since she loves the idea of the townspeople rubbing off the trickles from the Square’s pavement. The executioner stood ready by the guillotine, his eyes that could barely be seen over the piece of fabric covering half of his face examined a large bucket placed under the killing machine, as though contemplating whether it would hold the heads about to be chopped off today.

There was no law in the kingdom; not really. Mother, true to her Evil, lets the streets roam with beggars and thieves, even murderers. They go unpunished if it was not associated with the nobles or the royal family. Trying to escape, however, holds the same level of crime as both, because it meant abandoning the kingdom and its queen.

A senior goblin stepped forward, wearing a ridiculous cap that Mother insisted they wear for the trial as if the whole setting wasn’t horrific enough. “Your Majesties the Queen Grimhilde and Princess Maeve; may I present to you Hal, a slave who was caught trying to escape from the House of Waldorf in which he was employed,” the goblin announced.

A bulky man with thick muscles up his arms dragged a rope behind him in which a man was tied around the neck and made his way through the crowd for the stage by crawling on his knees. Like an arrow, a strange emotion rose inside me, and I battled it back down, disgusted by myself. Why did I feel that way? My hands twitched against the armrest of my throne, as though it was about to spring forward and save the slave from the dark fate that awaited him.

Beside me, Mother roared, “what do you have to say for yourself, slave?”

Does he not have a name? Even in his last living seconds, he would be known as the disobeying slave—never the man that he was inside. I caught myself with such thoughts and held back a wince. Fingers digging into my palm, I watched as one of the lords stepped forward with a look of hidden pride—perhaps to acknowledge the fact that the slave was his—over a mask of disappointment. He announced, “I shall speak for him, my Queen, for he was a property of mine.”

The Queen gave a curt nod. The Lord continued, “this man was found trying to flee to the woods last night. I say there shall not be mercy for this one!”

In reply, Mother raised a hand, shutting him up. The lord dropped his head under the Queen’s hard gaze. “Let the people decide,” she clipped, her eyes roaming over the audience. “What do you say, my people? Do we spare him?” A glint of mirth danced in her emerald green eyes. “Or do we punish him?”

The crowd roared at the last sentence. It was expected as any, especially with the careful watch of the guards surrounding every corner. Mother gave another nod, and the bulky man marched the slave up the stage, where the executioner was waiting, almost eager. We all waited with bated breath as the man was strapped down to the guillotine hole. I could almost see the executioner’s wicked grin behind his mask when he pulled the blade higher.

My face was blank as stone when the blade fell and the man’s screams filled my ears. The music of pure evil.

#sge #school for good and evil #the school for good and evil #ever after #fairy tale #dark fairy tale #snow white #evil queen #fanfiction

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mayve-hems · 5 years

Text

Money | a.i.

Type: IMAGINE | ONE SHOT | MULTI CHAPTER

Summary: Y/N and Ashton are very in love. But Y/N has a secret she needs to tell Ashton that she keeps putting off. But at the same time, Ashton has a secret for Y/N. How will it all unravel?

Word Count: 7.0k

Note: Not my gif! Thank you to my friend Jo for editing this. I know this took several days to write, but honestly, it would have been here sooner if my family didn’t decide at midnight to send me to another state to pick up my grandfather. I have more coming soon, so just keep an eye out. Also, if you’d like to request something (headcanon/blurb/Oneshot/imagine) then I am open to requests at this time. Don’t hesitate!

Warnings: only cussing :)

~Maeve

He’s hopelessly in love with her. So helplessly in love with her that he can’t imagine a single second without knowing if she’s okay. During concerts, they let each other know that they’re okay through code words, hand gestures, or straight up confirming it during the show. He’d give up his entire livelihood to hand her the keys to the universe. He’ll twirl a drumstick in his right hand seven times if there’s a problem or he’s feeling unsure; she’ll whisper into his earpiece that she loves him if she counts the seven spins. While she’s standing in the wings of the curtains, she’ll motion a broken heart with her hands if she feels something is off inside of her body; he’ll blow her a kiss in return.

One of the few times Michael Wants Another Slice was requested from an entire arena, she got on top of his shoulders as he screamed into the microphone. The boys found humor in a six-foot-tall, My Little Pony lover, singing a death metal song with his blue-haired girlfriend sitting on his shoulders. The crowd? They absolutely ate it up.

“What do you guys think of her?” Ashton asked the crowd the first time Michael Wants Another Slice was requested. The arena screamed in return, calling about how beautiful and perfect they were together. Y/N leaned her face down in front of Ashton’s and gave him a kiss while covering his eyes with her hands. Luke thought the crowd had a panic attack at the peck. She brushed the blue curls from her precious eyes and smiled. “I mean I’m okay with that.” Luke helped her hop down from Ashton’s shoulders and onto the Marley stage. She picked at her ripped black jeans and adjusted her white bustier.

Now, it’s normal for when a crowd greatly desires the beautiful sounds of Michael Wants Another Slice, she sits atop her boyfriends' strong shoulders and rocks out with the band. She’s their only exception; the other boys are more single than a lonely Pringle, standing on stage without a girlfriend waiting for them. Though Ashton jokes that she’s the bands' girlfriend, she still is strictly into Ashton.

The boys play the last note of Michael Wants Another Slice, John Feltmann brushing the drumsticks over the cymbals until the guitar riffs stop. Luke slips his guitar off to Calum and holds his hands out for Y/N’s to grab. She hoists her hips up from Ashton’s shoulders and keeps a strong grip on Luke. Her Converse land on the floor and she picks at her skinny jeans. Mostly the thigh area- where she’s most insecure.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ashton asks the crowd. Cheers and chants reply back, every syllable of her name lining up with a clap. “I know right?” Ashton giggles. Before long, Y/N won’t be able to sit atop his shoulders and laugh while he sings. She won’t tell him that until she’s ready though. “I love you, Y/N!”

The beautiful girl laughed, grabbing onto the hand that wasn’t holding a microphone. “You’re a dork.”

“Fun fact,” Ashton spat through the speakers. “Y/N can’t sing!”

“You’re a liar!”

“I am not!”

“Give me that damn thing,” Y/N grabbed the microphone from her sweaty boyfriend and wrapped both hands around the base. Putting it close to her lips, she cleared her throat. She horribly sang Money until the chorus when the boys couldn’t contain their giggles. Michael tried to play his guitar but his fingers kept skipping frets until he whined to get the microphone away from her plump lips. “I am a great singer, right?”

The crowd cheers a lie that made her smile.

“I love you with all my heart, baby girl,” said Ashton. “But you sound like a dying pig!”

Y/N turned her head towards his for a kiss. “And you sound like a kangaroo.”

The kissed, the crowd cheered even more, and Y/N exited the stage.

“How’d I do?” Ashton asked his girlfriend, handing her a cup of alcohol. She smiled, pretended to take a sip, and rolled her eyes. “Was it good?”

“It was great,” She replied. “As always.”

Ashton wrapped his arms around his girlfriend in a bear hug. His nose dug into the strands of blue hair on her neck and inhaled the scent of vanilla- his favorite. It’s a type of relaxation; the smell of vanilla always present on her skin. His brain associates the light scent with affection and adoration; blue hair and tight skinny jeans; dewy mornings and laying in a warm bed; sarcastic comments and lighting-type kisses. The scent of her skin and hair whisper into his ears that he is safe and shouldn’t be scared of anything.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know?”

“I know.” Y/N rolls her eyes again. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton shrugs, continuing to hug his girlfriend from behind. Y/N doesn’t mind bear hugs from her kangaroo significant other; they’re her favorite part of the day. Besides when they fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms with a single blanket over them both; their legs tangled into a mess of bare skin, with Ashton’s hands riding up the back of the shirt she stole from him. “Have you eaten anything for dinner?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I’m not that hungry.”

“What’d you have for lunch?”

She describes her favorite meal to him; a delicious tray of food laid with everything she’d give her life for . . . besides Ashton. Ashton nods, listening to her talk about food like it’s her entire life. “It was good.”

“Sounds like it,” Ashton hugs her even tighter. She feels like she’s going to explode. “We oughta’ get you some food though. What do you want?” Y/N repeats that she’s not starving, but Ashton refuses to take that as an answer. “We can go get something from the store if you’d like.”

“I’m not hungry, Ash,” She whispers. She’s starving, but she doesn’t want to interrupt the after-party with One Direction for something to eat. Once they get back to the proper hotel room, they’ll change from performance clothing into comfortable attire and have a late-night run to some hole-in-the-wall food joint with greasy food and caffeine-loaded sodas. “Are you?”

“I always am,” Ashton laughs. “Are you really sure though?”

Y/N gives in. “We still have to go back and-”

“Who cares?”

“Cal-”

“They’re having their own fun and whatever,” Ashton points at Luke and Michael arguing over a game of Fifa. “See,” Luke is growing angrier at Michael. “They’re content with their own lives. Let’s go get something to eat.”

They stop at Ashton’s hotel room before leaving the building. Ashton strips down and up into a pair of jeans and one of his favorite shirts -one that Y/N hasn’t stolen yet. Y/N just changes into clothes she’ll fall asleep in later; Ashton’s grey sweatpants and her most recently stolen shirt. Ashton laughs when the clothes engulf her.

“You’re a little Ashton,” He takes her hands in his and twirls her around a little bit. “What would you like to eat, my love?”

“I want pancakes!” Y/N squeals. She shoves her hands into the pockets of the sweatpants, where her phone, wallet, and keys are. The pad of the girls’ thumb brushes the textured keychain. “With maple syrup.”

“You hate both of those!” Ashton chuckles. Every time Ashton and Y/N have tried pancakes with maple syrup, she takes a few bites before handing it off to Ashton because the taste repulses her. She ends up ordering crepes or egg whites and devouring them like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. “You aren’t going to eat them, baby girl.”

“Give me one more chance,” Y/N begs. All she’s wanted for the past two weeks has been pancakes with maple syrup soaking through the fluffy carbs and pooling near the edges of the plate. “Please? Pancakes?”

Ashton sighs. “Fine,”

When it comes to early-morning interviews or meetings, Ashton normally lets Y/N sleep in until her heart is content and rested. He usually returns before she’s escaped the comfort of their shared bed, however. He’s not surprised when he returns to Y/N dead asleep, face stuffed into the hard pillow, and snoring away when he arrived back at hotel room 304. Luke runs into the room and jumps onto his bed in an attempt at resting even more, but bounces once on the mattress and lands against the wall.

Y/N jumps up at the loud noise, disregarding her lack of pants. “What’s going on?” She screams at Luke while he rubs his pain-filled arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Luke snaps. He hoists himself onto the mattress again and tosses his blanket over his body. He doesn’t change from interview clothes. “Goodnight!”

Y/N rolls her eyes and grabs Ashton’s sweatpants from the floor. She pulls the grey trousers up her legs and ties the waistband to her approximate size. Her boyfriend watches in admiration, not realizing that they sweatpants are tied a little looser than they normally were. “How was the interview?” Y/N yawns and rubs her face. Tired still flushes through her system.

“Good, it went well,” Ashton confirms. “We have rehearsal in two hours, Luke!”

“Shut up!” Luke calls to his bandmate. His head is pounding from this mornings hangover.

Ashton grabs Y/N’s suitcase from the floor and opens it for her. She shoves her red makeup bag underneath her arm, along with a freshly washed outfit. While the boys are off doing their own thing, Y/N sometimes stays back to wash clothes and blankets with Liz. It’s their attempt to make the tour bus and hotel rooms smell less like a musky boy. Half of the time it doesn’t help, so they douse tour bunks and couches with Febreze.

“You feeling okay, baby girl?” Ashton asks. He notices her slow movements and fatigued body. She’s gained a little bit of weight, but Ashton doesn’t notice the extra pudge on her belly. She looks healthy and beautiful in his eyes, so why would he care? Y/N nods her head. The pads of Ashton’s fingers tug her hair from her face so he can see her correctly. Her face is pale and tired, even though she slept for at least eight hours. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead; she’s warm like a sick child. “Want me to get Liz to take you to a doctor?”

“No, I’m just tired,” Y/N shrugs off.

“You’re sick, baby girl,” Ashton kisses her forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to go see a doctor?”

“Yeah,” Y/N whispers. “I’m okay. Just worn out.”

Ashton nods and moves out of Y/N pathway. She barely turns the shower on before she’s throwing up pancakes. Her throat burns from her stomach acidity. Somehow, Ashton and Luke don’t hear Y/N almost dying in the bathroom of the suite. Y/N strips down to her naked body and sits at the bottom of the bathtub for a while.

She has to tell Ashton at some point, but she can’t bring herself to do it. He has to know what’s going on! Calum has been privy to some of Y/N situation after he accidentally walked into the tour bus bathroom, where Y/N was throwing up her guts. She made him promise that he wouldn’t dare speak a word to her boyfriend, though. Calum has kept the promise, even though he’s still slightly confused about the entire circumstance.

“Babe,” Ashton whispers, distracting Y/N from her staring-at-the-water episode at the bottom of a porcelain tub. The scent of vanilla fills his nostrils like smoke. “I’m going to go with Cal and Mikey to the arena. Are you okay here with Luke?”

“Yeah,” Y/N lies. She doesn’t want Ashton to leave her with Luke. She has nothing against the youngest band member, she just wants to be in the presence of her boyfriend. Her hands trace the hickeys biting at her thighs. That’s why she wears jeans all the time. “I’ll text you in a bit.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ashton closes the bathroom door and lets Y/N continue -or rather, start- her shower.

Her eyes open.

“When are you going to tell Ash?” Luke questions, scrolling through his phone. The tweets are showing up over and over again about Y/N and Ashton. He loves them two as a couple, but dear God, he’s tired of the tweets. Y/N is like Luke’s big sister- one that’ll protect him from the scary monsters and separation anxiety, even though his mom is on tour with them. He’s ready to beat up all the haters and assholes.

“What?” Y/N tries to sit up from her uncomfortable hospital bed, but she doesn’t have enough strength. Luke puts his phone face down on the blue seat next to him so he can help her. She sits up and grimaces towards her IV. “What’s going on?”

“Ashton’s just about here, so think some shit up,”

“What?” Y/N asks again. She’s wearing the clothes she picked out before her shower. “What happened?”

“You were walking out of the bathroom and you fainted,” Luke answers. Y/N notices how her jeans won’t button, so she tries to fix it. The button won't fit through the hole without squeezing her belly uncomfortably. “When are you going to tell Ashton?”

Y/N stares at her belly. Ashton’s Metallica shirt is rolled up above the unsolvable button. She shoves the cloth down to cover the metal. Ashton can’t know. “Eventually.”

“Why not now?”

“Because,” Y/N sighs. “It’s not noticeable.” She lets her head fall back to the pillow. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You were dehydrated,” Luke points to the IV bag. “And you’re-”

“Shut up!” Y/N screams.

She’s discharged from the hospital before Ashton arrives. She hides pictures in her purse and the unbuttoned-button underneath Ashton’s shirt. When he sees her, Ashton pulls her close, brushing blue hair from her face. She cries into Ashton’s chest, feeling hopeless and weak.

“Are you okay?” Ashton questions, pressing his hand to her forehead. She’s cooled off a little bit. “What happened? Y/N are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N grabs Ashton’s hands. Her fingers are tiny against his. “Just dehydrated and stuff. Shouldn’t you be in rehearsal?”

“They pushed it back an hour,” Ashton replies. He’s shaking. The eldest member of 5 Seconds Of Summer doesn't want to let his girlfriend out of his sight again. But he knows he has to. “You’re not going on stage at all tonight. I mean it.” Y/N giggles a little bit. “I’m serious. You’re going to sit in my dressing room and you’re going to drink so much water that you pee every five minutes!”

“Ashton you’re being excessive,” Y/N laughs. She’s still feeling weak. “What’d you have for lunch, babe?”

Ashton thinks for a moment. “Um . . . nothing?”

“Same. Let’s get something to eat real quick.”

Luke trails behind them, pissed that Y/N isn’t going to tell Ashton anything besides ‘I was dehydrated’.

He skipped the after-party. He tucked himself in a cramped bunk, wrapping his arms around Y/N as she sleeps soundlessly against the tour bus wall. He’d rather she fell asleep on the couch or in his bunk -where there’s more room- but he didn’t bother trying to get her to move. She was asleep; she needed sleep. His legs tangle with hers under her great grandmother's handmade quilt, and even though she was sound asleep, she still shuffled towards her boyfriend for warmth and comfort.

Ashton’s fingers ran through her blue hair, calming the both of them. She rarely sleeps in her own bunk, as a result of Ashton’s being roomier than hers. Even though the bunks are the exact same size, his still seems bigger than hers. The mattress is missing the trademark scent of vanilla with undertones of his cologne. It’s uncomfortable for him. He stays, though.

They both dozed off for a while, with the tour bus lights still on. They wake up to pitch black and the snores of Michael Clifford. Y/N just settles her fingers between Ashton’s and stare at the top of the bunk for a little while. She’s thinking; overthinking.

How is she going to tell Ashton? More importantly, how is she going to manage everything? Money- she has to get some of that so she can live. However, Ashton stars a small hum to calm her racing heart, and she’s not stressing about it as much. Y/N’ll figure it out somehow, even if Ashton abandons her. She’d rather have Ashton with her through everything, but she knows it’s not possible.

“What are you thinking about?” Ashton whispers. He’s scared of waking the boys from their sleep, but he’s loud enough for Y/N to hear. That’s all he really cares about. He wants to speak to Y/N. Both of their internal clocks are screaming that it’s probably around four or five in the morning. They have an entire day on the bus, so who really cares about the time?

Y/N thinks up something quickly. “Would you rather be hurt by the one you trust the most or the one you love the most?”

Ashton gives her a low laugh. One that channels his morning voice with raspy undertones and deep giggles. Y/N loves the sound of Ashton’s morning voice. “That’s deep.” Ashton answers. “I’m not sure. It’s the same person.” Ashton pulls Y/N so close to his body, the only thing in between her shirt and his bare chest is one of her arms that’s playing with a damp curl in front of his eyes. Her other arm is going numb underneath the pillow beneath their heads. “What about you?”

Y/N continues to twirl the coiled blonde lock around her finger. “Same answer.” Ashton’s hands fall underneath Y/N’s shirt, right above the hem of her dinosaur underwear. To her, it feels like electricity coursing through her veins, but to him, it’s an absent-minded habit. She’s usually on the brink of sleep when his hands take their place underneath the back of her shirt. Y/N leans her head up for a small peck from Ashton. His lips grazed over hers once, twice, and a third time when she finally tucks her forehead into his neck. Her hand finds its way to the back of Ashton’s hair. “What’s your opinion of me?”

“You’re an amazing person, and I wouldn’t give you up for the world.” Ashton answers.

“Not that,” Y/N whispers. Ashton’s ears have to try their hardest to hear her speak. “Do you actually . . . do you actually like-”

“-Do I actually love you?”

“ . . . Yeah,”

“Y/N,” Ashton murmurs. His hands remove themselves from her back to pull her from his neck. He brushes past her cheekbones, feeling damp trails of tears that ended on the collar of her shirt. He wipes the pathways of emotion and kisses her once. “I would do anything for you. I would give up all of my fame, my talent, my whole life for you.”

“You’re just taking it too far now,” there’s no type of hilarity or joking in Y/N’s voice. Just pain and raw feelings that she wishes never started. She knows Ashton loves her- but is she really sure?

“No, I’m not,” Ashton pulls the small girl close to him again. “You’re all I think about, all the time. You’re all I ever wanted in life. Every time I sit down behind a drum kit, I imagine you cheering me on and joking around. Whenever I sing, I think of how excited you get on top of my shoulders while I scream a stupid song about pizza. You’re the stars to my galaxy- the Michael to my pizza. Luke told me he wasn’t even sure I had dimples until I met you. I love you so much.”

“No, you don’t,” Y/N forces. Her throat starts to tighten like a barbwire fence is strangling her. She wants to believe everything Ashton’s telling her, but her mind won't allow it. “The fans-”

“-Are jealous! They’re jealous of you because you’re friends with three of the most precious people in the world, and you’re dating somebody famous. People get jealous, it’s normal. They’re taking it out on you in a terrible way, and I wish they’d stop,”

“But what if it’s true?”

“It’s not.”

“What if I’m bad for you?”

“You’re not bad for me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“If you were bad for me, then I wouldn’t have fallen in love-”

“-You didn’t fall in love with me.”

“You’re right,” Ashton clears his throat. “You fucking tripped me with your damn Converse, and deep eyes, and bright blue hair, and the most beautiful body I have ever seen.” Y/N tries to coil her body up to hide a sob. “How about we go watch a movie? The Nightmare Before Christmas? You love that movie.”

Y/N shrugs. “You don’t want to.”

“Yes, I do!”

Y/N shakes her head.

“There’s some Cheez-Its and chips in the cabinet. I’m pretty sure we also have coffee, and Peace Tea, and . . . there are some Naked smoothies.” Ashton just wants to distract Y/N’s mind from racing. He’ll do anything to make her feel better.

“I’m gaining weight.”

“And?”

“My jeans don’t fit anymore.”

“We’ll go to the mall when we stop for dinner.” Y/N doesn’t reply. “So . . . The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Everybody woke up a few hours later to Ashton and Y/N laying on the couch with a blanket engulfing their sleeping bodies. Y/N, laying on top of Ashton, her head laying underneath his chin, still was stressing in her sleep.

“Baby Girl,” Ashton whispers, brushing Y/N’s hair from her face. Michael and Luke stir from their sleep on the round couch, underneath Y/N’s long body. Ashton couldn’t sleep after sleeping for several hours during the day, but Y/N just wanted to rest more than she could imagine, which happened to be on top of three boys at once. Her head rests mostly in Ashton’s lap, but she still sprawled herself along over Ashton’s bandmates. “Wake up.”

“No,” Y/N whispers. Her hands shield her eyes from the setting sky glowing behind her. “I want more sleep.” Her body coils in a little bit more, gathering the blanket along her bare legs. Though, she’s uncomfortable, so she tries to stretch her body. “Uncomfortable.”

“You’ve slept for almost twenty-four hours,”

“Then let me sleep for twenty-five.” She tries to close her eyes, but her body responds by shoving adrenaline through her veins. Before she can try to fall back into a peaceful, and uncomfortable state of slumber, she wants to get up and have fun. Run everywhere; eat food; watch TV. “Where are we?”

“Cali,”

“Why did you wake me up?”

Ashton shrugs. He stares at the TV, dodging her question. Unknowingly to each other, they’re planning a surprise for the other in the next twenty-four hours. Liz knows both surprises and has vowed to keep both of them a secret from everyone; Luke and Calum know minor details about Y/N’s surprise, and Calum and Michael know privy details to Ashton’s. Somehow, with that formula, the secrets are kept. “I’m hungry, and you’re on me.”

Y/N sits up. She looks where her legs are laying- where Luke and Michael are curled up together, asleep. “Where’s Calum?”

“No clue,” Ashton stretches his body. The oldest band member feels like he hasn’t moved from that exact spot in forever. He’s had to pee for the last hour, but he knew how worn out Y/N was. He suffered through a full bladder for the girl he loves. Jesus Christ, he’s so in love with the blue-haired beauty. The one with such a precious skin tone and complexion he swears she’s one-in-seven-billion; the one with glassy eyes that’ll shatter at the wrong word, but cut a bitch at the right; the one with such a perfect body he doesn’t know how she’s real. “You still want to stop at the mall and get some clothes?”

“Sure,” Y/N shrugs. She’s trying to play it down, but in all seriousness, she needs to go to the small. Liz and Y/N have Y/N’s surprise planned out. Liz will get the things, and Y/N will pay her back. “How long until we’re in the city?”

“Not long,” Ashton looks back at the blank interstate. “Probably long enough to get ready and shit.”

“I have an idea that we should do,” Y/N blatantly says, blurting out what she had been thinking about for the last few hours. She explains how all six of them should get shirts with their last names printed on the back, with their birth year right underneath. As a jersey, Y/N described to Ashton.

Ashton nods, pretending that Y/N hadn’t told him about that when she woke up earlier. He made plans with Liz to alter something small in Y/N’s plan. “So I’d be Irwin 94?”

“Yeah.” Y/N agrees. Ashton’s girlfriend tells him how her shirt would be, and he admires her speaking about her birth year and last name on a shirt. “We could wear it to the show tomorrow and take photos.” Ashton nods. “You guys already told the fans that you’d dress up for Halloween, so you could go as yourselves.”

“Or we could go as each other.”

“You could go as a drummer!”

“You could be the drummers' girlfriend.”

Y/N giggles. “I’m not going on stage. Dehydration, remember?”

Ashton waves his hand. “Whatever, freak.” Y/N gives her boyfriend a quick peck on the lips. His lips are soft against hers, but his calloused hands feel rough along her jawline. “Drink water. You’ll be fine.”

The tour bus docked in a Santa Cruz hotel as the sun landed on the other side of the world. Ashton carried his sleepy girlfriend from the bunks to the room that Michael elected to share with them. Every time they’re in a hotel, the boys decide who are sharing a room with who. Ashton pays Michael ten dollars to carry Y/N and his bags to the room. He set Y/N down on the uncomfortable bed and flicked the lights on.

“No!” Y/N yelled, stirring from yet again another nap. At this point, she isn’t going to sleep a wink the entire night. That’s probably a good thing. “Sleep, baby!”

“Are you hungry?” Ashton asked, checking the whole room. When you first walk in there’s a closet on the left and a kitchenette on the right. He walked from the closet towards the TV and pull-out couch where Michael discarded most of the bags. Along the side of the couch was a hallway leading to a secluded room with two beds, with a stop to the bathroom along the right side of the hallway.

“Very,” Y/N struggled to say through the muffling of her pillow. “What’s for dinner?”

“The boys and I had an idea to go to the boardwalk!” Ashton called, continuing to inspect the place. “We could all get dressed up and go or something.”

“I am not dressing up to go to the boardwalk!”

Michael laughed at Ashton’s sigh. This is his plan- to get his girlfriend to the Santa Cruz beach, and there he’ll give her the -second- biggest surprise of her life. It’s a scavenger hunt type of deal, but without the long hunt for different clues. He’ll ditch her after dinner with one of the boys, and give her little hints to get her around the boardwalk and away from the beach. Then, he’ll have Calum give Y/N the last clue that’ll lead her the Ashton. “Please?” Ashton whined.

“No!” Y/N yawned. “I want to sleep!”

“I’m going to go find Luke,” Michael quickly said before disappearing out of the hotel room. Ashton rolled his eyes.

“Please?”

“No!”

“I’ll buy you a smoothie!”

“No!”

Ashton started his trek to the bedroom. Y/N was absolutely precious with her head buried in the pillow, and a large bun on the crown of her skull. She doesn’t have to dress up in a toga with lengthy curls. Ashton just wants her in something that’s not a raggedy grey shirt and volleyball shorts. “Please, baby girl?”

“I want to go to sleep!”

The mattress dipped down when Ashton sat right next to her. “Please? We could go get your favorite food, and then ride some rides.” Ashton brushed a stray hair from Y/N’s neck. “You could shower beforehand, and then get some comfy clothes on, then get some food. We don’t have to be out for that long.”

“I’m not riding a rollercoaster.” Y/N replied. Ashton smiled, knowing that he’s getting his way.

Y/N took a short shower, dried her hair, and put minimal makeup on before dragging Ashton from the hotel room. She sat in the back of the car, next to Ashton, energized after having a long nap. Surprisingly, Y/N can fit into Luke’s skinny jeans. Don’t ask how they figured that out.

They ate a somewhat-decent dinner at their favorite restaurant, then walked around the nearest mall to burn the abnormal amount of calories they had all consumed. Liz picked up the shirt order Y/N and the boys called in. Y/N bought herself a pair of jeans and jean shorts that fit her body correctly and changed into them as quickly as she could. Ashton couldn’t stop drooling over the sight of Y/N in a pair of pale jean shorts and a form-fitting off-the-shoulder top that revealed more of her belly than it covered. How could anybody resist the absolute perfection named Y/N?

“Where’s Ash?” Y/N asked, stepping into the remaining 5 Seconds Of Summer boys conversation. She turned away for a bottle of water, and when she was back, Ashton had already walked away. She didn’t know that he had a plan in place.

“Doing something,” Luke snapped. His eyes narrowed at Y/N. Ashton recommended that Luke be a little bit harsh and now let Y/N suspect what Ashton had been doing, but Luke disregarded adding grim into his tone, as he was already pissed about Y/N not telling Ashton her own secret. “Here.” Luke shoved a card-sized envelope to Y/N. “He has a stupid surprise. We’re supposed to help.”

Y/N grabbed the envelope and opened it up carefully. Inside was twenty-dollars and a note. ‘What was Calum in the Hey Everybody video? -A’

“Easy,” Y/N laughed. She snorted a little bit. “He was a dog walker.”

“Then that’s where we go,” Calum shrugged. “Wait are we getting a dog? Please tell me we’re getting a dog!”

“Yeah, Cal,” Michael patted his younger friend on the back. “We’re not getting a dog.”

The walk to the nearest animal store was short, as Ashton had planned. Y/N almost had a heart attack when she was overpowered with kisses and sniffs coming from puppies as she continued to walk. From the animal store, you could see the beach laid out perfectly. Luke distracted Y/N before she’d notice what Ashton was formulating.

“Look!” Luke pointed to a bulldog-terrier puppy laying on top of a pillow. “I’m going to get a dog one day. Cutest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N giggled and reached into the cage to pet the pup. The puppy reacted immediately, perking up at her soft touch. Licking and nibbling on her fingers, the puppy bonded with Ashton’s girlfriend perfectly. Though, they’re not allowed to have dogs on tour. Y/N noticed another envelope tucked near the cage. “Is that one?” Michael nodded and reached down to grab it. He handed it to Y/N who took almost no time at all to rip it open. “We may not have printed our hands in the pavement, but we painted our hands on each other.” Y/N read aloud. “Where we did the photoshoot with handprints. That was . . . “ Y/N tried to recall a few years earlier when she and the boys attacked each other with blue and pink handprints on the Santa Cruz boardwalk. “. . . I don’t remember.”

“That was near the rides, right?” Michael asked. Y/N nodded, remembering the face painting booth behind the photographer. “Does he keep giving you money?” Y/n nodded and pocketed another twenty.

Michael, Calum, and Luke followed Y/N to where she tried to recall having the photoshoot. The exact location photos had been taken. Her hands absentmindedly covered her small belly.

“When are you going to tell him?” Luke poked. He gave the other boys a look that told them not to question anything.

“Soon.” Y/N bit. She didn’t want to tell Ashton anything about it, but she knew she had to before she fainted once more. Since then, Ashton has been practically forcing her to drink a cup of water every hour. She can’t get away with dehydration again. “Wasn’t it here?” Y/N looked around for another package. She spotted the white envelope sticking in between boards. She tore it open again, depositing trash in Luke’s hands. Without thinking, the twenty went into her pocket again. ‘They cut through the sky like angels can fly-A’, Y/N read. “What the hell airport is around here?”

“What?” Luke asked. He took the card from Y/N to read it. “Isn’t there a model shop around here? They have like trains and airplanes and shit?”

Michael pulled the boardwalk map from his back pocket. “Yeah, just around the corner.” His finger pressed the map in place of an airplane.

Y/N lead them there, not even walking inside before noticing the envelope sitting in the grass. She went through the same routine of ripping it open and depositing the cash. “All it says is ‘one foot in the golden life, one foot in the’ blank. What the fuck?”

“The gutter, idiot,” said Luke. He snapped her attention towards a gutter just inches away, with a folded envelope spewing out of it. He grabbed the trash from that envelope also.

‘Nice one, right? Now I’m lost in the ___ of your sorry eyes-A’

“Let’s go to the beach, boys!” Y/N announced. She went in the direction of an empty part of the beach, trying to spot another envelope.

Sand fell into Converse and salt was already nipping in their skin and hair. She had to find that envelope, though. Even if she didn’t want to come out originally, she was enjoying the fun game from her boyfriend. Y/N forced the boys to help search the sand with her for a single envelope. It was like finding a needle in a haystack . . . until Calum pulled it from his jacket pocket.

“Sorry, dear,” Calum laughed. He handed her the envelope and she began the routine again.

‘Making all of our plans in the Santa Cruz sand that night-A’

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Y/N complained. She ran a hand through her dry hair to push the artificial curls from her face. She had to think. What the hell does this mean?

“No, it doesn’t,” A voice spoke up. She turned around to her smiling soon-to-be-more boyfriend. “Why don’t we make plans in the Santa Cruz sand tonight?”

“What?”

Ashton got on one knee, pulling a black velvet box from his closed fist. The box opened to the most beautiful ring Y/N had ever seen; a silver band with a single diamond in the middle of a small rose. On the right side of the rose, sitting on the band, was Y/N’s birthstone, and on the left side of the rose was Ashton’s. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you. You’re everything to me, and I would give up my whole life for you. I’m wrapped so far around your finger, that we’re making plans in the Santa Cruz sand.” Luke face-palmed when Ashton referenced their song. “Will you marry me?”

As Y/N picked up the ring and slid it onto her finger, Liz Hemmings snapped a photo of the smiling, blue-haired girl.

“Mrs. Ashton Irwin, huh?” Ashton asks, hugging Y/N from behind. He places his hands on her growing belly and nuzzles his head into her neck. Their shirts match; Irwin wrote on the back, right above their birth years like a jersey. Liz, the boys, and Y/N are all wearing their black shirts with their last names and birth years, with their choice of pants. Ashton drools when he sees how tight Y/N’s high waisted, dark wash jeans are on her ass. “I like the ring- of the name and the actual ring.”

“Uh hu,” Y/N confirms, admiring the sparkly rock on her finger. She glances at Ashton in the dressing room mirror, feeling a bit scared of the show- or rather what she’s planning on doing during the show. “Your bandana is crooked.”

“Huh?” Ashton looked in the mirror. Y/N smiles when he realizes that his bandana isn’t crooked, and she’s lying. “You’re a dork.” He nuzzled himself into her neck again. Their bandanas are the same; white and tied over their curls. Y/N chose some stray hairs that wouldn’t be pulled back behind the bandana, and tied it underneath her mess of curls; she helped Ashton perfect he's just like hers. Couple goals, right?

“Are you nervous?” Y/N studies her engagement ring again. There are two other spots for stones, and Y/N wonders if Ashton realizes that. Maybe she could add their children’s birthstones to the ring and make it better than it was before.

“Little bit,” Ashton chuckles. “Are you?”

“Nope,” Y/N lies. They both know she’s fibbing; she can feel her heartbeat in her ears, ringing louder than Ashton’s drums. Ashton can feel her heartbeat every place that his skin is touching. Except, Ashton doesn’t know what she’s freaking out about. It’s just another show, and if she doesn’t want to be on stage then she can just say so. “You only have a few more minutes.”

“I know.”

“Don’t you think you should head backstage?”

Ashton shakes his head, not moving his feet any closer to the stage. “I just want to stay here for a few more minutes.”

“Baby, you know that you can’t.” Y/N lays her hands over Ashton’s. “You have fans that you love and want to impress.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ashton takes a deep breath and lets go of Y/N. “Do you still want to go on stage?” Y/N nods. “Michael Wants Another Slice?” She nods again. Ashton gives her a quick kiss and begins his journey to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Y/N watches the show from the wings, right beside Liz. Liz tries to make small talk with the shaking girl, but Y/N gives only short, sporadic answers that don’t contribute to anything. Every few minutes, she checks to make sure the piece of fabric in her back pocket is still there; Y/N worries constantly that it will fall out and she’ll lose it. Ashton notices that Y/N is more nervous than normal, so he tries to ask if she’s okay with his seven drumstick twirls. She whispers into the earpiece that she loves him, and makes a heart with her hands. Y/N doesn’t break the heart like she wants to.

“And here we go!” Michael screams into the microphone. “We’ve got someone to introduce to you!”

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Liz says into Y/N’s ear, giving her a quick hug. Y/N hasn’t been with her mom in a while, and feeling a hug from Liz makes tears begin to form in Y/N’s tear ducts. Y/N pulls away quickly and wipes her eyes. “I promise. It will be okay.” Liz’s thumbs brush the eyeliner Y/N missed. Y/N struggles not to crumble under the feeling. “Now go out there, and be Y/N.” Y/N nods.

“Welcome to the stage” Michael screams. “Future Mrs. Irwin!”

The crowd screams and Y/N walked onto the stage. She pretends to shy away from the crowd a little bit before jumping and turning at once. The crowd screams at IRWIN printed across her back in bold white letters. The mic tucked into her hand makes its way to her mouth. “What is up, my dudes?”

The crowd screamed.

“So I guess we all know what song is next, right?” Ashton says into his microphone. John Feltmann walks onto the stage, yearning for Ashton’s position at the drums. Ashton takes the chance and pops up from his drum kit and runs his way, sassily, to his fiance. Y/N smiles in a haze when Ashton wraps a sweaty arm around her. “So we got Miss Y/N Irwin right here. What do you guys think?”

The crowd screams incoherent responses.

“So, Michael Wants Another Slice, right?” Ashton asks.

Luke looks at Y/N and she knows what he wants. That’s the moment Y/N needs to speak up. Though, she’s suffocating. Nothing feels correct; everything is spinning around her. More than anything, she wants to curl up into a ball and die right on the spot. She wants Ashton to forget her, along with the boys, and everyone that’s ever met her. Luke plays a few notes from Michael Wants Another Slice and stares at her.

Speak, Y/N speak!

“Actually,” Y/N chokes out. “I have a surprise for Ashton!”

Ashton leans into the mic. “Really? Are you proposing to me?”

Y/N giggles, grabbing the cloth from her back pocket. “No, baby, but you wish,” With severely shaking hands, she unravels a black onesie with ‘BABY IRWIN’ and the estimated due date printed on the back. She shields Ashton from it, showing it to the crowd first. They take it all in; all you can hear from the crowd is a gasp. “I wasn’t that dehydrated, Ash,” She turns to her boyfriend, ready to cry. “But are a dad.”

Request here

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rhabakoli · 5 years

Text

Infinite White - 10

just a short, fluffy, sweet thing.

Previous Chapters here.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

It’s been two weeks since the dinner. Exams have been taken, essays were turned in, students were drunk on freedom and spare time and alcohol. Maeve was packing her bags, she was going home for a few days. “Will you be okay?” “Yes, of course. I’ll visit my grandparents, they’ve been demanding I come as soon as I am free of exams and studying.” “Oh, great. They’ll love to see you.” She stuffed her track pants into the duffle bag she reserved for dirty laundry. “How will you go there?” “I’ll get a taxi. Or maybe I’ll take a bike, depending on the weather.” Fenja leaned against the wall and hugged a pillow to her chest. “What will you do at home?” “Give piggyback rides to my cousins, let my baby brother sleep in bed with me and built a lot of pillow forts. Last time I was home, we cracked the record of two rooms. We wanna see if we can expand to three this time.” Fenja smiled at that. Maeve’s family sounded great. She never had the opportunity to go visit them, as her grandparents were her priority during holidays.

“Well, good luck then.” “Thank you.” Maeve zipped up the last bag and then came over to say goodbye with a hug and a kiss to her cheek. “Be good, kiddo.” “Have fun.” The door closed behind her, and Fenja was alone. She looked around in their room, empty, Maeves side weirdly clean and organized. She suddenly felt so lonely, it was like an ice cold hand holding her heart. A sob broke out of her and her hands flew up to cover her mouth, to not let it escape, lest someone heard. Her eyes were squeezed close, tears escaping still. The silence of the room, of the whole building, was pressing down on her, bringing her quite literally to her knees. She crawled under her comforter, pulled it close around her body and closed her eyes. She’d just rest for a bit. She’d be fine. She can manage just fine on her own. She just needed a break.

“So, honey, how are you? How is that writer thing going, the one you told us about?” Fenja sat with her grandparents on their patio, overlooking the small gardens of the apartment block. “The last decision is to be made soon, I’m just waiting for an announcement. But, if that doesn’t work out, my friend’s aunt offered me an internship with that very same organisation.” Her grandfather knocked on the wooden table, winking at her. “Will be fine, cupcake.” “I hope so. I need the experience, I want to learn.” Her grandmother laid a hand on her arm. “With your talent and hard work, I am sure they’ll love to have you.” “I hope so.” Fenja was sitting in one of their cozy chairs, feet up on another, let the sun shine on her naked belly, where she had pulled up her shirt. She enjoyed the time with them, get them up to date, listen to their gossip on the neighbours. Apparently, assisted living wasn’t that different from college dorms. “Just last week, Nolan from the upstairs apartment, he got busted. Was smoking all kinds of things, all prescribed, he said. Neither of his docs knew anything about the drugs, tho.” Her grandfather laughed, a cigar between his fingers as he slapped his hand on the table in amusement. His granddaughter grinned, always enjoying their stories. She was glad they had a good life here, she’d never get sleep if she knew they were unhappy here. Her grandparents were laughing and kissing each other, and she was happy. For a moment, she was really, truly happy right where she was. And she’d be even happier, if she got that internship. Gala had said it’s paid, and she could use the money. Raising her glass to her lips, she smirked. She’d send her grandparents on vacation. They never had any, because of her; they never wanted to leave her for long.

“Honey, are you staying with us, or are you going back to the dorms?” Her grandmother placed her hand on her head, stroking her hair. “I’ll go back. There’s a whole stack of books waiting for me, that I haven’t read yet.” “We’ll call you a cab, cupcake.” Fenja looked over, at her granddad and shook her head. “No need, gramps. I biked over.” He wanted to protest, when her phone started vibrating off the table. Perfect timing, whoever it was. She’d kiss them. Or not. “Hi, you.” She smiled at her grandparents and went inside, fleeing from curious gazes. “What’s up, buttercup?” She could hear the grin in his voice and scoffed. “Please, don’t ever call me that again.” With an arm crossed over her chest, she paced through the kitchen. “What do you want?” “Just a bit of your very precious time. And your location.” “What are you talking about?” “I’ll come pick you up, if you allow. Ingrid has a whole week planned, nothing but Netflix and Hulu and whatever else she’s subscribed to.” His voice went an octave deeper, raspy, as if he was sharing a secret, when he added: “She also bought a ‘lifetime’ supply of popcorn, that won’t even last through the first three days.” Fenja just shrugged. “Popcorn is life, mate.” “Yeah, I guess so.” She heard a voice in the background, hissing something at her friend, before he asked: “So? Where am I to pick you up? Ingrid won’t take a no.” “Yeah, she got that from her brother.” She sighed. Stubborn. All of them. The whole lot. “I’m at my grandparents, give me half an hour to get home.” “Ah, nah, gimme their address, I’ll come over.” “You really don’t have to.” “Uh, yeah, I do. I’ll send you proof of the murderous looks my sisters are giving me right this moment.” His smile was evident in his voice, and she knew she’d never be able to go against all three of the Ivarsson-siblings. “Okay, fine. But park down the road, I don’t want this to come back to my grandparents.” “Why?” “Because they’ll plan our wedding, if they see you.” Over his laughter, she added: “I have my bike here, bring a big car.”

** Ragnar was indeed waiting down the road, arm hanging out the window, head leaned back against the headrest, as he watched her cycle towards him.

“What’s that?”, he asked, the bike obviously making him question her sanity. Before she could answer, he shook his head, and rephrased: “No, I know what a bike is, I just mean,” His hand moved up and down, gesturing at Fenja, “What are you doing on it?” “Biking, my friend. Not everyone has a monster-truck at their disposal.” He opened the car door, stepped out and rolled his eyes at her. “It’s a jeep, not a monster-truck. And she’s willing to carry your bike around, so you better thank her.” “She?” “Yes.” He took her bike and lifted it into the back of the Wrangler, before taking her hand and pulling her to the other side of the car. “You are one of those who name their cars?” “And their motorbikes.” “You have a bike?” “Yeah.” He held the door open, watched as she got in and slammed it shut, before bounding over and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Mum had quite something to say about it, but by then I already passed the exam.” “I bet.” Fenja strapped in, leaned back and watched as Ragnar pushed the car into gear and pulled out of the parking spot. “What’s her name then?” “Hela.” Fenja frowned, noticing his amused smirk. “Hela? As in, ‘ruler or Helheim - Hela’?” He hummed approvingly, eyes flicking over to her, as he took a left. “Isn’t that kinda - I don’t know, dark? For a car?” “Nah. She’s in control of the underworld, I dedicated her my car, I should be safe.” She nodded. “Sure. Logically.”

The moment Ragnar pulled up in front of the house, Ingrid came flying, Bear bounding after her. She opened the door open before Fenja could even move, and stood there, grinning from one ear to the other. “We have popcorn, sweets, chips, cheetos and peanut flips and like five different flavors of Ice Cream.” Fenja raised an eyebrow and shot Ragnar a look over her shoulder. “How long is she going to keep me here?” Ragnar came around, hugged his sister to his side and winked at his friend. “Until the end of days.”

“Where are your parents?” “Away. Mom wants a weekend for herself, before everything is about the baby, and Dad is with her, of course.” They were all in the living room, puppy piled onto the couch, buried under pillows and blankets. Fenja didn’t think there’d be any pillows left in the rest of the house. But it was so very comfy and soft, so she didn’t complain. Ingrid yawned frequently enough to catch her sisters attention. “You tired?” “No.” Fenja snorted and burrowed further into the nest she built around herself. Ragnar was curled around it, propped on his elbow so he could look over her, see the TV. He glanced over at his sisters and leaned forward, murmuring into Fenjas ear: “10 bucks Aslaug is just as tired and uses her to go to bed herself.” Aslaug threw a cheeto at him, catching him square on the forehead. “Stop being a shithead.” “What? It’s true!”, Ingrid laughed, before she almost unhinges her jaw at the next yawn. They continued bickering, no one really paying attention anymore; the movie on TV just a background noise. Fenja felt so at home with them, her heart clenched. If she ever lost them, she’d probably die. Ingrid and Aslaug indeed went to bed soon after, taking their blankets with them, but leaving the pillows. Fenja sat up, stretched over and grabbed the fluffy one Ingrid had had in her clutches all evening. She cackled, like a witch, as she hugged it to her chest. “So easy to satisfy.” “It’s a fluffy pillow. Why wouldn’t I be?” She looked back at him, stretching her neck to see his face. He looked down at her, shaking his head ever so lightly. Her lips were stretched into a wide, cheeky grin, a healthy glow on her skin, and she looked so awfully… right, where she was. If she could just stay there forever. Her eyes went from his face to the TV, and her grin became even wider, and then: “BUTT!” She giggled at Ragnar’s confused look. There was a sex scene, and she happily screamed out whatever naked body part she could catch a glimpse off. “Another butt!” “Fenja.” She almost drowned under her pillows, had her sweater pulled up over her chin and it’s strings knotted to a bow - so adorable, so cute, he never wanted her to wear anything else. “A nipple!” “Will you stop that, you child?” “Never.” Not 5 seconds later, a lady was naked on the screen, and Ragnar lunged at her, trying to clap a hand over her mouth, but she sat up like a stung pig and cackled loudly, as she threw a loud “Boobies!” into the room. “You are the most awful person to watch a movie with, you know that?” “I am aware.” He reached out, pulled her back down and wrapped a hand over her eyes, laughing as she started thrashing and wriggling. “If you behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one.” “You sound like an old housewife!” She pulled at his hand, tried to bring it down, away from her eyes, but he didn’t release. Only when there were no more naked parts, did he let her go. She sat up again, and turned to him. “You’re no fun.” “I’m plenty fun.” “Yeah?” “Mhm.” He smirked at her, his mind wandering to…. fun activities. She caught the expression on his face. “You are a dirty bastard.” “I am not.” “You are.” “I’ll fucking show you ‘dirty bastard’”, he growled and pulled her down once again, his free hand burrowing under her sweater and finding all the right spots to make her squirm against him, torturing her. “Okay, okay, stop, please!” Fenja wheezed, barely getting air into her lungs, as she tried to get away from him and his traitorous hands. “Not so dirty now, huh?” “No, no, not at all!” Her laughter filled the room, bright and happy, and he wanted it to never end. He had small flashbacks to the dinner, her scared and frustrated face, so fragile... Ragnar wrapped his arms around her, held her close and still, and observed her face, while she was busy taking deep breaths. “Can you behave now?” He quickly came to regret his move, when he felt her fingers dig into his belly, cheeky smile in place. “Never.”

Part 11

#Infinite White #IW #Ivar's kids #a dreamwritesimagines production #foh #foh au #faint of heart #Vikings

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a-shepherd-blog · 5 years

Text

Hi all! I’m Rey and I’m here with my fave Andrea!

The TL;DR version is: U.S. marshal who is just a little too trigger happy. Used to work for the NYPD as a detective and then climbed through the ranks. Comes from a mafia family but has gone straight - can’t deny her inherent nature either. Andy’s an old west gunslinger who’s been born into a different era. Above all she’s about putting bad guys behind bars and protecting good people; she’s a hunter.

I’m always looking for plots and connections! Also you can read her super extra bio below. Feel free to hit me up here or on discord at the_revati#8487.

Give it a like and I’ll slide into your DMs!

ANDREA SHEPHERD ;

&&. word has it ( andrea shepherd ) was just spotted around the city. ( she ) is/are a ( thirty-two ) year old affiliated with ( nypd ). it’s been said that ( she ) resembles ( stella maeve ). ( she ) has been said to be ( tenacious & resourceful ) but also quite ( judgmental & self-destructive ). ( she ) is currently serving as ( a u.s. marshal ).

(bio below)

tw: death, murder, self- mutilation

BACKSTORY

Her father was a Voloshyn and that meant he was a part of the Ukrainian mafia that existed in a certain corner of the world. His family? They didn’t live in this corner. Though born in Odessa, Ukraine, Andrea was raised by her mother Alice Shepherd in New York. Alice had grown up in the Hudson Valley and she’d spent most of her life in New York working as an art curator. When motherhood struck, she decided that keeping her children far, far, far away from Odessa was the best choice for them. Mikhail was her first born, but her daughter Andrea was born two minutes later. When they were older, Alice would tell them they came into this world holding hands.

New York was a decent enough place to grow up. Like any city, it had its dark underbelly. Alice did her best to keep both Mikhail and Andrea away from it, but the two grew up a part of the city as much as anyone else. It’s where Andrea picked her first fight, had her first kiss, got drunk for the first time. And Mikhail? He was her best friend.

For the most part, Andrea and Mikhail didn’t see their father. The holidays were the exception and dinners were always silent when Alexi Voloshyn sat at the head of the table. There was a shock in this pattern when the twins turned 11. Summer break rolled around and, all of a sudden, Mikhail was whisked off with Alexi to spend the summer in Odessa. Ever summer after that was the same. Mikhail would leave in the dead of night and Andrea would get left behind. It became increasingly obvious before long that Alexi was grooming Mikhail to step into his shoes. The young girl grew increasingly bitter about this tradition with the passing of each halcyon season. Mikhail would return just in time for school to start with nothing but a “It was fine” as a reply to Andrea’s “Well? How was it?”

It’s not that Andrea wanted her own hand in the criminal underworld of Europe - she was too young to understand that - she just wanted to be taken as seriously as her brother. She began to act out as a cry for attention - but all attempts went ignored. A stray comment from Alexi about marrying her off one Christmas dinner set off the final fuse. Andrea was 15 and at peak teenage rebellion. Without blinking, she grabbed the carving knife from the ham in front of her, and cut off her own ring finger. She tried not to cry when she did it and felt immensely betrayed by the three tears that managed to leak out during the act. The entire thing was very much a ‘fuck you’ to the path that had been laid out for her. It was very much supposed to be a ‘fuck you’ to her father. He wanted her to get married? Fuck that. Ring finger? Gone. Now she could never get married.

Instead of reacting with anger or fury, her father simply looked at this act of defiance and laughed. In her 15 years it was probably the first time Andrea heard such a sound. It was a warm, accepting laugh. As the family doctor stitched and patched her up, Alexi finally conceded that Andrea could join them in Odessa next summer. The young woman learned that acts of self-destruction as loyalty held a certain sort of esteem in her father’s eyes.

Sure enough, Andrea went to the Port of Odessa the next summer. It’s where she learned how to fire a gun, worked as a hired hand on a ship, saw her first dead body. She’d been brought along but it was Mikhail that Alexi continuously sent into the fray. It was Mikhail that went on the ride alongs and once again it was Andrea that was left behind. You’d think a father would be more precious with the life of his son but, again, acts of self-destruction as loyalty held a certain sort of esteem in Alexi’s eyes. One cold night, a deal went south and shots were fired. Andrea heard about it from one of her father’s friends the next morning. She heard that while Mikhail’s body had been found, Alexi’s was conveniently missing. Whispers floated that her father had managed to flee the scene. Any sadness Andrea had for her brother was swept away with the resounding notion that her father was a fucking coward.

Andrea returned home to Alice alone. That was Andrea’s tipping point. At her mother’s insistence she applied to colleges in New York and wound up settling on pursuing a political science degree at Columbia. There was an intense irony with the fact that Andrea was quickly falling into a path carved out for law enforcement, but the second she noticed it, she leaned into it. It was another ‘fuck you’ to the memory of her father. More than that, she had a knack for it in a way that she a knack for nothing else.

Andrea joined the NYPD fresh out of college when she returned home and quickly climbed the ladder to the rank of deputy sheriff. In the police department, she finally found the family she’d been searching for.

She continued on up, leaving for the state department and then eventually the federal sector. She spent some time as a firearms instructor in Glynco, Georgia at the U.S. Marshal’s training center before she became a full-blown Marshal herself.

During her time with the Marshal’s service, Andrea was assigned to several different field offices across the U.S. She gained a reputation for being trigger happy and was thus stationed in increasingly remote stations. (It seemed she was still, in many ways, her father’s daughter.) Alice passed during Andrea’s time in the Fairbanks office and due to poor weather conditions it was a week before Andrea got the news. Alice had left Andrea the house in New York.

Her life continued in other ways. During the day she would do her job, and at the night she would come back to the husband she’d met during her time on the NYPD. For a while, life was right. When Andrea caught whiff that Alexi Voloshyn was making the journey from the Port of Odessa to the Port of New Orleans, Andrea caught the first flight she could to Louisiana.

CUT TO: two weeks later. Andrea. Run out of New Orleans by the Ukrainian mob for publicly killing Alexi Voloshyn.

Andrea has been lying relatively low in in New York ever since the incident a year ago at the insistence of her U.S. Marshal Chief. Criminals infest the city and Andrea has done her best to stay above it. Andrea has a rigid view of most things. While others see the world in shades of grey, she sees it in shades of black and white. The thing about killing her father though, was that all the debts that Alexi had (the coward he was) were suddenly transferred to his only living family member upon his passing.

Now, Andrea lives alone in Prospect Park with the occasional roommate that comes and goes. She keeps most of the estate boarded up and only really uses the parts she needs. She still conducts her business from the police department. She’s been trying handle her father’s debts. Above all else - hunting is in her bones. She plans on cleaning up this city.

PERSONALITY / OTHER

grew up in New York, went to college here, but then was stationed all across the country - has been back permanently for about a year or so

an old-west gunslinger born into a different era

trigger happy

deep seeded anger towards the criminal underworld of this city. All about putting bad people behind bars and protecting good people.

holds a mother-fucking grudge like no other.

methodology: shoot it before it shoots me.

honestly, “back in the day” she’d be pretty close becoming an outlaw herself. She walks a dangerous line but shhhh we don’t talk about that

is no-nonsense

If you missed it in her bio, she’s missing her ring finger. She cut it off herself cause she didn’t want to get married. Ever. She always wears a glove on her left hand.

forgets to eat. Survives on a diet of scotch and gummy bears.

has two facial expressions: scowling or smiling slyly

is angry. Always. Keeps it bottled up. Always.

crime never sleeps and neither does she.

likes crossword puzzles

plays the saxophone and the piano. A fan of jazz music.

“I think she had fun, once” - the gas-station lady

also has a goldfish that she keeps forgetting to feed it’s a wonder it’s still alive.

“Call me Andy.”

Is all about the vigilante life, actually.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

I’m down to get creative with any of these! Also, I love angst???

Debts! - Did Alexi owe your gang member a debt? Congrats! Andy now owes YOU. Have fun with that.

Housemate - There is too much room in her parents estate in Prospect Park for her live there alone. Andy’s put up a “for rent” sign with the intention of renting out one of the rooms to another citizen. (CLOSED - Marcelo Rodriguez )

Former friends, exes, frenemies - Maybe she lost touch with them, maybe she didn’t. If your character grew up in New York, there’s the chance they knew each other. Maybe they had sleepovers, maybe they were childhood enemies, maybe they dated. Bonus points if they lead lifestyles she disapproves of now! (open)

Hate-sex - they hate it but they gotta get it on. (open)

Drinking buddies - dear god, Andy consumes so much whiskey. (open)

Siblings - Andy and Mikhail were Alice and Alexi’s oldest, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have had other younger siblings. Also open to having Alexi have had other affairs. (open)

The Hunted - they’ve crossed paths in the past and she’s got a vendetta against them (open)

Ex-husband - He joined the criminal underworld. She left him. Simple as that. (open) *** would give my kidney for this one

Co-worker - Other police department friends. (open)

And literally anything else!

#tdrintro #( andrea shepherd ; seven nation army )#( andrea shepherd ; biography )

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bountyman · 5 years

Note

LEGENDS OF THE WEST. if you received this, you are a legend of the wild west rpc. Who are legends to you?

Wow?? This is unexpected and has made my heart so happy. :’) Thanks, whoever sent this!! You’re the bee’s knees.

Boy oh boy, though. Everyone in the western RPC is a legend to me considering when I first came here, I don’t know if I found any active western RPers? There were very very few, anyhow, and to see how it’s grown thanks to Westworld and Red Dead Redemption is aaaaaaa, so fantastic! ♥ But I’ll do my best to list all those that really stand out to me...

(I can’t help but feel I’m missing some folks, but... if I did, I’m sorry! If you write within the western RPC know that I love you already.)

@briigand - One of my favorite Arthur Morgans. Their writing style is lovely and they’re extremely nice. I hope to see more of them in the future.

@escatcns - Haven’t written very much with them, but they have a great grasp on Hector’s voice and character. I hope to see them on my dash more often!

@fleewest - TILLY!! I adore Tilly and all the effort and care the mun puts into her. They create such a nice balance between Tilly’s sweetness and her fire, which I think is something that can be difficult to do. Forever glad they joined the western RPC. ♥

@forgedbymistakes - I don’t see them on my dash too often, nor have I written much with them, but I love this blog anyway. A lovely collection of muses with great writing behind them. The mun is really nice as well!

@fillyflynn - I’ve only just started writing with them but I love them already. I can’t wait to see where their OC goes and to write with them more. c:

@harriedwritings - This mun is so dang sweet. I love them, I love them, I love them, and I love their writing.

@hellbentwidow - What a beautiful Sadie. I didn’t really care much for Sadie, actually, before I found this blog and they’ve made me love her. You won’t be disappointed by following them. c:

@maevc - Holy crap, I’m in love, dudes. This blog couldn’t radiate more Maeve energy. I love them and I love how they write the queen Maeve. Please go follow them.

@myxcenterxstage - My precious darling dear. ♥ A fantastic artist and writer, one of my favorite people on this website. I can tell how much love goes into her OC and it pays off.

@norxstforthewickxd - Might actually be Dutch????? They write him so well it might as well be canon and I’m duly impressed. I can’t wait to do more threads with them!

@notlikegcds - One of my favorite people here. Their passion for Armistice shows in everything they write, bringing great depth to a character that I before didn’t pay much attention to. They’re also super nice and friendly! Much love for this darling. ♥

@outlawmistermatthews - Extremely friendly Hosea RPer. An absolute doll. I’d love to write with them more often.

@polyphoniie - Probably the first Dolores I ever saw? Super sweet and a fantastic writer. I adore them.

@repentedgun - I haven’t written much with them yet, but they seem great! It’s nice to see someone bringing Micah’s twin to life. I hope they stick around!

@shcllshocked - I don’t know why they feel so uncertain about the way they write Goodie; it’s perfect. Very happy whenever I see them on my dash and a delight to write with. The mun is a sweetie as well!

@standunshaken - A wonderful collection of western muses and an equally wonderful writer. Their blog’s existence makes my heart sing.

@thenervetoservetheturn - Another collection of muses that are fantastic. The mun is so easy to talk to and so sweet. They have a lot of patience for how slow I am responding, too, lol so that’s always nice. I enjoy reading their threads and I’m always happy to see them on my dash.

@thesoundofwardrums - I love seeing Native American muses and this mun’s OC is top notch. I’m very glad to have found their blog and to now call them friend. c:

@timegoesbyforusall - How can I not love someone who writes any of the Cartwright family? Mr. Cartwright and Hoss? Perfection. I love them. I hope that they stay for a long, long while.

@williamofwestworld - I love!! People!! Who unabashedly write and love villains!!!!! I can hear their voice in all of William’s lines and I think they have some really great insight into a character as complex as William/MiB.

@wisenedup / @bastardswxrd - Writes Bill Williamson on wisenedup and sometimes (?) Hector on bastardswxrd, and has western verses for practically all their other muses. One of my best internet friends and a fantastic writer. Thanks to their characters, I’ve been able to develop my own in ways that really surprised me. I love them. ♥

@quiisquiliae - One of the best Logans that I have ever seen. They understand him so well and I’m forever impressed by how they juggle so many muses at once.

Honorable mentions for people who write characters that aren’t necessarily western muses, but have a verse for it and are legends in my heart anyway:

@clockworkmadness - I LOVE MCGUCKET!! It makes me so happy to see someone write one of my favorite Gravity Falls characters so perfectly. 10/10 a good bean, am so happy they’re here, and I love their ideas for a western Fiddleford.

@dreambounty - The bounty of my dreams. We haven’t actually written together, I just think they’re neat and I love them.

@psychicsass - I adore Alix to bits. She breathes life into Charlotte like nobody else can and I’m so happy to have her as a friend. She’s one of my favorite people. She’s also responsible for half the angst for my muses, but it’s great. (Josh is very happy to call Charlotte his daughter too).

@talktoten - Forever one of my faves. Ingrid’s writing is absolute writing goals. They’re a wonderful positive light on my dash and I swear secretly the Doctor, somehow.

@therapardalis - Precious! Darling! I love their OC and how the charm in their writing. They’re so sweet and wonderfully patient. I enjoy how our muses play off one another; it’s nice to have someone Josh can banter with and tease.

@tvvolips - I don’t know anything about Preacher so I don’t actually know if it’s considered a western or not, but you know? This person deserves a spot here anyway. They’re always so kind and I love how after only talking to them for a little bit, it felt like we’d been buds forever.

#out of bullets [ooc];#!!!!!#save for a rainy day [positivity];#Anonymous

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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

The Rose In The Crown - Chapter 3

Summerday is always a day of joy, a day of marriages made and love affirmed. And for Ferelden, this Summerday is one to be remembered. King Alistair, ten years a king with no heir in sight, will finally marry his chosen bride.

Sequel to A Rose By Any Name.

Featuring the winners of my giveaway! Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of @puddle--wonderful; Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of @savvylittleminx; Kira Mahariel belongs to @agentkatie; Kallak Brosca appears courtesy of @ironbullsmissingeye; Eirlys Amell appears courtesy of @ladymdc; Maeve Aeducan appears courtesy of @solverne-02; and Solona Amell appears courtesy of @skyholdherbalist! Also, huge thank you to @inquisition-dragonborn, @ladymimz, @inquisitorsmabari, and @fade-touched-obsidian for helping me with the selections from the Chant of Light!

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 3

Princess Felicita Amalia Braulia Salome Campana of Antiva looked at her reflection, and barely knew herself.

Her raven-black hair had been left long for the most part, with only a simple braid crown encircling her head and woven with seed pearls to hold the curled mane out of her face. A simple string of pearls encircled her throat, a teardrop of ruby hanging from that string to grace her skin just above the swell of her breasts. Matching pearls adorned her ears with the glimmer of matching rubies. And the gown itself ...

The elves of Denerim had outdone themselves.

Despite the disgust of human tailors and seamstresses, the princess had insisted that her wedding garments be designed and made by the elves of Ferelden. After all, she was a human; the crown was being crafted by the surfacer dwarves of Ferelden;it was only right that the elves should have a hand in the making of their queen. The call had gone out across the land - skilled seamstresses from many alienages made the often treacherous journey to the capital to join their labor to those already hard at work on the gown the Antivan princess would wear to become a wife and queen. Everything they requested was provided, from Antivan satin to Nevarran silk thread, to soft white hide from Orlais, and fine ruby and salt crystal beads from Rivain. Alistair had been so fascinated by these requests that he had belatedly asked the elves to make his wedding garments as well, enthralled by the variety and intricacy of the work being done well below the generous budget he had insisted be set aside to pay for both the materials and the labor. Indeed, the excess would still be paid out - a generous, unexpected bonus for the elves who had put so much into the beauty they had created.

What Fabs now wore was a true masterpiece, the result of six weeks and forty elves' hard work. The chemise was sheer white silk; the stays constructed from layers of white silk brocade to create a stiffness that would support without overheating her in the latter hours of the celebration. Delicate silk stockings in crimson encased her legs to above the knee, fixed in place with embroidered ribbon garters; on her feet, fine-stitched slippers in soft white hide. But these were all details that were only for the princess and the seamstresses to know, intimate secrets of the wedding trousseau that others would never guess at - beautiful, but hidden by the glorious gown that covered them all.

A gown that bore echoes of Antiva in the full shoulders and fitted bands of the sleeves that flared at her wrists; a gown that embraced Ferelden in the snugly fitted bodice and the natural fall of a full skirt allowed to sway without the artificial plumping of petticoats so favored in Imperial circles. Ivory satin hugged the ample curve of her bosom and slender waist, flaring at her hips, embroidered in gold and silver silk with the royal mabari of Ferelden, the rose of Antiva, and the griffon of the Grey Wardens. Beads of ruby and salt-crystal accentuated the fitted bands of her sleeves and cuffs, and trimmed the long train that was yet to be affixed. The train itself was in matching ivory satin, long enough to skim the floor for several feet behind her, trimmed with those same sparkling precious beads, emblazoned with a single large golden mabari nestled in the petals of a ruby-red rose.

"Now then, highness, aren't you a picture?" Andra beamed at her mistress over her shoulder, fluffing the dark curls one last time before turning away to help Golda with the last piece.

A small hand inserted itself into Fab's palm, drawing her gaze down to Maria, who was to be her only bridesmaid. Indeed, the attendants for the bride were very small in number for a royal wedding - just Ciara and Maria. Anora had been asked, but had laughingly declined and, of course, the princess had not had the first idea that Marguerite would be there at all. Maria had been garbed in dusky rose pink, all silks and satins trimmed with gold, a basket of white rose petals waiting for her to carry down the aisle of the great hall.

"You look very pretty, princess," the little girl told her solemnly.

She squealed as Fabs suddenly knelt to wrap her up in a warm embrace, woman and child giggling together for a long moment.

"You look very pretty too, Maria," Fabs promised her in return. "Alistair will be so happy to see you."

"And I got to sit next to Ceri and Ciara, because there’s no room for me next to the big chairs," Maria said in a confident tone, nodding to herself. She had been drilled on the details of the ceremony many times over, just as Fabs and Alistair had themselves.

"Yes, little one. And the ceremony may be very boring, but there will be a party afterward," the princess assured her. "And Alistair and I have a present for our very special guest who is also family."

Maria beamed happily, hugging her arms about Fabs' neck once again. "And you're going away after?"

"Tomorrow morning, yes. But only for a week." She raised one long finger to tweak the little girl's nose affectionately. "So you only have a week to throw wild parties and build a zoo in our absence."

The giggle that erupted from Maria was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the little bridal party - Ciara and Fulgeno, the princess' father. Marguerite had shown amazing forbearance in sacrificing her own peace of mind to remove the mother of the bride before anyone started crying. The unexpected, but most welcome, Orlesian guest had been instrumental in keeping the bride from flying into a panic around breakfast-time, too. Indeed, Marguerite had spent the morning treating everyone in the princess' rooms like skittish, wayward animals that needed a firm hand to be calm, and surprisingly, it had worked. Thanks to her, there had been no tantrums, no tears, and - most importantly - no last-minute declarations that the bride could not go through with this. Fabs knew she was going to have to do something spectacular for her friend to thank her for this morning's work.

"Shall we go and find our flowers, Maria?" Ciara suggested, holding out a hand to the excited little girl.

Her answer was a cheery nod as her hand was seized. Maria was likely more excited about the wedding today than anyone else was, but no one minded that so much. It was a joy to see her smiling and happy, unafraid of the future ahead of her because it would not contain judgment and cruelty from those who were supposed to care for her any longer. Fabs rose as the two of them swept away in their own wedding finery, catching the nod from the steward at the door. It was time.

Her father, King Fulgeno of Antiva, stepped forward, laying his hands on her shoulders as he smiled at his daughter.

"You look every inch the rose, pequeña," he told her, the pride in his gaze warming her heart as she beamed in response. "Your Alistair is a very lucky man."

"Thank you, Papa."

She surged forward to embrace him once more, kissing his cheek as he chuckled. And for a moment, Fabs faltered. This was her last embrace with her father as his little girl, the last time she would be just his daughter. In just a few hours, she would be a wife, her first loyalty no longer to her father but to her husband. The thought carried more pain than she had thought it might. But Fulgeno seemed to know the moment that pain struck, drawing back to tap the end of her nose, as he had done so many times in her childhood.

"Ah, ah, pequeña," he told her warningly. "No tears. You have love - the love of your father, and the love of your husband. I can see no circumstance where we will ever ask you to choose between us. Now, stand straight for the last piece to be put in place."

Fabs laughed a little, glancing over her shoulder as Andra and Golda approached, their arms full of embroidered satin - the train that needed to be attached before she was permitted to show herself publicly. It was just a blessed relief that she would be able to take it off soon after the wedding; it was heavy.

"You always know what I am thinking, Papa," she accused him, straightening her back to allow better ease for her assistants to work.

Golda's hands gathered her hair carefully, and Andra settled the train at her shoulders, neatly pinning it in place with a pair of silver brooches - griffons, for her beloved Alistair's Grey Wardens. Both women stepped back, spreading the train over the floor, their smiles bright and proud not only of the woman who would soon be their queen, but of their honored role in preparing her for these moments.

"Espléndido," Fulgeno declared, his gesture taking in not only his daughter, arrayed in ivory, gold, and silver, but also the blushing ladies who had taken such pains to prepare her this morning.

"Thank you," Fab added, twisting to look at Andra and Golda. "Truly. I do not know how to begin to thank you."

"Just you have a happy day," Andra told her, Golda still being a little in awe of the princess who had brought so much sunshine into Denerim palace in just a few short months. "And next time I see you, I shall be so proud to call you your majesty."

"I hope I shall always make you proud," the princess answered softly, laughing as the two maids, elf and human, scoffed at the thought that she could ever disappoint them.

She turned back to her father, smiling at the vague incredulity in his eyes - servants in Antiva were certainly not as plain-spoken or forthright as they were in Ferelden. But he said nothing to embarrass the two women, glancing up as the steward opened the door. Fab straightened her shoulders, taking her father's arm as they moved toward the doorway and the wide staircase beyond. The train spread across the floor behind her for several feet, drifting down the stairs in her wake with only the barest of tugs against the brooches that held it secure to her shoulders. It truly was a masterpiece of tailoring.

The hum of voices within the Great Hall rose as they reached the ground floor antechamber, where Ciara and Maria were waiting. By tradition, the little bridesmaid was carrying a basket of rose petals, clearly looking forward to covering the aisle to the dais in them as she lead the procession. They had already anticipated the natural fear Maria might feel in walking through the Great Hall first, hence the fact that Anora and Callista were going to be clearly visible along the aisle. Having a couple of familiar friendly faces to focus on as she passed by would keep Maria from feeling overwhelmed before she reached the dais and Alistair, and could find her seat next to Ceri in the front row.

The steward bowed to the King of Antiva and his daughter. "With your permission, your majesty?"

Fulgeno smiled. "Let us begin."

Beyond the doors, heralds blew their fanfare trumpets, announcing the arrival of the bride. Fabs could hear the rustle as men and women rose from their seats to look back at the doors swinging open to reveal little Maria, ward of the crown of Ferelden, all but skipping forward, tossing handfuls of her rose petals ahead of herself as the gentle tone of the mixed minstrel band played a familiar Andrastian hymn. Moments later, Ciara followed, but all eyes remained turned toward the open doors, and the princess who was soon to become a queen.

Nerves settled over the bride in a gentle rush, bright color flushing her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on her father's arm, softening only when he covered her clenching grip with his other hand. Her murmured apology was gently deflected with a squeeze of his hand and another gentle smile, a last nod before they began to walk forward, traversing the first few steps to the central aisle before turning to face the grand dais and the worthies awaiting them there.

The sunlight poured in through the high set windows, lancing down in sharp rays of soft gold over the rich blue of the carpet that adorned the aisle itself, illuminating the king and his daughter as he escorted her toward her new life. A wide circle of that same golden sunlight shone down on the honor guard that stood at the foot of the steps to the dais - Grey Wardens, there to honor their brother on this rare day for one of their order. She had met them all the day before - Kira Mahariel, a Dalish elf whose red hair blazed in the sunlight; Kallak Brosca, a fierce-looking dwarf with a surprisingly gentle manner; Eirlys Amell, a quiet human mage who seemed to radiate calm; Maeve Aeducan, a former princess among dwarves, her well-earned confidence shining through; Solona Amell, another human mage, a little more warily withdrawn than her comrades; and Demelza Tabris, bright grin shining, murmuring her orders to her fellow Wardens. In a single motion, weapons were drawn and raised high, an arch of blades for the bride to pass beneath in order to reach her groom, their brother in arms.

And there he was, her Alistair, resplendent in crimson velvet trimmed with gold, his eyes fixed to hers as she made her way toward him. Her nerves faded away, soothed by the smile that made his handsome face stunning and urged an answering smile from her, bright and warm and loving, heedless of anyone who saw how much she adored this man who was about to make her his wife. She barely even noticed the crown on his head, barely heard the murmur of the nobility behind her as she and her father reached the honor guard of Wardens.

How had it come to this? What had she done to be so blessed as to gain the love of a good man who needed her love almost more than he desired it? To be invited to share his life in a role he had not been born to, to be welcomed into his heart almost without thought? Yet no matter how unworthy she might feel, Fabs knew Alistair loved her. She could see it in the glimmer of his earthen eyes, in the tilt of his smile; feel it in the gentle tremor of his touch as he took her hand to lead her up onto the dais, in the warmth of the kiss he pressed to her knuckles as she released a little of her faded nerves in a soft giggle.

"You are so handsome, mi amor," she whispered to him, gratified to see him blush to the tips of his ears as he grinned in delight at the compliment.

"You beat me to it," was his whispered complaint. "I was supposed to tell you how handsome you are." He blinked, realizing what he had said. "Beautiful. You're beautiful, not ... Maker's breath, why did I have to becoming a raving idiot now?"

Swallowing down her laughter behind her smile, Fab leaned into him, squeezing his hand. "You are yourself, my darling," she murmured, as the hymn came to a close. "There is no one else I would rather stand here with."

His answering grin was all she needed to whisk away the last of those nerves, to know that this was where she was meant to be. Her whole world was in that smile, that beaming expression of incredulous, loving delight that she was standing with him and about to make vows that would bind them together for life, oblivious to the faces watching them, the indulgent smiles on the faces of friends and family, the quiet respect from allies, the unspoken resentment from those who had originally had other plans for their king.

"Are we ready?" a soft voice asked from nearby.

Fabs blushed a warm shade of rose as she tore her eyes from the king of her heart, embarrassed to belatedly realize she was keeping the Divine waiting. Surprised, too, to find the First of Clan Lavellan standing with Divine Victoria, but pleased at this inclusion. Leliana's smile was forgiving as the couple before her straightened their expressions, turning a little more to face the woman who would join them in the Maker's eyes.

Chuckling, Alistair squeezed his bride's hands, nodding to the old friend before him. "Ready and waiting."

Leliana beamed a benevolent smile, raising her hands. Fabs felt the full attention of the entire hall turn to them, and the woman who held the Chantry in the palm of her hand.

"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here to witness the joining in marriage of two good hearts, an alliance of like minds in the formal bonds of love. Love is the gift of the Maker, a force that binds us despite our differences. You have come together today so that Andraste may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Maker. Andraste, who is herself the Bride of the Maker, shall strengthen you both, that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity."

Namari Lavellan then spoke from the Divine's shoulder, the lilt of her voice carrying with ease to drown out the few grumbles from the mostly human gathering.

"A good marriage must be created," she told them, speaking only to Fabs and Alistair, despite the hall full of people. "It is standing together and facing the world. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is not only marrying the right person - it is being the right partner. Love is a good beginning. The gods will smile upon it."

Fabs felt Alistair's pleasure at including a Dalish blessing in their wedding, and her own heart swelled with pride for the king who had simply asked a Dalish elf to bless his marriage, rather than asked for permission to do so from the many humans in his court who would have argued against it. Integration, racial and religious tolerance, an end to superficial division between peoples; these were all so close to his heart, a lesson learned in his few years as a Warden and brought over to his tenure as the King of Ferelden. No one within his borders need fear that their king did not care for them, no matter their race. It was simply one more reason to love the man beaming down at her in these moments, as the Divine's voice floated over their heads once again.

“In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I offer the blessing of Andraste to this promised pair. As Andraste knew the love and duty of marriage to a mortal man, may you share in her faith and fidelity; and as she knew bliss as the Maker’s chosen Bride, may you, too, find joy in your union."

Before the eyes of the Fereldan nobility, as well as the unique guests invited from all walks of life, Divine Victoria took the hands of King Alistair Theirin and Princess Felicita Campana into her own grasp.

"Alistair, you have chosen to wed this woman in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor her as your lawful wife, as long as you both shall live?”

Fabs let her gaze return to Alistair without even a moment of hesitation, unable to disguise her smile as he turned her hand in his grasp, pressing her palm over his heart. She could feel the steady beat within his chest, the way it thudded just a little faster as he drew in his breath to speak.

"I swear," he declared, "unto the Maker and Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

Somewhere behind him, Fabs heard Maria let out a cheer, tilting her head to let the child see her laughing smile as she shushed herself in acute embarrassment at having broken the reverential silence. Ceri was chuckling as the little girl hid her face against the Kirkwaller's shoulder, the ripple of amusement sweeping through the hall quietly before Leliana raised her hands for silence.

"Felicita, you have chosen to wed this man in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor him as your lawful husband, as long as you both shall live?”

What could she say? Fabs' heart was throbbing in her chest as she looked into Alistair's eyes, never more certain of anything in her life than she was of the decision she had made that had brought her to this moment in time. The official words felt strange and unwieldy in her mouth, but they were the only ones she could use in this time and space. There would be time enough for softer words ... a lifetime, in fact.

"I swear unto the Maker and Holy Andraste," she said, feeling her voice tremble in the ringing stillness around them, "to love this man for the rest of my days."

There was a pause as they held one another's gaze, knowing that there was a recitation looming that could easily become utterly unintelligible to anyone listening if they didn't concentrate. Fabs could feel herself trying not to giggle, though whether it was nerves or the sheer release of knowing that they were almost there urging that laughter to rise, she couldn't say. But she could see Alistair's eyes dancing, his lips twitching, and she knew he was having just as much trouble as she was staying composed. It was all so serious and solemn, a far cry from the couple they made away from the eyes of the masses.

Thank goodness for the Divine. Leliana squeezed their hands sharply, pulling Fabs, at least, back from the brink of embarrassing giggles, giving the couple their cue to complete their vows together.This, at least, had been rehearsed - these words spoken in tandem, clear and calm, in matching cadence.

"For You are the fire at the heart of the world; And comfort is only Yours to give."

At Alistair's back, Fergus stepped forward, offering a band of gold engraved with roses into his king's free hand as Leliana released her grip on the couple. Fabs swallowed, her smile flickering brightly in response to his as the cool metal found a home at her knuckle to the accompaniment of his own chosen words, taken from the Chant of Light itself.

"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours." And though they may have been the sacred words of the Chant, on Alistair's lips, in this moment, they belonged to him alone.

As his hands encompassed hers, pulling her closer, Fabs couldn't help the surge of soft delight, eager for what now would come. From the corner of her eye, she saw Divine Victoria raise her hands in benediction.

“I bear witness, in the name of the Maker, and Blessed Andraste, whom He loves, that these vows are binding and lawful,” Leliana declared, and in her tone was a challenge to everyone here present. If anyone dared to raise an objection to the marriage completed before them, they would have to go through the Divine to do it. "May no one seek to tear them down, for they are made in faith and love.”

She lowered her hands, and for a moment, all was still. Only the small group on the dais could hear the soft benediction spoken in indecipherable elvhen, calling down a blessing on a royal pair who truly wanted to take the danger out of the lives of their subjects. As Namari's voice died away, Leliana's smile brightened.

"Your majesty ... you may kiss your wife."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do that for me?" Alistair asked with a playful glimmer, beaming as Divine Victoria spluttered out a very inappropriate laugh and had to turn away for a moment.

Fabs poked him with a low laugh, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. She felt his hands slide to her back beneath the hang of the train, her own curling her fingers to the soft velvet of his sleeves as he bent his head to hers. Smiling lips touched smiling lips, and she felt, more than heard, the sudden eruption of polite applause and dignified cheering in the hall. And beyond that, an echo from outside the palace itself, as the crowds in the square took up the sound of celebration with greater enthusiasm. The King was finally a married man. Very soon, they would meet their new Queen.

Alistair's lips moved as he gently drew back from their first married kiss, his breath warm against her mouth as he whispered, "I love you, Fabs."

She beamed up at him, certain she must be glowing with happiness. "Te amo, mi amor. My lord and king."

He groaned at that teasing addition to her own declaration, kissing the tip of her nose as she giggled. "Just you wait," he warned. "A whole day of wearing the crown is going to give you a headache as bad as mine used to be. You have to train your head not to feel it."

"Oh, I am very glad I shall have you to train me," she countered in amusement, watching as he realized he was preaching to the choir, somewhat. His expression of slow, sheepish comprehension was adorable.

"Princess," he said, nodding. "Right. You know about that."

"Only a little, my darling."

She leaned close to kiss his cheek, drawing in a slow breath. They were married. She was Alistair Theirin's wife; he was her husband. And in just a few moments ...

She glanced up at a scraping sound to her left. The coronation throne was being set down by a pair of guardsmen on the dais, in front of the traditional thrones themselves. Others were coming forward with velvet cushions on which were set the queen's ring and the newly crafted crown, and quite suddenly Fabs knew that this was real. In a matter of minutes, she would be Queen of Ferelden, crowned by her husband and raised to his rank, a ruler in her own right.

Alistair seemed to sense her moment of realization, squeezing her hand gently as he turned to lead her to the coronation throne. The Divine had stepped away, no longer an active part of this ceremony but simply a witness. Namari, too, had stepped down from the dais. The Grey Wardens stood at the foot of the dais, not subjects but willing witnesses to the crowning of a queen.

As she sat slowly on the uncomfortable throne, Fabs' gaze found Marguerite and Josephine in the crowd for the briefest of moments, biting down a laugh at the encouraging nods and smiles her friends threw toward her. She flicked a glance toward Maria, finding the little girl holding tight to Ceri and Ciara's hands, her expression intense as she watched Alistair pick up the ring from the purple cushion presented to him. Across the hall, the silence fell once more, all eyes turning to the crowning of a queen.

"Felicita," he intoned, and she knew in an instant that Anora had been rehearsing him for this. "Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden, regardless of race or creed, in accordance with the laws and statutes of this land? Will you, in your power, give justice and mercy to the supplicant in all judgments? And will you serve this land at my side, as wife and queen, and guiding hand?"

She raised her chin, looking out over the hall, still able to hear the jubilant cheers of the people gathered outside celebrating the marriage only just sealed with a kiss. The oath was solemn and binding, yet it was not a difficult oath to swear. She believed in Alistair's vision for his country, in the equality of all the races if they could possibly encourage it. It would be an honor to help guide Ferelden to a new era of prosperity and tolerance.

"I solemnly swear so to do."

She raised her right hand as he reached down, feeling the significantly heavier weight of the queen's royal signet ring find its resting place against the knuckle of her second finger - a weight she would have to grow accustomed to over the months and years to come. Alistair's callused fingers gripped hers for a moment, drawing her eyes to his in time to catch the reassuring flicker of his wink before he turned away once more to lift the crown above her head. A more delicate version of the king's crown, the surface dwarves of Ferelden had done themselves proud with the sparkling gold and exquisitely polished rubies that Alistair now held aloft.

"Felicita Theirin, in the name of the Maker and Andraste, before the Divine and the eyes of the court, I crown you Queen of Ferelden," the king declared, gently setting the crown onto the braid that looped her head and had been settled there just for that purpose.

He took her hand once more, raising her to her feet, bending to brush a tender kiss to her lips once more, wreathed in smiles. They had made it through the ceremonies. Now all that remained was the celebrations. With a last kiss to her forehead, Alistair turned to present Fabs to her new court. The herald's staff thumped on the flagstones, calling for a last moment of silence.

"All rise, and honor King Alistair and Queen Felicita of Ferelden. Long may they reign!"

#the rose in the crown #alistair theirin #princess fabs #that tag is going to change with the next chapter #alistair x female oc #alistair x fabs #THE WEDDING #FINALLY #ceremony #fluff

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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Congratulations, MINNIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of MIRANDA. Admin Kaitlin: Oh Minnie. God knows that I love Maeve, but you bring something to her that even I don't think I love her enough to ever understand how to put to paper. She is just... god the way you write her makes me want to say that is is made of pure light, that she has a soul that glows so brightly you could see it from the moon--but she is so much more than her goodness, so much more than her heart. You write a Maeve that is fierce in her softness, courageous in her love, and is so brutally herself that it just breaks my heart. I am so glad to have you back writing her. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Minnie

Age | 23… ugh I hate that I’m 23

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’ve been pretty active so far on Paola, and I hope to continue being so :) I usually do replies when I need a mental break from work or in general at home, and it’s been working out very well for me. I would give myself a 7/10.

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | I really don’t think that’s necessary at this point hehe

In Character

Character | Miranda.

What drew you to this character? | I’m here for a third try!! I love, adore, Maeve, she’s so sacred to me and I’ve tried to leave her alone but.. I miss her!! It’s still that pure goodness and undeniable strength that calls to me now, just like it did before. She has so much potential and she lives so far off the ground that her head is in the clouds. It’s easier to touch God this way — but it’s also much farther to fall. I just love her you guys know how much I love her idk how not to love her, she’s a part of me at this point.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I never did get to write Maeve learning how her mother died, and I’m adamant about making it happen this time. Last time, I made Montagues the source of Maeve’s mother’s death - but I think this time, I’d like to make it the Capulets who intentionally manipulated the situation to recruit Philip into their ranks. I’d like her to try, so damn hard, to be accepted by the Capulets to please her father and to save them all… only to learn that they were the ones to destroy her and her family first, that she owes them nothing but revenge. Oh man, I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

I’d also like to see Maeve intentionally dismantle Montague/Capulet animosity - or rather, try to. She has such! a soft! heart! and it is undeniably hard to not love Maeve, so I have no doubt that this is exactly what will happen. I’d like to see her become a Joan of Arc again, a martyr for the sake of love, willingly throwing herself into the fray to protect one and to protect all. I’d like to see it go to shit, of course - but I’m hoping that first, Maeve will be disillusioned by the Capulets already and considering going rogue, running away from Verona, etc.

With Maeve being so lovable and also fucking stubborn, I imagine she has quite a bit of information under her belt. I’d like to see someone use her for her information, information that she may not even realize is valuable - Juliana’s favorite color, her father’s weapon of choice, etc. I’d like to see her be manipulated because I think it’s incredibly realistic, and she can appear to be an easy target — though of course, they’d be wrong. Maeve has a certain way of getting under someone’s skin, whether it be through her goodness or her kindness or her surprising ferocity.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I KILLED HER ONCE AND IDK IF I CAN DO IT AGAIN but we’ll see. :)

In Depth

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? |

“Oh, there are so many.” Maeve folds her legs against her chest, resting her chin atop her knees and smiling like she has been offered a present. With the light falling in from the window behind her and her curls surrounding her face like a halo, she looks younger than her nineteen years. Far younger - but there is a knowing look in her eye that stands the test of time, makes them question their assumption of her age.

“Okay, I’ll tell you my favorite place, but you can’t tell anyone.” She leans in conspiratorially, nearly falling off her seat as she did, “it’s Verona’s hidden gem, I swear.”

Maeve waits for their promise before continuing. “There is a small local market on the outskirts of Verona, just at the city’s edge. It only sells secondhand goods, but that’s the best part of it - everything sold has already been loved, and buying things there feels like letting another person into your life. You know?”

They shrug their shoulders, not able to understand her fascination with used junk. Maeve’s smile does not dim, actually glows brighter still; she’s used to not being understood, and she knows how to take discouragement in her hands and mold it into something kind and gentle. “It’s like, everything there has such history behind it. And when you take something like that, something that’s kind of old but so precious that the owner can’t bear to throw it away… it’s like you’re keeping that love alive. And the best way to honor love is to keep loving, even when it’s hard. Even when it’s a little rusty or needs to a good thunk before it turns on.”

She shrugs and presses her cheek against her knees, looking up at them sideways through her lashes. “Do you get it now?”

They swallow, and slowly nod. Yes, they do.

What does your typical day look like?

“With a really annoying alarm,” Maeve laughs. “And then I try to stay in bed for a little bit longer, but if I take too long, Papa will leave without breakfast, and we can’t have that.” Well-fed men are alert, she remembers learning, and the hungry die first. “I always start by making breakfast fresh for the both of us, and if I can, I meal prep for the next two meals, too. It’s a nice and slow start to my day, and I’m always grateful for a chance to take my time and enjoy every small moment.”

Her head cants to the side as she ruminates on the rest of her day. Her mornings are the most consistent part of her day, the most cherished hour as the light trickles into the Petre home and Verona waits for Maeve to enter its embrace. “After that, I go to work at the flower shop if I have a shift that day. Sometimes, I go to the library and read everything I can. Or go to the coffee shop and people watch for awhile. It really depends!“

They quirk an eyebrow. “What about school?”

Maeve hesitates, eyes shifting from left to right to make sure her Papa is not around. “Someone has to stay home and take care of the house,” she says once she’s confident they are alone. “I could have gone to university, and I was really excited to go for a long time, but…” She sighs, dreamy and sad. “There are more important things, and I am still learning so much now without being in school. The world can wait for me. My Papa, though - he needs me.”

Her lips lift to a small and secret smile. “More than he knows.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

She remembers her Papa coming home, his shadow sinister in the moonlight and the blood staining his hands and his cheek. She remembers swallowing her fear and asking, quietly and plainly, what he was out doing. If she will let herself, Maeve knows she can feel the same drop in her stomach and the sudden, violent urge to vomit at his feet.

She remembers marching up to the Capulets and demanding recruitment. “Enlist me,” she remembers saying, “and I will be the most valuable person in your army.”

She remembers the glint in their eye, an old friend of her father’s and surely a pawn in the Capulets’ game. “You have no experience with violence, weapons or warfare. You’ve been kept in the dark your entire life, and you think you offer value?”

“Yes."

She remembers their approving hum. She remembers the quick and rapid process of becoming a Capulet as her Papa watched, horror in his eyes. She remembers being proud of herself.

No, joining the Capulets is not the mistake Maeve is thinking of.

“My biggest mistake has been letting the world make decisions without me. My entire life, I’ve loved Verona more than anyone - and never once did I ask the right questions. I thought I knew my Papa, thought I knew Verona.. For so long, I lived… I lived a lie. Because I never tried to see what was right in front of me.”

Her fingers are shaking, Maeve realizes with a start. She folds them together and wills them to stop trembling. “It won’t happen again.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“When I told my Papa I planned to join him in the Capulets, he was furious.” Maeve fiddles with the ring on her right ring finger, a dainty thin gold band with a single diamond in the center. Her mother’s engagement ring, and her most prized possession - and often the first sign of her emotional turmoil. “It was the first real fight we had,” she reminisces out loud, “and he insisted I take it back.”

Her lips twist regretfully as she recalls how ugly their words had gotten. “He asked me to be my mother’s daughter - not his. He told me I was meant to be a flower only, his little girl… and I was.” Her voice cracked. “I am."

Maeve clears her throat quietly and takes a second to gather her composure. When she speaks again, it’s with undeniable conviction and passion: “I cannot be less than who I am, and I will be the one to decide who exactly that is. And right now,” she smiles, “I am a Capulet.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“Haven’t you heard?” Her eyes are sparkling, as if they are sharing some private joke. “I’m the poster child for anti-war.”

But the joke is short-lived, and before they get the chance to smile along, Maeve’s expression sobers and the atmosphere of the room changes. "It’s a never-ending circle, and it is destroying us. We’re sacrificing everything that truly matters: the people we love, the city we live in, ourselves. And for what? Revenge?”

She bites her lip, unmistakeable distressed. “I won’t fight in this war. I know I’m young, and I know I’m just a soldier — but I will be stronger than my Papa. Where he was weak, I will be strong for the both of us.“ She pauses, and then — "For my Mama, too.”

Maeve smiles kindly, knowing the reaction her speeches usually receive. If she believed any less, then she might even be sorry — but her ideals are too important, and she will be damned if she even considers apologizing for them. “I know that this might be hard to understand. We have lived like this for so long, maybe even without realizing it. But I do believe there is hope. For Verona, for all of us. There is a brighter day coming; I just know it.”

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

“Papà, you must remember. Please, tell me you remember,” Maeve begs, her hands clasped together like a child’s prayer.

Her eyes are just like her mother’s. The thought comes unbidden before Philip can close his heart against it. The memory of his first love, staring up at him with eyes as warm as the earth, with all the feeling in the world — it is crippling and heartbreaking and all too much. His heart falters at the reality of her death as he remembers and relives it, over and over again.

She is just like you, Maria.

He takes another hearty swig from his glass, avoiding his daughter’s gaze like she is the angel of death.

“Papà,” Maeve says again, her voice a low whisper. “Papà, please.”

How can a girl so young move his heart so? His own flesh and blood, and he is too afraid to look at her for fear that he won’t be able to breathe.

Another swig.

“Oh, Papà.” Before he can close his arms and resist a child’s love, his daughter is climbing onto him, curling in his lap and pressing her ear against his chest. “I forget, sometimes.”

She is searching for my heart. The poor creature. She won’t find it. My heart is gone, it is torn into pieces and all that is left is something cold and silver.

“I forget that you must miss her, too.”

The cup falls to the floor, and Maeve flinches in his arms at the crash of it — but still, she holds on tight.

He answers her unspoken question gruffly, his throat raw and blistered: “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I miss her, too. But… Papà?”

“What, stella mia?”

“I miss you, more.”

And this is the final crack in his chest; and the river is opened up to him; and silent, steady tears begin to fall.

“We don’t have to talk about Mamma. It’s okay. It’s just you and me now.” A hand holds his cheek like a ghost used to, in another life.

But that was the past, and this is the present, and the future is in his arms trying to save him from the darkness he carries, the darkness she is too young to understand. He knows it is Maria’s influence; such light could only come from Maeve’s mother, for Maria was the sun that carried the weight of his entire sky.

He will not fail Maria, and he cannot fail Maeve. He will pour his heart and soul and mind unto Maeve until he can hardly recognize himself, and he will hide his burdens from Maeve so she will never look like him.

Maria. Maeve. Maria. Maeve.

“How I love you, stella mia.” With newfound courage and determination, Philip holds her close. “How I love you.”

“Oh, Papà. I love you, too.

* Maria: meaning “sea of bitterness” or “sea of sorrow”; “rebellion” “wished-for child” and “mistress or lady of the sea”

II. a diary entry

A long time ago, I was afraid of the night. I can’t tell you how or when it began, but I have carried this childish fear with me for too many years to count. I thought it was a part of me, just another piece of the puzzle that had no origin and no explanation. There was so much that I did not understand: my father, my mother, the world I so longed to see.

But one day, I thought. One day, I might understand it all.

A long time ago, I was afraid of the night, but I loved it, too. When the sun had set and the light had all but faded, the sound of the one you love coming home would ring out like church bells on a spring morning; the smell of cigarettes would hold tightly to the air like an embrace after a long, weary voyage.

For the night brought many terrors, but it had some comforts, too; didn’t all nightmares end with the whispered comforts of I am here, stella mia, I am here and the day will come and the monsters are only bad thoughts who have overstayed their welcome?

A long time ago.

A long time ago, I only thought of my father returning; I did not know and did not even think to question where he was returning from.

I shall never forget the emptiness of his eyes. I shall never forget the tired droop of his shoulders, the black silhouette of his that seemed so familiar at night. I shall never forget the silver in his hair, which I had not seen before until the moonlight brought its cruel light to every secret I had not considered.

I tried, very hard, to forget the red. I chose to remember the rest, the cold silver and black and blue of it all — but the red, I desperately tried to forget. But I could not let go of the scarlet, as hard as I tried.

I… had a reason for staying up waiting, for running to see him. I can’t remember it now, but — there was a reason.

Ah, I remember. I wanted to read him a poem.

I was a child.

He did not say a single word that night. He shook his head, ever so slightly, and walked away.

Papà. Beloved Papà.

The burden of knowing and still not fully understanding has haunted me since. For even after seeing him in the silver and black and blue and red, Papà merely patted my cheek and sent me on my flowery way. I felt so small, so strange, as if I could hardly recognize myself.

He told me that when I was older, I would understand. I wanted to tell him that I have been waiting my entire life to understand. Even as a child, I so yearned to know about the mother I didn’t remember, and I never received an answer. It pained Papà to hear talk of her, and it pained me to see him weep. So I stopped, but I always wondered, and I always dreamed of a woman’s soft hands and laughing eyes.

I never told him this… and maybe if his secret had been softer, forgiveness would have come so easily. I can empathize with shielding the one you love from pain.

But not like this. Not like Papà did. It wasn’t just his secrecy that wounded me deep to the bone; it was the secret itself. I would never have imagined Papà, who was my entire sun and sky, to be… like that.

It wasn’t just the fact that I didn’t know everything about him. It was that when he came home in scarlet, I didn’t recognize him at all. It was that I loved him still, even with my shattered heart.

I have made peace with this. It might seem strange to you that I can say with full confidence that I have forgiven Papà and that I still love him as my own sun and sky, after writing all of this. But I have. My love for him is stronger than any betrayal, and even that night cannot steal that from us.

These thoughts are so much louder these days because tomorrow, I will be a Capulet soldier. I am older now, just like Papà said, and I must know why Papà ran to their shadows all those years ago. For I have come to the conclusion that to love someone is to know them.

Tomorrow, I will know. Tomorrow, I will begin to understand.

Or so I hope.

III.

Each night, Maeve held her bleeding heart in hand and tucked it under her arm to keep it warm while the wind howled with despair. Be still, my heart; the sun will rise again, and the war will be ours to win.

Because it was a war, though not the one the Capulets enlisted her for. No matter what they told her, Maeve would choose her own battles, and she was determined to fight for peace until it was Verona’s triumph — for she had no other choice, for the only alternative was to lose her father and her home to blood and guns.

From the shadows, a man appeared: her target. Her mission was to retrieve the full payment for an order placed exactly one month ago. He was a new, and so far unreliable, client, and therefore needed extra… encouragement to pay the Capulets in full.

The job fell to Miranda, who had never run a solo mission before. Though she might be green, she was confident; she had impressed the others with her sheer will, if not her skill with the knife. They might not take her seriously yet, but they would, for Maeve was determined to make her voice heard.

“They tell me you’re called Miranda,” the man said.

“Yes,” was her simple answer, short and straightforward.

The street lights illuminated the cruel crook of his lips, the sharp slant of his brows. “They also tell me that you are here for my money.” He was sneering at her, his lips curled in a resentful snarl.

Maeve stepped forward, the softness of her eyes coming to view. “That’s true.”

At the sight of her pretty face, the man’s expression shifted to one of surprise. “They sent a pretty girl like you,” he moved closer, “alone in the middle of the night?”

“Is that so strange?” She adjusted her grip on the knife hidden in a sheath inside her sleeve.

“Not strange,” the man shook his head, “dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Maeve offered a kind smile as she continued to adjust her fingers on her knife’s grip, wondering — if she needed to bring it forward. If her knife was worth using at all. “I appreciate the concern, but I think you know that we don’t send soldiers into battle unprepared.”

“What battle is there, girl?” His laugh was unexpected and rang false in the night, too jaded to be true. “You think I don’t have the money? You think I won’t pay?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m here on orders, and orders alone, to retrieve the payment in full for the last transaction between you and the Capulets.”

He spat onto the ground and thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants, staring off into the night sky. “It’s all about money with you folks.”

“Not all of us — but you did make a promise, sir, and you must honor it. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

The man fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with the barest hint of vulnerability. “So you think I’m a gentleman, huh?”

“I assume most men are gentlemen until they prove otherwise,” Maeve said gently.

Her compassion seemed to ease the man out of appearances and reveal his true nature; a look of panic came over his features, wild and dangerous. “What if I told you I didn’t have the money?” A tremble shook through every word, and his eyes seemed to widen by the moment. “What would they do to me, then?”

She wanted desperately to reassure him, to tell them that she was only a soldier, new and inexperienced and unknowledgeable. But it was not that Maeve did not know; it was that she did not agree. For how could Maeve threaten (or worse) a man who, in that moment, seemed so human.

“I… don’t think you want to know,” she finally answered, sympathy passing over her features.

The man groaned and threw his hands in the air. “I had the money, I swear I had it. But then that bastard got me drunk and the women were so pretty…”

The tale of a proud man, who wanted nothing more than to prove himself. Maeve sighed and loosened her grip on her knife. There would be heavy consequences to bear for her next words, but there was nothing else she could do. For her heart was soft and could not bear to harm another. “I will do my best to grant you an extension.”

The man breathed out a long sigh of relief, wrapping his arms about his torso tightly like a congratulatory embrace. “Thank you, thank you. You are kind, Miranda, kinder than I deserve. Tell them that I will have it immediately, I only need a little more time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Please,” Maeve only let a hint of desperation show in her tone, “don’t do this again. The next time, you will not be forgiven so easily.” With a nod and a faint smile, she turned and walked away from the now-incoherent man.

She would pay for this later — but nothing worth having came without a price.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

I kept a few headcanons from the old app I thought still applied:

Knives. When Philip first handed her a 9mm Glock 17, Maeve’s hands shook as she forced her fingers to wrap around the grip. He put his hands on her shoulders and methodically explained just how to use a weapon, and when he stepped back, she knew it was not in her. She turned to her father with silent tears already staining her cheeks and pushed the weapon back into his hands. Papà, a gun is for killing, she said gently, and I am not a killer.

But to be a Capulet was to wield a weapon like a musical instrument, a paintbrush, a masterpiece; so Maeve chose the knife, for at least it was more than just violence. Just like her, a knife could be both sharp and soft, it could be used for bad and good. It all depended on her choice, and Maeve knew that she would always choose good.

Part-time job. Maeve works at a local flower shop in Verona, making conversation with the regulars and reading a book when the shop is slow. It’s a nice way to pass the hours, and she’s been there for so many years that it’s become a second home.

#accepted #accepted: miranda

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