#(we were talking about a celebrity who’d left her husband and married a woman)

[nothingweirdhere]

me: *chooses the name gabriel in part specifically because it’s a Good Italian Name™ and i didn’t wanna lose that aspect of my birthname*

my nanna: i’m gonna call you “gabe”, it’s more canadian

[dont-touch-the-phlebotinum]

tacenda (n.) - things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence

geralt/jaskier, rated T, no content warnings apply. prompt from this post

Geraskier alphabet masterpost | Ao3

Music filled the night air, almost drowned out by the sounds of laughter and conversation all around. They were in Oxenfurt, in the sprawling grounds of a mansion not far from the university, though if there was a reason for the celebrations (not that Jaskier's associates ever seemed to need an excuse to throw a lavish party) Geralt hadn't listened when Jaskier had told him what it was.

Geralt would much rather be out on a hunt, not dressed in finery Jaskier had picked out for him and being stared at like a carnival attraction. He would have declined Jaskier's invitation had he been able to come up with a convincing lie that he had somewhere better to be. Jaskier probably would have seen straight through it, anyway.

But Jaskier was having fun, at least, and there was something to be said for watching the smile spread across his face as he reconnected with old acquaintances, hearing his laugh when Essi bounded across the gardens to throw herself into his arms. Despite the faint chill of the early autumn air Geralt felt a familiar warmth blossom within his chest as he watched Jaskier. He even let Jaskier lead him by the wrist and introduce him to various clusters of people, though Geralt made no attempt to actually remember anyone's names. Fortunately Jaskier didn't seem to expect him to.

They were stood chatting – or rather, Jaskier was chatting while Geralt sipped his wine in silence – to a couple of women Jaskier knew from his student days, when next Essi wandered back towards them with a man on her arm who Geralt knew only by reputation. Jaskier had pointed him out to Geralt not long after they had arrived, in less than generous terms.

"Be nice," Geralt murmured into Jaskier's ear as Essi and Valdo Marx approached. He smiled at the sour face that met him in response.

"So this is your witcher," said Valdo, eyeing Geralt without a shred of subtlety. "We were beginning to think Jaskier was making you up."

"Not that any of us could blame you for wanting to keep him all to yourself," said one of the women to Jaskier, with a salacious look Geralt's way.

It was at times like this that Geralt wondered if humans thought he didn't speak their language, or was somehow just incapable of understanding the hints they dropped like lead weights around him. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He tuned out the rest of their conversation, well aware that Jaskier's friends would talk on as if he wasn't there regardless of whether Geralt was listening or not, and let his gaze wander across the landscaped gardens.

Geralt was staring at a hedge that had been pruned into a series of elaborate statues and contemplating why the hell anyone would go to the trouble when he felt Jaskier bristle at his side.

"I don't suppose you've met her new husband yet, Jaskier?" said one of his companions, and immediately Geralt understood Jaskier's sudden discomfort. He'd been there when Jaskier had received word of the Countess du Stael's engagement, watched him fold the letter back up in awful silence and head up to their room alone. "You weren't at the wedding."

"No," said Jaskier, his voice tight. "Alas, pressing business called Geralt and I to Lyria."

"I imagine I too would much rather flee across the Continent than watch the woman who dumped me marry another man," sniffed Valdo, eyeing Jaskier as he took a sip of his wine.

Geralt moved to take a step forward. The potential repercussions for knocking out a man at a party like this would be well worth it, he suspected. Before he could, though, Jaskier's hand was squeezing tight at Geralt's wrist in warning.

Essi opened her mouth to speak, but her attempt to change the subject went ignored.

"What about you, Jaskier?" interrupted the first woman who'd spoken. "Any new love affairs to inspire your next collection of ballads?"

Valdo scoffed. "You know he'd not be able to keep it to himself if there were."

For the first time since Geralt had known him, he watched Jaskier flounder. "Well, actually," Jaskier stammered, though he didn't seem sure where the sentence was going to take him.

Without thinking, Geralt stepped in. "Actually, there is," he said, slipping his hand into Jaskier's as the others stared back at him in surprise. The startled look Jaskier met him with quickly melted into a smile. Geralt smiled back at him.

"You owe me twenty crowns," he heard someone murmur, but he didn't bother to look up to discover the source. He only tore his eyes from Jaskier's when Essi grasped Jaskier by the forearm, shaking him and Geralt both in her barely concealed excitement.

"When did this happen?" she said.

Jaskier eyed Geralt again. "It's – ah – a fairly new development."

Luckily Jaskier had recovered enough to weather the barrage of questions that inevitably followed, leaving Geralt to slip back into silence and hope he hadn't just done something very dangerous. It was hard enough keeping his feelings for Jaskier in check when he didn't have to watch Jaskier pretend to return them.

Their hands were still clasped together.

As the assembled group drifted away – to go and tell as many people as they could about this latest gossip, Geralt suspected – and Geralt and Jaskier finally had a moment to themselves, Geralt leant down to Jaskier's ear. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low, "if I've made things worse."

"No," said Jaskier quickly, turning to give Geralt a reassuring smile. He patted Geralt's chest. "In fact, I think you just saved me from a rather excruciating night. Besides, I'm sure it won't kill us to pretend for a few hours. Right, honey?"

Geralt scowled. "Not honey."

"My sweet sugar blossom?"

"You're pushing your luck, bard."

Jaskier grinned. "Don't worry, I'll come up with something."

"Please don't."

Jaskier swatted at him playfully and, to Geralt's mounting panic, looked for a moment as if he might lean in closer. But before he could, and before Geralt could work out what the hell he was supposed to do if Jaskier kissed him, someone called Jaskier's name from across the gardens. Geralt let out a long, shaking breath as Jaskier glanced towards the voice. There was a group of what could only be fellow troubadours, considering the ridiculous way they were dressed, beckoning to him.

"All right," Jaskier said to Geralt, that same warmth to his voice that always made Geralt melt, "I'll let you hide in the shadows for a while. I'd say you've earned some respite."

"Thank you."

Geralt ducked as far away from the heart of the celebrations as he could without losing sight of Jaskier. He watched Jaskier flit across the gardens from one group of merrymakers to the next, greeting everyone by name, asking after new babies and recently published works without any apparent effort. Geralt didn't know how he did it. Perhaps somewhere amidst the stack of notebooks Jaskier had accrued over the years there were hidden extensive records about the goings-on of his myriad acquaintances.

Every few minutes Jaskier would glance back in Geralt's direction and, satisfied that Geralt was still there, return to his conversation.

"So," Geralt heard Jaskier's current companion say, nudging Jaskier conspiratorially. They were stood by the fountain at the centre of the formal garden, though its gentle pattering wasn't enough to drown out their conversation. "Are the rumours true?"

"Which rumours would those be?"

"Oh, come on, Jaskier," the woman said. "Lilia – you know Lilia; she published that dreadful collection of poems last year. Anyway, she used to be friends with a few of the girls down at the Rosebud. She was there one evening when they had a witcher come in. Apparently the girl who took him said he had the biggest cock she'd ever seen."

"Every man has the biggest cock a whore has ever seen," said Jaskier dismissively. He sipped his drink. "You know I'm far too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell."

"Yeah right, you are." They were quiet for a moment as the woman looked towards Geralt and Geralt pretended not to notice. "He can't keep his eyes off of you."

Jaskier met Geralt's gaze. "I should hope not," he said with a soft smile.

"Isn't he a bit... rough around the edges? The fuck of a lifetime, I'm sure, but I don't think I'd feel very safe being with a witcher."

"Oh, Geralt's a teddy bear," said Jaskier. He was still staring at Geralt, well aware that Geralt would be able to hear their conversation at this distance. "Don't let the scowl fool you. He's a big softie underneath it all."

"If you insist."

"I do. He's the greatest man I've ever had the privilege to know."

His companion let out a delicate tinkle of laughter, and Geralt tried to ignore the hint of jealousy that twisted in his gut at the sight of her laying her hand on Jaskier's arm. "Gods, you really are head over heels for him, aren't you?"

Geralt couldn't decipher the expression that passed briefly across Jaskier's face as he looked back at her, though that was probably for the best. He already knew what this was to Jaskier. He knew that Jaskier would much rather have his Countess on his arm than Geralt. Geralt braced himself for the lie that was about to slip from Jaskier's lips, the words he would have longed to hear in any circumstance but this one.

This wasn't about him, Geralt reminded himself. He'd done this for Jaskier, and as deeply as it cut him, he would swallow the pain of it for one night.

Jaskier pressed a kiss to his friend's cheek and excused himself, sauntering back towards Geralt and curling against his side as if they'd done it a thousand times before. Somewhat awkwardly, Geralt wound his arm around Jaskier's shoulders in return.

"Would it be terribly untoward if I asked the love of my life to dance?" said Jaskier.

"I can't dance."

Regardless, Jaskier led them towards the open space dotted with other dancers. "It's fortunate, then, that nobody here is sober enough to notice. Just follow my lead."

Jaskier pulled Geralt into position and Geralt did his best to follow the movements without treading on Jaskier's feet or tripping them both. He tried to think of it like swordplay, making sure his footing was steady before each movement. Though usually when he practised swordplay his opponent wasn't pressed warm and surprisingly firm against him, the intoxicating scent of his fragrance filling Geralt's lungs.

"I'm the love of your life now, am I?" said Geralt stiffly as they moved together in time with the music.

"Of course, darling. Things have been moving rather quickly between us, it turns out."

"So it seems," said Geralt. "You'll be telling me we got married next."

Jaskier laughed. The shaking of his chest vibrated against Geralt's own, and Geralt ached to slide his hand up Jaskier's back and pull him closer.

"We would have, if you'd ever work up the nerve to ask. Though how we would break the news to my parents, I don't know."

The words that had gone unsaid for so long lodged, thick and heavy, in Geralt's throat, despite Geralt's years of practice at forcing them back. They choked away any other words that might have left him until Geralt could only offer Jaskier a grunt in response.

The band struck up a slower tune, as if in anticipation of a lull as the guests helped themselves to more drink, and Jaskier smiled as he stepped even closer into Geralt's space. Geralt's hand curled instinctively around the small of Jaskier's back.

"I always loved this song," said Jaskier. There was something in his eyes as he looked at Geralt, something that made Geralt wonder if it perhaps wouldn't be such a mistake to let the words caught inside him spill free.

It would be so easy to say it. It would be even easier to close what little distance remained between them to press his lips to Jaskier's. And if Jaskier did pull away, Geralt could always claim it was just part of the charade.

He licked his lips. He could have sworn Jaskier's own parted slightly in response.

"Hey, lovebirds!" a voice called.

Geralt blinked. He and Jaskier broke apart as they both looked up to see Essi approaching, Valdo still trailing behind her.

"There's nothing else happening here tonight," Essi said. "We're going to head to The Bells for a nightcap. Valdo's paying."

Valdo frowned slowly, as if the words took a moment to pass through the fog of alcohol in his mind. "I'm sure I never agreed to that," he said, though Essi wasn't listening.

"Are you two coming, then?"

"When have I ever turned down an invitation?" said Jaskier. He looked to Geralt, and it took Geralt a moment to realise Jaskier was waiting for his input. Usually he was happy to let Geralt return to their room alone once he'd had his fill, staggering back himself hours later reeking of someone else.

Geralt smiled. "One drink."

By the time they had emptied their second bottle of wine Valdo had slumped over the tabletop and Jaskier was largely being kept upright by Geralt's body. He dropped his head to rest on Geralt's shoulder, as he so often did when either drink or lack of sleep made his body loose and heavy. And as Geralt so often did, he felt the urge to reach up and slide his fingers into Jaskier's hair.

This time he allowed himself to, savouring the feel of Jaskier's hair as it slipped between his fingers. Jaskier made a soft, contented noise beside him and snuggled closer.

Geralt looked up to see Essi watching them with a smile. "I'm glad you two have finally found each other," she said.

With a vague hum, Geralt drained the rest of his wine. He tried not to think what she might have meant by 'finally'.

Essi chatted on, with the occasional languid interjection from Jaskier still resting against Geralt, but Geralt was too caught up in his own swirling thoughts to pay much attention. Jaskier's hair tickled against his jaw, his body warm where it was pressed to Geralt's side.

Draped over the table, Valdo began to snore.

"Poor Valdo," sighed Jaskier as he finally lifted his head from Geralt's shoulder to peer down at the colourful lump in front of them. "He never could hold his drink."

"Remember when someone dumped him atop a narrow boat on the river?" Essi giggled. "He woke the next morning in Novigrad."

Geralt smiled at the sound of Jaskier's laughter, before he looked back down at the unconscious troubadour. "I suppose I'd better get him home," he said.

Essi shooed him with an elegant wave of her hand. "I'll see that he makes it in one piece," she said. "You two go on."

Jaskier stood, grasping for Geralt as his legs wobbled, and he bent down to kiss Essi goodbye. "You know," he said, "if you cared to ship him farther than Novigrad none would blame you."

"Get him out of here, Geralt," laughed Essi.

"No witnesses to the crime, of course. I understand."

Geralt rolled his eyes and steered Jaskier out of the tavern.

Fortunately the night air had grown chilly enough to sober Jaskier up as he and Geralt walked through the winding streets towards their lodgings, though he remained plastered to Geralt's side long past the time it took him to regain his footing. It wasn't until they'd reached the lodging house and climbed the stairs to their rooms that Jaskier eventually peeled himself away from Geralt.

Geralt stopped outside Jaskier's room. His own was just next door. After so many years travelling the Path together, so many nights in stiflingly close quarters, it was a strange sensation to find himself resenting the thin wall between them. He hovered awkwardly in the narrow corridor, not quite sure what he was supposed to do next.

"Well," said Jaskier, his hand still lingering on Geralt's arm. His eyes were clear when they met Geralt's. "Thank you for tonight. You make a wonderful pretend lover."

Geralt grunted. He hoped it didn't show on his face how much the word sliced through him. It's not pretend, some desperate thing inside him wanted to scream. It's never been pretend.

"Perhaps next time the two of us are in Oxenfurt we can do this again." Jaskier leant forward, pressing his lips to Geralt's in a soft kiss. It was nothing, barely different from the way Geralt had watched him kiss his countless friends and acquaintances tonight, yet still Geralt's heart seized at the brush of Jaskier's lips against his.

It seemed like a lifetime before Jaskier pulled away again.

With a gentle smile, Jaskier stepped into his room and closed the door, leaving Geralt stood alone in the hallway, trying to recapture his breath.

[rubysunnday]

maybe just like a little timeline fic with john and shelby!sis and how they were there for each other and john being there when she gets married (or you can write whatever you like). thank youu! x

A/N: this is long because I got far too into it

When Y/N Shelby was born, John had been the first one to hold her. Mainly because Polly was struggling to manage a new born baby and their mother who’d suffered a long and tedious birth. She was shoved into his arms and then he was kicked out the room.

John stood on the landing, holding his newborn baby sister in his arms, rocking her awkwardly as she just laid there. He didn’t know what to do with a baby - yes he had several kids of his own, but they were his, and weren’t his little sister - and just held her until Arthur came and took her off him. 

Growing up, neither John or Y/N were very close - both yelling at each other more than they actually talked. Y/N was closer with Tommy and Ada and spent most of her younger years around them. John watched silently as Tommy taught Y/N to ride, read and write. He could see the adoration in her eyes whenever Tommy was talking and it hurt. 

John grew close with Finn when he arrived eight years later and for some reason wished he had that relationship with his youngest sister. Instead, they constantly screamed and fought with one another.

Until the Great War.

Y/N had clung to all three of her brothers, not wanting them to leave. She’d let John go first and he felt his chest ache with jealously as she sobbed into Tommy’s chest.

But two years into the endless war, John received a letter from his sister. She was sixteen, now, and he’d been surprised when the letter, with her elegant scrawl on the envelope, arrived. He’d opened it, smiling sadly at the photo she’d put inside the letter of her, wearing a new dress.

She’d grown up a lot in the two years he’d been gone. She was no longer a a little girl but, instead, a young woman who took after her mother. 

“She looks like you, mate,” one of his fellow soldiers said, catching John tracing the photo with his finger. 

John frowned. “Really?”

HIs friend nodded. “Yeah, she’s got your eyes.”

John looked at the photo again and realised what his friend meant. He smiled, tucking the photo inside his coat, next to his heart. 

He unfolded the letter and began reading it, his heart aching as he caught a whiff of the perfume Tommy had bought her before they left. 

‘Dearest John,

Hi. I’m sorry I haven’t written before now. I didn’t quite know what to write to you. Unlike Tommy and Arthur, writing to you didn’t come naturally. 

I think it’s because we weren’t ever that close. Not like I was with Arthur and Tommy. But, the truth is, John, I miss you the most. I miss you teasing me, annoying me, helping me get ready in the mornings. I just miss you.

It’s been weird turning sixteen and not having you around. I wonder how much we’ll have to catch up on when you return. Because you will, John, I know you will. 

Ada and Polly bought me a new dress - the one I’m wearing in the photo - for my birthday. Truth be told, however, I’ve been wearing your old clothes more than I have my own. Your trousers fit me when I roll them up, as does your shirt. I hope you don’t mind, it’s just helping me get through this.

Whatever this is.

Anyway, Finn’s being a pain, as usual. He wanted to write this letter with me but I didn’t want him to. I just wanted it to be from me, to you. 

Not even Tommy and Arthur’s letters are this long. Maybe because I don’t miss them as much as I do you. I know nothing will be the same once this is all over - but at least you’ll be back.

When you get back we should go down to London and see a show, or something. Just us two. 

I could go on for pages, John, but I don’t think you’ll have a chance to read everything I want to tell you. I miss you, truly.

Lovingly yours, 

Y/N/N x’

John felt his eyes burning as he finished the letter. He blinked furiously as he tucked the letter with the photo, making sure not the rip the paper it was so delicately written on. 

Over the next two years, John received a letter from his sister every month. He treasured them all, but none so much as the one he got from her on her eighteenth birthday. 

It was bitterly cold that day. The 15th February had always been a cold day, no matter when or where. That’s why he found it funny that his sweet, warm sister had been born on that day. 

He’d been handed a giant parcel and frowned when he looked at the label.

‘Didn’t feel right not to share - Y/N/N’

John untied the string and unwrapped the numerous layers of paper wrapped around the tin. He lifted the lid and laughed - properly laughed for the first time in months - at the entire cake his sister had fitted inside it. He was certain Polly had made it for her for her birthday. Only two slices had been removed and he smiled, shaking his head as he pulled out the letter that came with it.

‘Hey, John,

So, I thought you deserved a cake. The other two slices are for Tommy and Arthur but I thought you and your regiment could have the rest of it. It doesn’t feel right not sharing it with you all. 

Eighteen is meant to be a big celebration but with everything going on, I’d rather wait a while until we’re all together again. 

Miss you,

Y/N/N’

Y/N had included another photo with her letter and John couldn’t help but be shocked at how much she’d grown up in two years. She was still his little sister, she still looked like him, ironically, but she looked grown - up. 

John suddenly realised just how much of her life he’d missed. He set the photo and the letter in his pocket, adding it to the bundle he had, and began splitting up the cake for his regiment. 

Nine months later and the war was over. John got on the train home a week later. He found Tommy and Arthur at a random train station in Kent when they had to switch trains and the three of them traveled up to Birmingham together.

When they arrived at Birmingham train station, the platform was packed with people, all waiting for their loved ones.

Somehow, Y/N managed to find them first. 

John caught sight of her running through the crowd and fully expected her to hug Tommy or Arthur first.

He was caught completely off guard when she all but launched herself at him. 

John caught her, stumbling back from the force of her hug. She clung to him, sobbing and laughing as he hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” John said as Finn and Ada ran to Arthur and Tommy.

“I missed you,” Y/N whispered, still crying, as she buried her face into his neck. Once she’d greeted Tommy and Arthur, she didn’t let go of John. She held his hand, refusing to let go even as they got into the car to drive back to Watery Lane. 

The first night back home was bizarre. John couldn’t sleep - everything was too quiet, warm and comfortable. 

His door creaked open and he sat up as Y/N walked in, hair a tangled mess of curls. 

“Hey,” she whispered, walking over to him and laying down next to him. 

John, surprised because Y/N never came into his room, relaxed as she curled up against him, her legs tangling with his.

“Why you up?”

“Needed a pee. You?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Y/N hummed, snuggling closer to John. He gently swept her hair out of her face as he pulled the blankets over them both.

“Don’t wake me up,” Y/N muttered as she began to doze off against her brother.

John laughed quietly, shifting so he was laying down next to her, an arm around her shoulders. “I won’t.” 

Having his sister asleep next to him, and feeling her heart beating, John slowly fell asleep.

“I feel stupid.”

“Don’t, you look lovely.”

Y/N glanced at her brother as he sat down next to her, sliding a glass of whiskey over to her. “Where’s your wife?”

“Dancing like a madwoman.”

Y/N smiled. “Feels weird knowing you’re married again.”

“Yeah, thanks for fucking telling me.”

Y/N raised a hand up in surrender. “I didn’t know until Polly told me ten minutes before you, hun.” 

“Ahuh.”

Y/N sighed quietly, drinking her drink. “John...”

“Mmm?”

“I know I’m old enough to live by myself...but would you and Esme mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Y/N shrugged. “Just...I feel safer with you two.”

John nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Y/N smiled again, this time it seemed more genuine, and John nudged her shoulder with a smile as she giggled, drinking more of her drink.

It all happened far too quickly. 

There was a yell. 

A gunshot.

More yelling.

Y/N could only stare as Grace fell back into Tommy, the shooter being tackled to the ground by Arthur. 

The room faded away - as did the screams of panic - as Y/N stared at Grace dying in her husband’s arms. 

She fell onto the ground, dress spilling out around her, as she just stared, the entire thing playing over in her mind again, and again, and again, and again, and again -

“Y/N?”

She couldn’t look away, even as Tommy lowered his head, shoulder’s shaking. 

John knelt down in front of his sister, ignoring the blood on his shirt and hands. He gently turned her face to look at him as her breathing picked up.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he said, putting both hands either side of her face and forcing him to look at her. 

Y/N didn’t care that John was getting blood on her face and her dress. She stared at him, her gaze locking onto his as he became her focus. 

“Just breathe, alright?” He said calmly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just breathe, you’re alright.” Y/N’s hand shakily grabbed John’s, gripping it tightly as she leant forward and hugged him tightly, clinging onto him.

John caught her and hugged her back. He glanced behind and knew Grace was gone when he saw Polly hugging her nephew tightly. John turned back to his sister, pressing a kiss to her head, as she shook in his arms.

“I’ve got you, you’re alright, my love,” he whispered, stroking her hair.

Y/N hadn't slept. She’d tossed and turned, walked about, read a few chapters, watched the night sky and nothing had helped. 

She sighed, untangling herself from the blankets and standing up, grabbing John’s old coat. She wrapped it around herself and quietly crept down the stairs of her cottage.

Her husband - to - be was out with Finn, both of them promising to not get stoned or drunk before the wedding. 

Y/N opened the gate and quietly walked her way down the path and across the field, towards John’s house.

She knew he’d be awake. He always woke up at ridiculous hours now - apparently it gave him time to tend to the sheep and horses before the children woke, but she knew he secretly enjoyed the quiet time he got with his two dogs. 

Y/N found him halfway down the field, walking along the wall, his two dogs running around excitedly.

Upon seeing her, the dogs charged towards her, tails wagging excitedly as she bent down and greeted them.

“Hello,” John said, smiling as she was ambushed by the dogs. 

“Admit it, you like being up early,” she said, standing up.

John shrugged. “It’s quiet. Nice. Good for thinking.”

“Now I’m concerned,” Y/N teased, smiling at him.  “Why are you awake?” He asked, eyes narrowing in concern. 

Y/N shrugged, unconsciously playing with her ring. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Having second thoughts?” John asked, perching himself on the wall. 

“No, no...I just...” Y/N trailed off, sitting down next to him. “I realised I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle, yet. And I’m getting married in about ten hours.” 

“Who you thinking of asking?” John asked, leaning on the walking stick he’d brought with him.

“One of you three,” she replied quietly. “I mean, Arthur, as the oldest, should technically be the one to do it.”

“But?”

“Well, I haven't spoken to him in weeks. I haven’t actually since him for weeks.” She shuddered. “Fucking Linda.”

John laughed. “Fucking Linda. What about Tommy?”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m sorry, did you miss our spectacular argument three weeks ago? The relationship I had with Tommy before the war is long gone, John. I tried, I did. But when it’s just you trying to make it work, it gets tiring quickly.” 

John nodded. “Alright, so, Arthur is a no and Tommy is a no. What about Michael?”

“Michael wasn’t on my list, John.”

“Finn?”

“Still wasn’t on the list.”

“Isaiah?”

“Bit difficult considering he’s the one I’m marrying.” 

John paused, thinking. “I can’t think of who’s left.”

Y/N stared at him. “Have you lost brain cells? How fucking stupid can you get!”

“Excuse me? What the fuck?” John asked, gaping at her. 

“John, I want you to talk me down the aisle, you twat!” Y/N exclaimed loudly. 

John stared at her. “What, why me?”

Y/N shrugged. “Well, you’re the only brother who hasn’t managed to piss me off these past few months.” She sighed quietly. “John, I don’t want anyone else walking me down the aisle and giving me away. Maybe, years ago, I would’ve wanted Tommy or Arthur but, truth is, I haven't been close with them for a while. Ever since Grace died, we’ve drifted apart. But you have always stuck by me.

“When I first dated Isaiah, you stuck up for me when everyone else was telling me to dump him. You were the first person I let him meet as my boyfriend. He asked your permission to marry me. John, I don’t see who else it could be.”

John stared at Y/N, mouth slightly agape. “I...”

“Is that a yes?” She asked, looking at him hopefully.

John nodded, bringing her in for a hug. “Fucking hell, of course, Y/N.”

Y/N giggled. “Good, because it’s in forty minutes.”

“What?”

Y/N chuckled at John’s shocked expression. “Well, since everyone was basically organising our wedding for us, Isaiah and I decided we’d do a small ceremony before hand, just me, him, Ada and you.”

“Yes, I remember that particular meltdown,” John muttered.

“Can you blame me?” Y/N exclaimed. “Everyone wanted it their own way, Isaiah and I got lost in the chaos, I refused to let anyone except Ada come with me to choose my dress because I knew what was going to happening.”

“Linda wanted it to be religious.”

“Fucking Linda,” Y/N muttered. She turned to face her brother. “So, will you walk me down the aisle in forty minutes?”

John nodded, standing up and hugging Y/N, lifting her off the ground as he did so. “And I’ll do it again this afternoon.”

The sun had barely risen by the time Y/N, John, Ada and Isaiah were at the church. Jeremiah had agreed to officiate, knowing how much his son was beginning to regret not eloping. 

Ada had done Y/N’s hair in elegant curls, pinning a flower crown of violets, myrtle and roses upon her curls. 

Y/N hadn’t gone for a huge, expensive, fancy dress. It was an old one she’d found in a shop and fixed up by herself - using scraps of her mother’s old wedding dress.

The bouquet of flowers she held were from her cottage garden and were tied with a piece of ribbon from a birthday present John had given her years ago.

John smiled as Y/N slipped her arm through his. “You look stunning.”

Y/N smiled softly, pulling her veil over her shoulder. “Thank you.” She sighed nervously, gripping John’s suit jacket tightly.

“You alright?” He asked, grasping her hand with his. 

She nodded. “I’m glad that this afternoon won’t be the actual one,” she said quietly. “All those people. Most of whom, I don’t know!”

John laughed. “I say we runaway after the reception. I’ll drive you and Isaiah up to York and take the hit, how’s that?”

Y/N nodded. “Perfect. York’s lovely.”

John chuckled, shaking his head as his sister giggled. He reached behind her and carefully pulled the veil up and over her face.

“Didn’t think we were doing tradition,” Y/N said as John straightened it out, straightening her flower crown.

“I want to do it properly,” he replied, kissing her cheek through the veil. 

The organ inside the church started up and Y/N sighed, nodding to herself as John let go of her arm for a moment, straighten her dress and veil. 

“You’re worse than me,” she muttered as she took his arm again, resting her arm in the crook of his. 

“I just want my sister to look perfect.” 

Y/N blushed, smiling up at him. “Look at us,” she muttered as her cue approached. “We’ve gone from hating one another to you walking me down the aisle at 8 o’clock in the morning on the eve of bloody Halloween.”

“Can’t believe they voted down your Halloween date,” John muttered.

“Fucking Linda,” Y/N said, winking at him.

John chuckled. “Fucking Linda.”

The cue for them both to walk down the aisle arrived and sister and brother began walking through the archway.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered as Isaiah and Ada approached. 

“It’s my genuine pleasure,” John replied, smiling broadly.

They stopped in front of Jeremiah and Isaiah and Y/N handed her bouquet of flowers to Ada. John turned to face his little sister and gently lifted the veil off her face, careful not to upset her crown of flowers. He kissed her cheek and held her hand out to Isaiah. 

“Look after her,” he warned as Isaiah took it, smiling.

“Always,” Isaiah replied, winking at Y/N as she giggled quietly.

As John turned to go, Y/N reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

John smiled at her as he squeezed back, letting go and standing next to Ada. 

He couldn’t help the swell of pride as he watched his little sister marry her childhood sweetheart, wearing the bracelet he’d bought her for her twentieth. John couldn’t hide the tears of joy as she kissed her husband, Isaiah tilting her backwards and causing her to giggle. 

Even as they stood at the back of the chapel, both trying not to murder the many people standing around them, fussing with Y/N’s veil and hair. 

“If I did commit murder,” Y/N muttered as Polly reached up and adjusted her hair for the fifth time that minute, “would you bail me out?”

“Y/N, I’d fucking murder them with you,” John replied, glaring at Arthur as he went to snort some cocaine. “Arthur, don’t you fucking dare.”

“And, if I happened to get the death sentence for the mass murder of my entire family bar three people?”

“I’d die for you. Or, I’d die alongside you because I murdered half of them,” John replied. 

“Oh my fucking god!” Y/N yelled as Linda went on another ranting at Lizzie as Arthur began taking the piss out of Finn. “All of you, fuck off!”

“You heard her,” John replied, glaring at them all as they went to speak. “Fuck off.”

Begrudgingly, the people who’d been surrounding them left and headed towards their seats, leaving John and Y/N alone once again.

“Finally,” Y/N muttered, moving her hair, crown, veil and dress back to where she’d put them. “So, if I died, you’d die with me?”

“If I couldn’t stop it, yeah.”

“Huh.” 

“Why?” John asked, frowning at the morbid topic.

“I just wondered,” Y/N replied quietly. “We should share a funeral wagon.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Alright, why are we talking about this?”

“I’m a morbid person, Johnny,” Y/N replied, shrugging. “Just, answer the question.”

John rolled his eyes fondly. “Fine. We could share one. Get them to put us next to one another in our best clothes.” 

“And then buried together on the hill.”

“You’ve really got it all planned out, haven’t you?”

“Can't take any chances when you’re a Shelby,” Y/N replied, smiling. 

John lifted the veil over Y/N’s face, once more, as she sighed quietly. “Y/N, listen. I will lay down my life, for you.”

Y/N turned her head to look at him. John could see her eyes glistening behind the veil as she smiled sadly. “I know, John. But I would lay down my life for you, too.”

“Guess we better die together, then,” John said, straightening up as the music begun. 

“We’d better, otherwise one of us is gonna have to commit suicide,” Y/N replied, gripping his arm. 

John shook his head as they begun walking down the aisle. He would never let his sister die before him. He’d said it all her life but he’d die before he let anyone harm her.

The reception after the wedding was complete chaos. 

There were several fights, lots of arguments and John had lost Y/N shortly after the meal.

He found her sitting on the edge of the river, quietly dropping flowers from the hall into the water.

“I’m impressed,” he said, sitting down next to her. “You didn’t murder anyone.”

“My husband stopped me,” she replied, chucking a flower into the water. “He also yelled at Tommy and Arthur for me.”

“I heard,” John replied, smirking.  “I keep thinking about dying,” Y/N said suddenly. “I don’t know why. Maybe because of all the graves around the church.”

“What you thinking about?” John asked, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“What I'd do if you died.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Y/N, look at me.” 

Y/N turned to look at her brother and he could see the tears in her eyes. He wiped a stray one away with his thumb, resting his hand on her cheek.

“When I die - because we’re all gonna die one day - you’ll keep going.”

“And if you die next year? Or next month?” Y/N asked, staring at him sadly. “John, I don't know if I could live with myself.” 

“Y/N Shelby - Jesus,” John said, putting his other hand on her face and stroking her cheek gently. “You are going to live a long, happy life and be married for years,” he replied. “And whatever happens will happen.”

“And if we die at the same time, we’re sharing a wagon and a pot.”

“Wagon, yes, pot no. I need my space.”

“John, we’ll be dead. We wouldn’t know.”

John raised an eyebrow. “I’d know.” He shrugged. “Besides, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that for a while.”

Y/N nodded sadly, nestling against her brother as the sun began to set behind them. “I love you.”

John kissed her head. “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

John didn’t know then that his sister’s marriage would last merely two months before she was shot dead on his doorstep. 

There was an irony at the fact they’d decided what to do if they died together. It was almost as if they knew.

As Y/N Shelby-Jesus and John Shelby lay dying on the stones, John grabbed her hand and held it tightly. 

In the end, John watched his sister die before him. 

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- An Obitine Story- Chapter 8

Satine gave Mara a broach with the Kryze emblem on it, to fasten her blankets together. She told Parna not to let her brother sell it, no matter what.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the maid nodded, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Satine smiled sadly, “Thank you, Parna.” 

She watched from the window as the handoff took place, that was four children she’d brought into the world, four of them who were now all over the galaxy. Satine had a nagging feeling that this wasn’t right, but still, she couldn’t get rid of what Obi-Wan had given her. Despite herself and everything, she loved him, and she would till the day she died.

As Satine’s stomach began to flatten again, she noticed Khaami was taking extra breaks.

“Fesma, why-”

“Lord Eldar,” Fesma smiled, “things are getting serious now.”

Satine tried to smile, “How wonderful for her.”

“Yes,” Fesma agreed, willingly ignoring Satine’s reaction, “he seems a good sort.”

Within two months, Khaami and Lord Eldar were engaged, it was all the rage in the gossip channels. The day Satine found out, she was playing with Korkie in the garden and trying not to cry. He’d called her mom, and she told her own son to call her Auntie.

“Satine!”

When the Duchess saw her lady running towards her like a giddy girl, she picked up the two-year-old Korkie and stood.

“Khaami?”

“I’m engaged,” the lady held out her ring, “Warx proposed.”

“Oh, Khaami,” Satine kissed her friend’s cheeks, “how wonderful.”

“Yay, Lady Khaami.” Korkie clapped.

“Aw, thank you little one.” Khaami squeezed Korkie’s cheek.

Inside, Satine handed Korkie to his nurse, the woman who’d been with him since he was born, and joined to celebrate her lady’s wedding.

“I see you have marriage on the mind, Your Grace.”

The Duchess had never met the Countess Vizsla, but she looked so much like her son she knew him in a second.

“Countess.” Satine greeted.

“The court had hoped you’d take a husband soon, settle the line of succession, keep that nasty sister of yours away from the throne.”

Satine grew cold, “I suppose you’d like to see your son as Duke.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea.” grinned the Countess.

“Perhaps I shall never marry,” Satine suggested, “and be like Queen Mara.”

“The first female ruler of Mandalore had a bastard son.” reminded Countess Vizsla.

“Then like the ancient Elizabeth, then,” the Duchess smiled, “no husband or children.”

“How very lonely.” the Countess commented.

Satine brushed past the noblewoman, “Good day, Your Excellency.”

The Duchess did not enjoy the party, but she stayed for Khaami’s sake. Spending most of the time observing or quietly chatting to Fesma, Satine wasn’t surprised she didn’t. Unfortunately, Fesma seemed to be having a worse time than she was.

“Fesma?”

“My mother is ill,” the lady whispered, “it’s that virus that came from Ursa’s Province.”

“Oh no,” Satine frowned, “they should be out with the vaccine soon.”

“I hope so,” Fesma admitted, “I can’t imagine life without her.”

A week later, when it was clear Fesma’s mother was not going to survive, Satine gave her lady three days leave to say goodbye. Fesma took ill soon after she arrived, and the Duchess never saw her again.

“They took her body to be examined,” Khaami shook as she read the letter, “and we didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“Her death will prevent others from dying.”

“How can you be so cold,” Khaami shouted, “she’s helped you through so much!”

Satine swallowed, “I guess I’m numb to pain now, I’m sorry to be so thoughtless.”

Khaami sobbed, “She won’t even be at my wedding.”

The Duchess ran to comfort her lady.

“I don’t understand why!”

Tears sprang into the Duchess’ eyes, “My father used to say life tested us constantly, and we had to be strong throughout, that’s how you knew we were Mandalorian.”

Khaami sniffled, “That sounds a lot like the old way.”

“He had a point,” Satine said softly, “we’re allowed to be sad, but circumstances will just keep coming at us.”

“Yeah,” Khaami wiped her eyes, “he was so strong though.”

“A true paladin.” Satine agreed.

They mourned for a week before the big event. Khaami’s wedding was held outside in the courtyard, it was Summer and garlands of flowers hung above patchworks of shrubbery. The sky was clear and the air was warm. It was a perfect day, then again, Sundari’s biome was always sunny. The ceremony was beautiful, and Satine was reminded of Obi-Wan more heavily than she thought she would be.

“Your Grace?”

Satine looked up to see Parna, she had thought the maze would give her a safe space to cry.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the maid continued, kneeling next to the Duchess and wiping her eyes, “but Khaami was hoping to say goodbye to you.”

“Ah,” Satine straightened, realizing she spent the entire party alone, “I suppose I have to see her off then.”

When a noblewoman married on Mandalore, she was allowed to keep her position in the palace if she had one. However, Khaami had elected to take a week off before returning, and when she did, the Duchess felt as if she were meeting a different woman.

“Khaami?” Satine asked.

The lady looked up.

“Will you fetch some tea and cookies?”

Khaami’s eyes fell on Parna, who had just finished cleaning the windows.

“Please.” Satine added.

Khaami gave a tight smile and left.

“You’ve grown apart.” Parna observed. 

“Fesma’s death really shook her,” Satine agreed, “and now she has someone else to rely on.”

Khaami returned with a tray of cookies and tea, and Satine made polite conversation with her. It was so strange, Khaami and Fesma had always been a unit in her mind, but now Fesma was dead and Khaami married, which was as good as dead in Satine’s eyes. When Khaami left however, she left with honor, the Duchess said she was always welcome at the palace. In her stead, Satine promoted Parna from maid to lady-in-waiting, something for which the latter was most grateful for.

“Please, Parna,” the Duchess smiled at her new lady, “call me Satine.”

“Yes,” the new lady paused, “alright, Satine.”

Existing in a state of numbness, the Duchess got up and went to meetings, visited parliament, and occasionally held parties for the next two years. She wasn’t depressed, but she definitely wasn’t happy either. Every time she thought she was over Obi-Wan, Satine would see Korkie and realize she wasn’t. He was growing to look so much like his father, Satine wondered what the rest of her children looked like. 

“Your Grace,” the Prime Minister sighed one day, “I’m afraid we have to talk about something you find unpleasant.”

Satine straightened, “Surely it can’t be that terrible.”

“Your Grace, you’re twenty-two now-”

“I’m aware.” Satine snapped.

“Your Grace,” a female advisor spoke up, “Mandalore is prospering now, all that remains is to secure the line of succession.”

Satine frowned, sank back in her seat, and sighed.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Prime Minister Djarin grimaced, “but it is necessary.”

Bo-Katan had gone underground in the last two years, but rumors ran wild.

“I understand that,” Satine nodded, “but what I don’t understand is why I must marry.”

The council looked at each other.

“It is my wish,” the Duchess began, “that my nephew be crowned as heir until I have a child.”

This caused much surprise.

“Don’t you want your own children to-”

“Yes, if I should have some,” Satine glowered, “I suppose it’s time we revisit the laws of succession.”

The Council disapproved, but the next day, the Duchess had a copy of the laws of succession called forth.

“Excuse my presumption, Your Grace,” began Prime Minister Djarin, “but you cannot change the laws of succession without Parliament.”

“Of course not, Prime Minister,” Satine smiled, “but I will bring my annotations before them so they can make the changes I wish.”

Satine had two problems with the current laws of succession, male primogeniture being the first obstacle to tackle.

“It’s outdated,” the Duchess stated simply, “and it must be changed henceforth.”

Her entire council agreed with her.

“Secondly,” Satine began, “we must acknowledge bastard children.”

“Your Grace-”

“Not in that sense, Prime Minister,” the Duchess added hurriedly, “we need a legal route for my nephew to become the heir presumptive.”

It was then decided that the annotation to the laws of succession would legitimize bastard children if there were no legitimate heirs. 

“This would only make your nephew heir if you don’t have any children.” stated a male advisor Satine wasn’t fond of.

“Yes,” the Duchess straightened, “and that is as good as decided.”

After she dismissed her council, Satine retired to her chamber and rang for Parna.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“I need to tell you something,” Satine leaned her back against the head of the bed, “I never fully explained it to you.”

Tentatively, Parna sat down on the edge of Satine’s bed.

“I have four children,” the Duchess began, “and I love them even more than I love their father, which I never thought possible.”

“Satine-”

“Just listen,” the Duchess held up her hand, “my eldest set of twins was born two years ago.”

Parna’s eyes went wide.

“Tyra Satine is force sensitive and was secretly sent to the temple,” Satine swallowed, “Korkyrach stayed with me.”

“Your nephew,” realization sparked in Parna’s eyes, “that’s why you want him to be your heir.”

“Yes.”

Parna smiled sadly, “Then I suppose you won’t have anymore children.”

“Not unless their father returns to me,” Satine looked down, “which he likely will never do again.”

Parna took Satine’s hands in hers, “Never say never.”

The Duchess changed the subject, “My second set of twins was born a couple months ago.”

“Your Grace!”

“I know,” Satine sighed, “Tristan was adopted by Ursa Wren, we swore an oath not to tell.”

“Dear God,” Parna whispered, “that day I heard screaming in the basement, that was you.”

“Yes,” Satine nodded, “and of course you know your brother took Mara.”

Tears welled in Parna’s eyes and she reached out, “I’m so sorry, Satine.”

The Duchess embraced her lady, “It was my choice, thank you for understanding.”

“Of course,” Parna replied, “any caring woman would do the same in your position.”

Four days after her discussion with Parna, Satine went before Parliament once again. Dressed in a navy gown bejeweled with crystals, a royal purple sash and a silver coronet, she sat on her throne as if she were a presiding goddess. Which in a way, she was.

“The Duchess has returned to the noble body,” began the Prime Minister, “to review and amend the laws of succession.”

That got some whispers, but the Duchess held steadfast.

“Mandalore has an ancient history,” Satine began, “and although we revere some of those ancient laws, other statues must change along with the times. We are a people in harmony now, and male primogeniture is no longer necessary in the laws of royal succession.”

Prime Minister Djarin banged her staff on the floor.

“The first statue of the line of succession is the Male Primogeniture Clause, which states male siblings shall come before female siblings when deciding who is to rule. All in favor of changing this law please vote “Yea” in the ballot box, all those opposed vote “Nea.””

There was some shuffling as the parliamentarians pulled out voting papers and pencils from the arms of their chairs and made their way to the room’s center ballot box. When it was finally done and the last lawmaker returned to their seat, an attendant gathered the box and took the votes to be counted.

The Prime Minister nodded at Satine.

“This second amendment shall require much more deliberation,” the Duchess began, “I’m sure all of you are aware of my decision to claim my nephew, and it is my wish that he be placed in line for the throne.”

Whispers and commented interjections rolled through the room like air, and the Prime Minister had to bang her staff on the floor.

“The second and final amendment that I shall propose to you today,” stated the Duchess, “is including illegitimate children in the line of succession only when there are no other legitimate children to take their rightful place.”

“Why should we change this,” stood a lawmaker from the below white banner, “this system has worked for over a millenia, bastards are bastards.”

Many voices of assent rose from the lawmaking body, so much so that the Prime Minister was unable to quiet them with her staff.

“Silence!” Satine yelled.

The room got deathly quiet.

“This rule shall only come into effect if there are no legitimate heirs,” began the Duchess, “currently, it would place my nephew behind my sister in the line of succession, and he shall only remain there if my sister and I beget no children.”

“And will the praised She-wolf sire pups?” asked a red parliamentarian.

Satine tilted her head, her nails sinking into her throne, “That is up to her to decide.”

An uncomfortable pause followed where Satine surveyed the room.

“The voting shall commence,” the Prime Minister announced, “yea if you agree, nay if you do not.”

Once the voting finished and an attendant removed the box, the results of the first ballot came in.

“The rule of male primogeniture in the line of succession is obsolete.” announced Prime Minister Djarin.

The Duchess began to clap, and slowly, the clamor in the chamber rose as others joined her. Still, that was not the main reason Satine was here. Finally, the results from the second ballot were brought forth.

“When it comes to bastards inheriting the throne,” began the Prime Minister, “it shall only be allowed if there are no other legitimate heirs.”

“What’s the margain!” a lawmaker yelled.

The Duchess turned to the Prime Minister.

“By a margin of thirty votes.”

“Recount!”

“I second a recount!”

Satine straightened as the room erupted. Prime Minister Djarin banged her staff.

“Order!” she shouted.

Slowly, voices began to recede.

“If a recount is desired,” the Duchess stated, “procedures of this noble body must be followed. The Prime Minister shall oversee the recount.”

After a nod of dismissal from Satine, the Prime Minister and her two attendants left the room and the chamber waited in silence. The Duchess clicked her nails against her throne, which echoed throughout the entire chamber.

“The votes have been recounted,” announced the Prime Minister as she burst through the double doors, “the resolution still stands.”

A murmur of dissent rattled through the ranks.

“Does this chamber not respect the wishes of their Duchess?” Satine bellowed.

Many heads turned to her in shock.

Straightening, Satine continued, “I was told Mandalore had great respect for my father, the late Duke, was I informed wrongly?”

Mumbles rose from the lawmakers.

“We may have thrown out our violent tenants,” the Duchess raised an eyebrow, “but Mandalorians respect the honor in blood, in family, in our clans. I have a nephew, and his noble blood shall keep him in the line of succession.”

Satine stood and swept from the room when she finished, leaving many behind her flabbergasted and ashamed. Parna was waiting for her lady in the foyer, and accompanied Satine down into her vehicle.

“You’re amazing, Satine,” Parna lowered her voice, “but what will they do when they find out?”

“They won’t,” the Duchess said firmly, “I might tell the children when they’re older, but I may never see them again.”

Satine and Parna were quiet for a long time.

“What about Khaami? She knows.”

“She won’t tell unless she’s pressured to,” Satine answered, “and she won’t be pressured to if no one else knows.”

The palace made a formal announcement to accompany that of parliament’s decree, stating that the Duchess valued her nephew more than she could possibly put into words, and that much was taken into account on her making the decision.

From then on, Korkie, who would celebrate his third birthday in three weeks, was allotted much more time with his “Aunt.” Satine even allowed a prominent news outlet to interview her, as her council suggested of course, and brought Korkie along with her. The people were thrilled.

“It seems the Mandalorian She-Wolf has a soft spot for her cub.” Parna observed one afternoon.

“I certainly do,” agreed Satine, “it’s hard to believe he’s almost three years old.”

“And your other children?”

Satine sighed, closing her eyes, “Tyra and Mara will fulfil their potentials, and Tristan will lead a good life.”

Korkie gurgled and the Duchess opened her eyes.

“You are a warrior, Satine,” Parna smiled sadly, “even stronger than those of Old Mandalore.”

“Thank you, Parna,” Satine stroked Korkie’s head, “I just hope they’re proud of me.”

“You don’t need them to be proud of you,” Parna crossed her arms, “they’re dead, you know what’s best for Mandalore now.”

Satine smiled, “You know what, I do. Thank you, Parna.”

[fanficflaneuse]

One Day - Part 12

Tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook @iliketoast23 @winnsmills @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog @happycomb @xtrashmouthxtozierx @hopplessdreamer @dracoxxyoflam @cleopatera @hess016

(Sentimental A/N at the end) 

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1587 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist 

Enjoy!

3 May, 2012

Minerva McGonagall had decided that this year’s commemoration of the Battle of Hogwarts would be the best they would ever have. Those who attended had always made the it a very beautiful affair, yet it was, often than not, solemn and sad. Even if it felt like too much to ask for, the headmistress truly wanted the day to go be pleasant – a celebration of life rather than a remembrance of death.

The night of May the 2nd, Hogwarts opened its doors once again, this time for a feast. As the Great Hall filled with former students and other members of the wizarding community, excitement lingered in the air. It reminded McGonagall of the enthusiasm of first years. Everyone was dressed up in elegant robes, thrilled of reuniting with old friends and have – for once on this day – a good time.

Draco had never been to one of those ceremonies. Even when (Y/N) had insisted all of those years ago, he felt like it wasn’t his place to be. This year, though, he decided to go. He said it was for her, but in reality, there was a deeper longing to make peace with that place and the people he never had the chance to apologize to.

“We can leave whenever you get tired.” Even if he tried to hide it, the distress was evident in his voice.

(Y/N) gave him a reassuring smile. She knew that, even after the long process of recovery, he still worried about her. “You’re not backing up, love,” she teased.

He gave her a playful eyeroll in response. “We had a very intense day on that “adventure” with Scorp. I don’t even know why did I ever think that was a good idea. I don’t want you to strain yourself too much,” he said, holding her closer to him.

“You thought that was a good idea because you’re the best father ever,” she noted matter-of-factly, “and I’m not strained and we’re going to have a good time.”

“Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N) – Malfoy,” Headmistress McGonagall greeted them at the door.

(Y/N) smiled softly. After healer Malfoy had deemed her healthy for his standards, they had gotten married. It was a very intimate wedding with their closest friends and family in the gardens of Malfoy manor. They had adopted each other’s last name and made a point to be referred to as such.

“Where shall we seat, headmistress?” Draco asked.

“Wherever you see fit. No houses today,” she answered excitedly.

As they entered to the Great Hall, the couple was greeted with hugs and cheers. If someone had told eighteen years old Draco he’d have such a reception in his alma mater, he would’ve laughed. Through the years, though, most people had changed their perceptions of him. He was healer Malfoy, who would stay afterhours if it meant some comfort to his patients. He was the Malfoy heir who’d hand out donations for different charities without ulterior motives. He was a friend to a lot of his former “enemies”. He was Scorpius’ proud father and (Y/N)’s loving husband. Draco had finally redeemed himself and could walk through Hogwarts with his head high, even if it triggered some very unhappy memories.

Hermione was the first one to spot them. She waved at them and soon they were surrounded by the Potter-Granger-Weasley clan on the far end of the Ravenclaw table. (Y/N) spotted Luna and Rolf Scammander on the same table, as well as Hannah and Neville and Pansy, Blaise and Daphne. On the other side of the room, from the Slytherin table, Astoria and Theo smiled at them. From the Hufflepuff table, Ernie waved at her. He was sitting with Cho, Justin and Susan. She also spotted Seamus with his husband Dean, talking to the Parvati twins and Lavender Brown. (Y/N) felt like she was living one of those happy endings from the muggle movies they would occasionally watch. Sitting by her husband, surrounded by her friends, no fear and nothing but good news on their way. It was all a bit unreal, in the best possibly way.

By midnight, Harry and Headmistress McGonagall had delivered the speeches, they drank a toast to the fallen and the feast was already over. People were already leaving and those who remained were laughing and remembering their days at Hogwarts.

“Come with me,” Draco whispered in (Y/N)’s ear.

“Where?”

“Trust me,” he answered with a smirk.

They said goodbye to their friends and left the Great Hall. (Y/N) thought they would apparate back home, but Draco surprised her by pulling her towards the stairs. Her smile grew wide as she realized they were on the fourth floor and walking towards that windowsill that marked their lives forever.

They stood there, quietly for a second. Draco then climbed on it and opened his arms for her. (Y/N) chuckled before sitting with him. His embrace was gentler than ever. He had always treated her with care, but after the assault it had become ten times more delicate. As their limbs tangled together, as they did every day now, (Y/N) remembered more than ever that day fourteen years ago.

…

“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice was firm, but loaded with fear.

“Son, where are you?” Lucius seemed desperate.  

Draco and (Y/N) were watching the sunrise, cuddling together. He was playing with one of her locks. At the sound of the voices he could distinguish very well, they – very much unwillingly – untangled their stiff limbs. He climbed down the windowsill and she stretched her arms. He found her adorable and for a second there he couldn’t believe they had snuggled all night long.

They looked at each other, like recognizing themselves for the first time. Draco thought that he might find rejection in her eyes, but he only found tenderness. And tenderness he gave back. (Y/N) was overwhelmed by such a strange mix of feelings. There she had the one and only Draco Malfoy, resident bully and death eater, smiling to her, watching her as though she was the most precious woman on earth. She felt like she should hate him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. One night of caresses and silent conversations had given her a whole new perspective on Draco and she wanted more of it.

As the voices came nearer, (Y/N) moved her hand to his hair. She smoothed it. Her touch was appeasing.

“Hey, Malfoy,” she said, a cheeky smile on her face.

“Yes?”

“I don’t hate you.” It sounded stupid once she said it, but it was also liberating somehow.

He smiled genuinely. “I don’t hate you too, (Y/L/N)”.

Soon, the elder Malfoys found the two teenagers holding hands. Narcissa eyed them carefully. Hadn’t she been so worried about Draco’s wellbeing, she would’ve smiled at such a heartwarming scene.

“Draco, let’s go,” Lucius called, his voice wavering.

Draco stood up straighter. He nodded subtly at (Y/N) and walked to his parents, ready to leave. The three Malfoys disappeared down the corridor, leaving (Y/N) to deal with the butterflies in her stomach. She turned around to face the sunrise again, wondering what she’d say to her friends.

As Draco walked with his parents, he couldn’t conceal the smile on his face.

“Who is she?” Lucius asked.

“She’s just a friend,” he answered, trying to be nonchalant.

“Yeah, just a friend,” Narcissa teased.

Draco stopped on his tracks. His parents looked at him, mocking smiles on their faces.

“Wait a minute, okay?” He hadn’t finished saying this and his feet were already taking him back to (Y/N).

“Hey! Long time no see,” she taunted as he stood, once again, in front of her.

“Would you give me your address? To owl you?” he asked hesitantly. 

It warmed her heart to see him so disarmed and clumsy. She conjured paper and a quill out of thin air and copied her address. They looked at each affectionately. Draco leaned forward, their noses almost touching.

“Are we friends?” he blurted out. He cringed inwardly at how desperate that must have sounded.

(Y/N) closed the gap between them. It was a little awkward and incredibly sweet, just their lips touching, moving in synch at a very slow pace. (Y/N)’s hand travelled to his cheek, his fingers crawled to her hair. (Y/N) smiled into the kiss as she felt electricity running around them. Draco’s heart was about to leap off his chest.

When they pulled away, Draco pecked her lips softly a couple of times again until she giggled.

“Friends,” (Y/N) agreed happily.

…

“So, we really had our first kiss right here,” Draco said in awe.

“Are we friends?” (Y/N) mocked.

He placed a kiss on her temple. “Merlin, I don’t know, darling. What do you think?” his dashing smile warmed (Y/N)’s heart.

“Well, honey, I really hope we are. I don’t want to be running the (Y/L/N) – Malfoy quidditch team on my own,” she said. This was definitely not the way she wanted to break the news to him, but she figured it was more in their style.

It took Draco no time to register what she had said. He looked at her wide-eyed, completely at a loss for words.

“Seriously?” he asked, happy tears welling his eyes.

(Y/N) nodded vigorously. “No, no tears, my love. We’re very happy today,” she said as she sat up to caress both of his cheeks.

“I’m so happy, (Y/N),” he whispered and gently brought his hand to her belly.

They were soon cuddling again, waiting for the sunrise and feeling pure unaltered bliss.

A/N: This is the end. I hope you liked it! I really couldn’t kill reader, movie be damned. If you’ve reached this far, I really want to thank you. Thank you all for giving me love and support, for reading, liking, rebloging and commenting. Thank you for being kind to me. 

My birthday is on Thursday (6 days after Draco omg) so I think I’ll be taking the rest of the week for myself and start posting again over the weekend. If anyone wants me to tag them in my next endeavours (a Draco x reader mini series from a request, a Draco x reader one shot and a Theo x reader one shot) just tell me! 

My inbox is open for messages, requests, rants and any conversation you want to have. 

Lastly, I’d like to say two things: 

1. Trans women are women. We can enjoy the Harry Potter’s books, make sense of them whichever way we want them to, but we cannot take the authorship from J.K. Rowling. We must realize who she is and why she wrote what she wrote. 

2. Black lives matter

Have a happy day and a happy life. 

[maxrev]

A Night of Surprises

This idea came out of nowhere and while I don’t feel I did it justice, it’s not too bad ;)

Happy Halloween! 

(nothing scary, just tooth-rotting fluff)

They sat on the porch together, each with a beer in hand. Kaidan with a Canadian Lager, John with a plain American Budweiser. Kaidan was convinced John liked drinking piss water as opposed to something with actual flavor. To each his own. 

The war had been over for a year and a half but the rebuilding was still going on - around them, in the galaxy, and with John himself. Still, all of it was progress. All the houses in this community wore the term ‘cookie cutter’ because each of them, down to the last tiny detail, were all the same. However, they were absolutely a step up from the prefab homes many of them had been living in. These were actually built out of wood, nails, and shingles. 

This subdivision was near the English Bay, his parent's condo having been destroyed, and Kaidan wanted a place close to the bay but more family friendly. Right now, they didn’t have a family of their own, other than the two of them, but who knew what the future held. Everyone had a dream. 

They made their current home in a community of post war survivors, most of them either having been in the military or married to a soldier. Many of them had children, either taking in those who'd lost family with no one left to claim them or the family hadn’t been found or not yet reunited. 

Some children would never have that closure. 

It was those children, the lost ones, Kaidan thought about the most. Though he and John hadn't spent a lot of time talking about that particular subject, he knew those children were on Shepard's mind as well. 

He'd been one of them after all, once upon a time. 

They watched the children in the subdivision playing together, laughing and running, kicking a ball around. There was an occasional tumble, a few tears, and every once in awhile an argument but by and large, they all got along.

One boy, who they’d seen protecting and helping the smaller kids, kicked the ball hard. It came to rest at Shepard's feet. 

Kaidan waited with baited breath to see what John would do. He was now getting around without a cane but was still a bit unsteady at times. He also had a lot more patience than while in the hospital...but there were still bad days. 

The boy ran over to them, coming to stop in front of Shepard. About ten years old, if Kaidan had to guess.  He had a serious demeanor but if you looked him in the eye, there was a glint of mischief. It reminded him a lot of Shepard - even as an adult. 

"Sorry, sir. I should have paid more attention where I was kicking it."

Before John could reply, another boy, maybe a few years younger then the one before them, started yelling at a little girl, who'd started to cry. Kaidan had only seen that particular boy a few times, thought his family had just moved in. 

The ten year old's head turned, taking in the scene. His brows lowered, a frown appearing on his face. Conflicted, he looked down at the ball, up at Shepard, and then over at the two other children. 

"What's your name, son?" John asked. 

Kaidan's heart lurched, remembering how Anderson had used the same endearment on John. He wondered if Shepard realized he was using it too. 

As if that wasn't enough to tug on his heartstrings, the boy answered solemnly, "David."

Kaidan saw the tightening of John's eyes in the corners but it was only noticeable to him. 

"You have a choice, David. What's more important? The game or the child?"

Barely a second passed before David turned and went to interfere. They both watched intently as he diffused the situation without trouble. He shook the other boy's hand and wrapped an arm around the little girl's shoulders. 

It seemed to have had something to do with the little girl wearing a costume, and it wasn't yet Halloween. Her red hair cascaded down her back in ringlets, the ends frazzled and tangled. She's been playing as hard as the older kids. 

"David!" Shepard called out. 

The boy turned, arm still wrapped protectively around the girl's shoulder. One eyebrow raised questioningly. 

"Your ball." Shepard kicked it to him, swinging his leg out awkwardly. 

The ball rolled off to the side and the little girl ran after it, snatched it up and gave John a wide, toothless grin. “Thank you!” she yelled out. Then took off to begin playing again. 

Kaidan didn’t miss the soft smile on John’s face after the interaction. A sudden idea popped into his head but it might be better if he led up to it gradually. “I’ve seen a few of the kids around here wearing their costumes. Brings back memories of me at that age. I'd wear my costume out almost every year before Halloween even arrived.” 

John turned to him, eyes alight with laughter. “Doesn’t surprise me at all. Even on the Normandy, you were always into Halloween, leaving bowls of candy around the ship.” 

Kaidan shrugged, “Halloween is one of my favorite holidays.” 

“Is there a holiday you don’t like?” John reached down, grabbed another beer for himself and raised an eyebrow at Kaidan. 

He nodded. Taking the proffered bottle, he opened it and took a swallow before answering. “I don’t think so. They each have something worth celebrating.” 

“Do you miss dressing up? Always seemed a little silly to me, adults wearing costumes for a kid's holiday.” 

“I do miss it. And it's a holiday for everyone, not just kids. Time to let loose and have some fun. Not much reason to join in the celebration now. Everyone just trying to find stability. As a kid, there was the excitement and of course, the candy. Plus, I could just be me. After my parents found out I was biotic, Dad found ways to incorporate it into my costume. Halloween was the one night I could be me without being a freak.” 

John heard a note of sadness in Kaidan's voice but let it go. Sometimes, he just wanted to talk. Which he was doing now with fondness. He listened with half an ear as Kaidan went on about all the costumes his parents came up with, how he’d play in them until well after Halloween; the parties his family would have in the orchard every few years, all the cousins dressing up and playing together.

He continued to watch the kids playing around them, a couple of them as Kaidan had noticed, in their costumes. He’d never had the opportunity to participate in Halloween growing up. Couldn't imagine being that silly and spontaneous.

The boy, David, was having trouble getting the little girl to go home as the sun began to slowly slip behind the horizon. Shadows lengthened and John began to worry about them being out late. 

Surprising Kaidan, as well as himself, he got up and made his way over to them, albeit slowly. While he’d begun to make progress walking without a cane, he was still very careful. 

“Isn’t it time you two head home?” Doing his best not to use the stern Commander voice. That was for adults, soldiers who had to listen to orders. He had no idea if these two even lived in the same house. Behind him, he heard Kaidan’s soft footsteps, always careful not to sneak up on him. 

The little girl crossed her arms and pouted, “Don’t wanna.” She gazed up at John with clear grey eyes, “You wanna play?” 

He’d like nothing better, another surprise to him. “I’d love to but don’t you think you’re mom and dad will worry about you?” 

A frown marred her face and David spoke up, “We don’t have a dad. He died in the war.” 

“Oh.” John wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“I’m sorry,” Kaidan spoke up behind him, squatting down to face them both. “I lost my dad, too. Won’t your mom worry about you, though?”

Of course, John thought, Kaidan understood. He didn’t know anything about losing a parent. 

The little girl pushed her toe against the dirt, looking up at Kaidan through her lashes. “Uh-huh.” 

He reached out, offering his hand, “Why don’t we walk you both home?” 

John began to follow them, nearly jumping out of his skin as David slipped a small hand inside his. Thsy was unexpected. They approached their house and a woman opened the door, eyes widening in surprise to see John and Kaidan with her children. 

“Hello. Were David and Allie causing trouble?” she asked, a pensive look on her face. 

Kaidan smiled warmly, “No, not at all. Though Allie wanted to continue playing. She asked John here if he wanted to join her. We figured we’d help persuade her to come home.” 

A smile replaced her worried look, “Thank you. Allie hasn’t had much of a chance to join the other children, so when she can, she usually wants to stay out until after the rest have gone home.” She looked at the little girl, “Right, Allie?”

The red ringlets bobbed up and down. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing they home. You really didn’t have to. You two deserve your privacy." She reached out her hand, "I’m Jennifer.” 

John spoke up, David’s hand still in his. Something his mother seemed aware of with a brief look of surprise. “It was no problem at all...but what do you meant about needing out privacy?”

“David, take Allie inside and help her get ready for bed, okay?” He nodded. Letting go of John’s hand and taking Allie’s instead, he took her inside. 

John missed the boy’s hand in his, the warmth gone. Another one of the many surprises he'd had tonight. 

“Commander, Major…” the woman began, their mouths opening in surprise. She stopped and smiled, “Yes, we all know who you are. We’ve been honored you chose this community to live in and we all decided to give you your space, let you have some privacy. We’re beyond grateful for all you’ve done.” 

This time, John spoke up, Kaidan unsure of how to comment. “We appreciate it. More than you can know...and, we’re sorry for the loss of your husband.” 

A look of pain crossed her features briefly and she gave a melancholy smile. “Thank you.” Her voice quieted, “David has really stepped up to be the man of the house. He’s really taken Allie under his wing, too. She...she was lost, out there in the ruins, and I told him we’d try to find her family. We never did. I can’t bear to let her go, either, so I guess she’s my daughter now. All the dust...I think it damaged her lungs. She can’t play with the others but once in awhile for brief periods. David keeps a close eye on her.” She paused, took a breath, “Thank you again for all you’ve done and for keeping an eye on Allie and David.” 

They both nodded and as she moved to shut the door, John blurted out, “I was thinking we could have a Halloween party for all the kids. They could trick or treat from house to house and then gather out at our house...or do it all at our house.” 

Now it was her turn to be surprised but it was followed with a fierce grin, “That would be wonderful! I think we should let the kids go house to house but maybe after, have a small community get together with games. We don’t have to have it at your house--” at John’s deflated look, she added, “but if you truly want to, I think everyone would enjoy that.” 

“Great! We’ll get some things set up. Kaidan has some ideas of what we could do and he’ll help me get things ready.” 

Impulsively, she stepped outside and gave them both a big hug. “This truly means a lot to these children, a bit of fun and happiness after everything that’s happened. Thank you so much.” 

They both hugged her back and turned to head back home. “I have some ideas, huh?” Kaidan nudged John's arm, careful not to push him off balance. His grin was infectious, John smiling too. 

“Well, you were going on and on about how you did things as a kid. I figured you could put those memories to good use.” John stopped mid stride, stared at Kaidan, “You can, can’t you?” 

A warm chuckle, a hand sliding in his, “You were actually listening this time?" Now John punched him in the arm. "Yeah, I think I can come up with something.” He rambled off some thoughts out loud, not expecting an answer, “I’ll have to talk to mom, see if she has any decorations left from when I was a kid. See if they’re are any apples left in the orchard. Might be some left if the Reapers didn’t stomp ‘em into the ground. Have to find some candy in town, any pumpkins around - plastic or real - get some carved and light them up. I wonder if mom still has that punch bowl. Could make some apple cider - some for the kids, some for the grown ups. I could bake some cupcakes, mom might have some extra apple pies. Maybe find some extra decorations in town. Get a tub, fill it with water. We could do some apple bobbing…” 

John listened, a half smile on his face as Kaidan listed all the ideas he had. 

The next day, true to Kaidan form, he had everything ready. He’d been in command this time around and it was amazing how he’d found all he wanted to use and gotten all the parents to help out. He didn’t like being in charge but not for the first time, John thought how different things might have turned out if Kaidan had been the Commander instead of himself. Certainly more diplomatically. 

As the sun slowly sank in the sky, the yards around them lit up in the waning sunlight. Each cookie cutter house had steps leading up to the front door, a porch the length of the house and a rail long going around it. Some houses had strings of orange and black lights turned on, the lights themselves in various forms of plastic ghosts, black cats, pumpkins or bats. 

Jack-o-lanterns were carved and set out on the steps, smaller pumpkins with drawn on faces on porch rails, some of the houses with strings of fall leaves snaking around the posts and the pumpkins nestled on top. There were spider webs with large spiders hanging on them, paper cut outs in different shapes and plastic skeletons and tombstones.

John was astounded at how everyone had come together to do all they could for the kids. 

Suddenly, he heard laughter and gasps of surprise and delight as the kids stepped outside, ready to run from house to house for their candy. The costumes were a broad variety of themes; some bought, some made by hand. 

They gave out candy, smiling at the choruses of ‘trick or treat’ echoing through the waning evening. John was touched when David came by - dressed in Commander Shepard armor, complete with an N7 logo. He didn’t realize a tear had slipped down his cheek until Kaidan moved in front of him to wipe it away and then grabbed his hand and squeezed. 

David even executed a perfect salute when he said trick or treat, a solemn look on his face. It was overwhelming and John gave him back a smart salute before leaning down to give him a hug, a quiet whisper in his ear, “Excellent job, soldier.” 

The boy's usual serious look was replaced by an ear-splitting grin. The moment was the highlight of the night for Shepard. 

As the line of kids petered out, the party then began with all kinds of games like bobbing for apples, pin the tail on the black cat, a Halloween bean bag toss and even a pumpkin pinata. The parents sat in a circle, watching the kids, talking and laughing, everyone getting to know each other better. 

John held Kaidan’s hand across their lawn chairs, just basking in the ambience of the night. One by one, the younger children began to gravitate towards their parents, climbing in laps to fall asleep. The older children continued to play on, not yet ready to give up their one night of excitement in a world gone mad. 

Allie walked over to her mom, sitting next to Kaidan, princess dress torn and lace trailing behind her. Her tiara was askew, red ringlets frazzled. John thought she looked adorable, even with her eyes heavy lidded from exhaustion and a smear of chocolate beside her mouth. 

She went to her mom but when Jennifer tried to pick her up, Allie shook her head no and whispered in her ear. Glancing their way, John saw a blush bloom on Jennifer's cheeks and she shook her head no but Allie was stubborn, asking again. Again the answr was no, her mom clearly not happy with whatever her daughter wanted. 

Undeterred, Allie marched over to Shepard and simply climbed up on his lap, snuggling in close and before he could react in any way, she lay her head on his chest and within seconds was fast asleep. John was paralyzed, unsure of what to do. 

He looked over and saw Jennifer smiling sheepishly, a look of apology on her face. Kaidan, though, was giving him the most beautiful smile John had ever seen. Looking down at the sleeping girl in his arms, Shepard felt...complete. It was a strange but wonderful feeling. 

He placed a hand gently on Allie's back to hold her in place, his other hand reaching for Kaidan’s once again. “This is nice.” 

“I have to admit, a child in your lap is a good look on you.” 

“Hmmph.” Shepard wasn’t sure what to say but glancing up, seeing the children laughing and having a great time, a sudden thought came to mind. “You know, I bet there are a lot of children out there like Allie, ones with no families. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Kaidan reached over and kissed him warmly, “It really does. Especially if you’re thinking what I am.” 

John had no doubt they were on the same page. After years of dancing around each other, they’d found their rhythm. Now, they were always in sync and he was sure Kaidan was thinking the same thing he was. 

Those children needed a home. One full of love and laughter. 

A home they could provide. 

[disappearinginq]

New Bingo Card

Crankiness is apparently a powerful motivator, but so are awesome people randomly swinging by with words of encouragement. 

Currently, the fandom is Magnum, PI, but I plan to add in some from Prodigal Son over the break.

Fic can be found on AO3: Found Family

and FFN.net: Found Family 

and below the cut: 

Rick tugged at the stiff collar of his dress blues for the umpteeth time, stretching the starched material a little further every time. The fabric no longer lined up to make an even line, and the top button was in danger of popping loose. His face was starting to itch from his five o’clock shadow, and the colonel had made it abundantly clear that he was to shave before they were picked up by their escort, but after 18 months and 11 days of no shaving, he just felt naked without at least some scruff.

Besides.

Clean shaven he looked like he was 12.

Well, used to. The rounded features he’d had almost his entire adult life that had bartenders carding him well into his thirties – a source of never ending amusement for Nuzo and TC and a shared affliction for Thomas – were gone. They’d been out of the Valley for almost four months now, but weight and muscle were slow to return.

“Why in the fuck do we have to stay in our dress uniforms for this bullshit?” he grumbled. The uniforms were never what one would call roomy but now they just felt like woolen weighted blankets slowly suffocating him. With the high collar, it felt like a really weak guy trying to strangle him all day. It didn’t allow for slouching or raising arms or even stretching, and Rick had to resist the urge to gnaw on the collar that jabbed uncomfortably at the underside of his chin. “Why do we even have to do this bullshit?”

TC heaved a long suffering sigh of someone who’d had to explain to a whiny toddler one too many times already – “because we’re a big deal. People want some good news for a change, and we’re it.”

“If people want a happy story, they can fucking watch the Hallmark Channel,” Rick growled. “This is the last of things I want to do on my To Do list.”

TC played along. He looked utterly unbothered by his uniform, the new Major insignia gleaming in the midmorning sun. “Oh yeah? What’s above it?”

“Chug a bottle of bleach, for starters,” Rick said.

The abrupt bark of laughter at his shoulder was worth the dark scowl from Nuzo and TC.

Thomas looked better than he had, but that was a pretty low bar. The same missing baby fat from Rick’s cheeks hollowed out Thomas’s entire face, making him look gaunt and worn. His hair was still too long for regs, but the admiralty let it slide, if only because Thomas wouldn’t let anyone close enough with a pair of scissors to cut it. He still wasn’t talking much, and rarely strayed any further than a few feet from any of them, but at least he was mobile. And alive.

He fidgeted with his pristine white uniform, pulling absently at the sleeves every few minutes to cover up the still healing skin graft scars.

“That’s a corker of a To Do list, brother,” TC said easily. “Anything else?”

“Well, if we’re still talking ‘Things I Would Rather Do Than a Press Tour’, then I’m going to have say  eating a nest of spiders, getting kicked in the teeth by a mule, having recreational surgery to remove a testicle,” he animatedly counted off on his fingers as he prattled off worse and worse things, ignoring Nuzo’s eye rolling and TC’s look of abject disgust while watching Thomas’s smile grow to the point it crinkled the corners of his eyes. Worth it, Rick thought. 

“Is there anything actually fun on this list of yours?” TC interrupted before Rick could come up with worse things.

“Food,” Rick said. “I plan to eat myself stupid now that we’re out of that godforsaken hospital. And I’m sorry, but German food is not my thing. I want an Americanized pizza, with something gross for toppings. I want whatever the hell that thing is,” he pointed to a six foot tall advertisement for something pink from Starbucks. “I want an all-American hot dog made from kangaroo meat and old boots.”

“That is not what hot dogs are made of,” TC sighed, making a face. “Shut up before you ruin all the things I’ve been looking forward to.”

They were sitting in the VIP lounge of LaGuardia, waiting on a ‘personal escort’ to some talk show – Rick honestly hadn’t been paying any attention when the general spoke. Fallon? Kimmel? SNL? Something that was supposed to impress him, and instead all Rick heard was ‘the first time you’ve been on American soil in over two years, and for the next six weeks, we have your entire lives mapped out for you – where you eat, where you sleep, who you talk to’ and he couldn’t shake the feeling it sounded suspiciously like they were still prisoners.

Just fewer bars and indoor plumbing.

They hadn’t been home in over two years – Rick hadn’t been state side in almost three. He’d been in the middle of back to back tours when they were captured. He almost forgot what it sounded like to hear people speaking primarily in a language he understood.

But his nerves were far from soothed just stepping onto American soil. They’d spent weeks in Germany recovering, trying to undo the damage done in a year a half, and Rick felt like it was like slapping a new coat of paint on rust – looked pretty on the outside, while everything still rotted away underneath.

They were flown first class from Bagram. Well, first from Bagram to the UAE, and then to the USA. The comfy seats didn’t mean much when he had to sit in the most uncomfortable uniform ever made for thirteen hours, with the military escort reminding them they weren’t allowed to drink in uniform.

When Rick had threatened to strip down then and there, the escort had relented, but he’d caught the exaggeratedly disappointed looks from the stewardesses. He’d smiled as they refilled his drink when out of the blue the thought struck him so hard he’d flinched, almost spilling it – would they still smile if they saw the scars?

He’d avoided any further attempts at conversation with them, just the general pleases and thank yous for service and tried not to throw up.

Nuzo laughed, interrupting the dark line of thoughts. “You idiots are gonna be the one doing the junket, not me.” He elbowed Thomas with half his usual force and tried not to let the hurt show when Thomas still noticeably flinched. “I guess married man, father of one doesn’t interest the people like three singles ready to mingle.”

“Don’t be hatin’ ‘cause we have the celebrity looks,” TC joked, fussing with his own dress blues that were still pristine.

“Yeah,” Rick piped in, slinging his arm around TC’s shoulders. “Look at these mugs. We’re gorgeous. And you somehow still have a bald head despite being stuck in a cave for 18 months and 11 days without access to a razor. Who would you want on camera?” He smiled broadly.

“It’s because Lara said no,” Thomas said quietly, before Nuzo could reply. He barely met Nuzo’s gaze, dark brown eyes looking away even before they connected. “And everyone is afraid of Lara.”

Nuzo stared for a moment. They all did. It was the first attempt at humor – actual humor, not dark, gallows jokes that made the therapists scribble madly in their notebooks to up his meds – since the Valley.

The ghost of Thomas’s former grin faltered, those same dark eyes that spoke more than the man did himself these days shifting away suddenly as he bit his lip, suddenly unsure if he’d overstepped an imaginary line.

It was more than a little crushing to see someone who once spoke so freely stop and second guess almost everything they said. Even to their friends.  

Rick saved him.

Seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. But it gave him a purpose – a mission. And isn’t that what the counselor kept saying returning servicemen struggled with? A lack of purpose in the absence of mission?

Guess they were saving each other still.

“Thomas has a point, Nuz,” Rick said. “Lara is a lovely and terrifying woman. No fair getting her to spring you.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Lara, love of my life, sun in my sky, to whom the angels pale in comparison, is intimidating enough that she can bully an Admiral into letting her beloved husband out of an unwanted assignment?” Nuzo put a hand over his ribbon rack, mouth opened in feigned shock before shrugging one shoulder in agreement. “Damn right she is.”

The frightened rabbit look faded slowly from Thomas’s expression as they continued to banter back and forth, the familiar rhythm of their teasing soothing frazzled nerves better than any therapy. It worked in the cave, it worked at the airport.

TC and Nuzo were still talking, Rick occasionally butting in with an opinion that no one asked for or needed, just to keep things lively. But mostly he kept an eye on Thomas.

Thomas, whose attention waned easily these days, and more often than not, drifted back to less pleasant times. He fidgeted in place almost constantly, clenching and unclenching his hands, only following the conversation when voices were raised and even then, only to make sure it wasn’t a danger loud, before staring off into space again. The press conference they’d already had in Bagram was a nightmare – everyone wanted to talk to Thomas.

And Thomas held his own for a while. He really did. But the questions started to get a little too personal. Once he’d answered about finding something that let him help people, now that they were being early retired from their military service, the reporters took it as an invitation to ask him more invasive and personal questions that somehow also still made political statements out of it – like “Does that mean you don’t agree with the US’s involvement with Afghanistan?”, or “Do you believe that the military presence isn’t helping people?”

Rick was all ready to come to his brother’s aide, but TC beat him to the punch with a solid, rumbling: “You’re gonna ask a man who went through hell to solve a war that’s been going on since before we left Africa as a species?”

The following “get fucked” that even had flustered Thomas laughing because TC rarely ever swore, even in the Cave, probably had more to do with the abrupt end to the questioning, but…eh. It was worth the ass chewing from the higher ups.

 Now he was starting to fidget again, despite the familiar bantering, pulling at invisible threads on his uniform as he tried not to make the constant rolling of his shoulders obvious.

“I’m bored stiff. You wanna come take a walk around the airport?” he asked, already heading for the door to the lounge. “Get some air? Stretch these legs? I think I’m losing circulation to my feet in these things.”

“Sure,” Thomas agreed, practically jumping out of his seat at the invite. “It’s stuffy in here.”

It wasn’t, but Rick let it slide. He held the door open for his friend, sending a quick ‘okay’ sign behind his back towards Nuzo and TC, letting them know he had this one.

The airport was crowded, but not claustrophobically so.  The concourse was packed with people waiting for food and flights, the enormous floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the tarmac for people to watch incoming and outgoing flights making the crowd tolerable.

Except for the part where people stared at them as they walked around.

It had nothing to do with who they were – Rick doubted that many people really watched the news. But the military dress uniforms were eye catching. Something that he never minded in the past, but now felt like he was under a microscope. He found himself walking closer than necessary to Thomas, studying the ceiling with closer intensity than it probably warranted.

“I don’t think I can take this for another six weeks,” Thomas said, so quietly Rick almost missed it. Rick hadn’t been paying all that much attention, preoccupied with his own feelings of being under a microscope, but now that he actually looked at Thomas, he wasn’t looking so hot.

The damage done by the Taliban was a slow recovery. Damage done by raging infections and Thomas’s own recklessness was even slower. Long walks winded him still, but now Magnum was looking positively gray.

“I know…I know what we did was important,” Thomas said softly. “But…I don’t want to keep reliving it. Letting people ask us like it’s some part of a movie, or somehow entertaining. And the more I try to convince myself that these people…” he gestured absently with a flick of his hand that made him wince. “They’re the reason why it should be worth it, the more I keep thinking of that press release, and the more…the more I hate it.” The more he hated them.

Rick considered it for a long moment before replying, trying to channel his inner TC to find something that might actually mean something. “We took an oath to stand against all threats, foreign and domestic. We signed up to fight for them. Not to suffer for them. You don’t owe them more than you’ve given.”

Thomas shrugged like he didn’t believe him but was too tired to argue. The higher ups made the press tour a non-optional request. As long as they were still in, they were supposed to ‘obey the orders of those appointed over them’.

What was irritating was that Thomas used to have no problem telling the chain to get bent when needed. Or just pretending like he didn’t hear them in the first place. He even said some unpleasant things to the Taliban holding them prisoners, but now…now he just didn’t seem to have it in him to complain.

Like someone had snuffed that spark.

“But first things first – I’m getting out of this monkey suit.” He veered abruptly into the clothing store, boasting hoodies with ‘I heart NYC’ in every color imaginable and Yankees and Mets gear stacked to the ceiling. He almost gagged when he saw the outrageous pricing, but hey – he had back pay for a year and a half of hazardous duty coming his way. He could afford it.

They were supposed to stay in uniform while traveling, according to the military.

Well, they could go fuck themselves, Rick thought darkly. If he was gonna be gawked at, it was gonna be because people thought he was an overcompensating tourist – not a Marine who just returned from hell.

“Here,” he tossed Thomas an overpriced t-shirt. “Take that. I’ve never been more appreciative of airlines catering to the idea that at least half their customers have lost all their stuff in customs, but I am getting out of this uniform, and so are you.”

Thomas stared blankly at the plain black shirt in his hands. Rick watched as he carefully traced scarred fingertips over the soft fabric, touching at the collar before fingering the sleeves that would only come to just past his upper arm.

“It’s softer than dress whites,” he conceded. He almost headed for the changing room before he stopped, glancing back the racks.  “I need something with sleeves,” he pointed out hesitantly.

Rick nodded his chin towards the display of hoodies. “Take your pick. Personally, I dig the pink one, so if you’re not down for looking like twinsies, pick a different color.”

Thomas laughed at that. Rick had never been ‘conservative’ when it came to civilian clothes – mostly because it annoyed everyone else, but as more than one woman had told him – ladies liked a daring man with more color in their wardrobe than that of Johnny Cash.

Their obscenely expensive clothing bought and tags ripped off, they headed back towards the lounge where TC and Nuzo were probably beginning to wonder where exactly they wandered off to.

Rick’s stepfather once told him ‘clothes make the man’, and for the most part, Rick flatly ignored him. But the change in Thomas was…tangible.

Dressed in jeans which cost more than a car rental, shoes better served for a teenager on a skateboard but were the only ones soft enough to accommodate sensitive scar tissue, and a hoodie two times too big for him, Thomas actually looked…relaxed.

No one was staring at him. No one even batted an eye as they walked past them – not even the ones who’d openly stared at the dress uniforms not twenty minutes earlier.

It was like they were invisible.

For the first time in a year and a half, no one paid any attention at all to them. Not to demand questions of them, not to decide who they were going to take away to the Pit, not to mock from behind bars, not to question whether they’d followed the doctor’s advice or if they’d eaten anything that day.

Nobody cared.

And.

It.

Was.

Marvelous.

“Like a magic cloak,” Thomas half whispered in awe. He still tugged at the long sleeves of the sweatshirt, but they were long enough he could actually pull the ends over his hands, hiding the scars completely.

It also made him look like he was fifteen.

But there was a kindling light in those dark, expressive eyes, and that was all that Rick cared about.

“Told you,” he teased gently, opening the door back to the lounge.

There was an indignant squawk of abject betrayal when TC saw them in civilian clothes.

“Really, guys?” TC gaped, a hand of mock betrayal going to his chest. “You gonna do a brother like that?”

Rick huffed. “Like we would leave you hanging.” He tossed a bag of clothes at the pilot, who caught them deftly in one hand before peering suspiciously inside. “No, I didn’t get you pink. We decided yellow was more your color anyway.”

“What in the hell is this?” TC demanded, yanking out a bumblebee yellow button up. “TM, is this your doing?”

Thomas shrugged innocently. “There’s a limited selection in the big and tall in an airport.”

TC scowled without anger. “Sure.”

“Nah, the kid’s right – you had your pick of that or lime green. I don’t know why they think a 6’2”, 240 pound man needs to be more noticeable, but it’s what you get,” Rick defended, even as Thomas shot another scowl his way at the mention of age.

“Nothing for me?” Nuzo asked. “I see how it is.”

“Your wife and kid are coming to pick you up in like an hour – don’t pretend like Lara and Jake aren’t going to have a change of clothes,” TC pointed out. “Watch the youngin’s – I’m getting out of this clown suit.”

Before Nuzo could protest, TC was out the door with a speed that belied his size.

Nuzo shook his head, then quickly darted his gaze back to Thomas who was looking out the floor to ceiling window at the parking lots, not paying them any attention. He met Rick’s gaze, cocking his head to one side, questioning.

How’s our boy?

Rick held a hand out and teetered it back and forth. Not great. But not terrible.

“Any word on our hurry up and wait status?” he asked aloud. Their flight had been bumped back in Dubai – they arrived two and a half hours ahead of schedule, and Lara and Jake had to drive up from Virginia Beach to pick Nuzo up. The others were left waiting – as per usually with the military – until someone filed paperwork to get them a ride. Their escort was supposedly off conversing with the USO representatives, but that was over an hour ago, and Rick not so secretly hoped they’d been forgotten.

“No news yet,” Nuzo answered, glancing at his phone.

Having phones again was just weird now. How fucking handy would it have been to just reach into a back pocket and call for help?

TC practically kicked in the door when he returned, grinning like an idiot, holding his arms above his head like the statue of Adonis. “I can move my arms again,” he crowed. He rolled his massive shoulders, relishing the freedom of movement out of the restrictive uniform. He pulled at the hem of the large shirt. “You know what, I ain’t even mad about the color. I look fantastic. I’m getting more of these when I get…”

The word they all dreaded died in his throat.

Home.

The only one who even had one was Nuzo, and even that came with its own perils. Trying to readjust after deployment was hard enough on married couples. Readjusting after…everything…seemed like an unwinnable purgatorial task.

“I guess this is just a temporary patch job, huh.” TC faltered. He glanced down at the bag that now held his carefully folded uniform. “We’re going to have to get changed again as soon as the guards – escorts – come back.”

Thomas flinched at the word guards, his shoulders coming up quick and sharp as he ducked his head, automatically making himself smaller than he already was. Somehow, it was made worse by the oversize sweatshirt – perhaps because it made him look even younger than he already did.

Nuzo had mentioned going to Hawaii back in Bagram, when Thomas quietly admitted he wasn’t ready to go home. But none of them had anything set up in Hawaii, either. Not for another six weeks, at least. The older man had reached out to Robin Masters, hoping the former journalist would be willing to help out the man who’s life made him a millionaire that owned half the island, but he’d only reached a very polite but very firm assistant who informed him that Mr. Masters was very busy on world tour, but she would pass along the message but couldn’t guarantee when he would be able to return the call.

“First of all, if they want me back in uniform, they’re going to have to wrestle me back into it,” Rick declared, crossing his arms over the Yankees emblem on his shirt. “And I plan to go out like a honey badger on meth.”

TC raised a questioning eyebrow at the metaphor but shrugged one shoulder in agreement. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“What if…”

All three heads turned to Thomas.

The younger man had one palm up against the window, fingers splayed out on the cold glass as it fogged around his hand. But he wasn’t looking up. He was looking down at the parking lot. At the rental car return lot.

They waited patiently.

“What if…we ran away?” Thomas asked, voice hesitant and barely above a whisper. “What if we didn’t wait around for them to decide for us? What if…what if we just left. We could just...go. Anywhere. Anywhere we wanted to.”

He shot a glance over his shoulder back at the group that was so cautiously hopeful, the first real spark back in his eyes since last September – and Rick realized he would’ve agreed to anything that kept that look on his friend’s face.

“I’m down,” he said immediately, before glancing back at TC. “Could use a pilot though.”

“Hell, yeah.” TC tossed his bag to Nuzo who caught it one handed. “Cover for us?”

Nuzo smirked. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll get Lara to do it.”

*

Fortunately, LaGuardia had an overabundance of rentals available, and while Rick pointed out the flashy sports cars in the lineup, TC argued against being forced to sit in the back seat with his knees up his nose at any point of the trip.

“Then don’t sit in the back!” Rick protested, pointing out the sport car again.

“I am supposed to believe that you and Thomas aren’t even once going to want to both be up front at the same time?” TC shot back and pointed to the SUV that looked like it would be better suited for a drive by or government agencies.

 “What about this one?” Thomas asked.

The car had no business being there. It was almost fifty years old and completely out of place amongst the minivans and crossovers, but there it was – a 1968 Chevelle convertible, in mint condition.

“I think someone just parked it in the wrong spot, buddy,” Rick said. “I don’t think it’s a rental.”

Thomas leaned over the passenger side door, fishing into the glove box. “No, look,” he said, holding up a piece of paper. “It is a rental. It’s from Auto Classics Enterprise, apparently.”

“It gets like six miles to the gallon,” TC pointed out. “We’ll need to refill twice before we even get out of the city.”

Rick glanced up at him. “You got somewhere you need to be?”

“Just stating facts, bro. Though…” he considered the front seat and back. “It is pretty roomy.”

“It’s got class,” Rick agreed. “And leg room. Not to mention zero to sixty in six point four seconds.”

“We’re in downtown Queens, Orville. We’ll be lucky to see anything about 13 miles an hour until we get out of the city.”

“Why you always gotta be a negative Nancy, Theodore?” Rick asked, squinting up at the larger man before hissing: “Who hurt you?”

“I’m a realist,” TC corrected. “And one of us has to have at least one foot on the ground while you got your head up in the clouds.”

“There’s no roof,” Thomas interrupted, making both men stop mid argument. He looked sheepish, like he hadn’t meant to say anything aloud, but couldn’t take it back. “I’m just…sick of walls, you know? Of not being able to see out. We can get a different one, I just…” he shrugged, offering a faint echo of his normal Cheshire grin. “Something without a roof?”

Rick and TC glanced at each other. It’d been hard to deny Thomas anything even before they were captured – he was just that kind of guy. He called in a million favors, but he racked them and stacked them the same way some people stacked bodies. Everyone always owed Thomas because Thomas was always, always giving something. Hard to deny became impossible – especially since lately, he asked very little. 

Rick sighed, held one hand out, palm flat and his other hand clenched in a fist on top. “On the count of three?”

“Nah,” TC grinned, giving Rick an affectionate shove. “You’re enlisted. I know your ass is broke, back pay or not. I got this.”

“That stings.”

“Not as much as your empty wallet.”

*

Poor investment or not, the car was what they needed. All of them, not just Thomas.

Rick was always a bit of a car fanatic – he liked anything that’s entire existence could be summed up with a robust vrooooom. And he could find one anywhere – no one was entirely sure how or where he’d drummed up a 1935 Rolls Royce in the middle of the Helmand province and most were afraid to ask.

TC appreciated anything with a solid engine and good mechanics under the hood that could accommodate his large frame.

Even the stop and go traffic of downtown New York couldn’t do anything to deter the animated conversation from the front seat.

“Isn’t this the car from Dukes of Hazard?” TC teased, easing the classic further out of the city while Rick had a minor coronary over it most certainly was not, how could you spin such lies?

He hadn’t been to NYC in decades, and he’d honestly forgotten how quickly the city disappeared once they were across the bridge. It didn’t exactly up and vanish in the blink of an eye, but as they crossed from New York into Jersey, the sky scrapers and towering apartment complexes with convenience stores and neon lights gave way to suburbia, the hill houses of the Palisades Parkway offering glimpses of the Hudson between the billion dollar homes as they cruised along to nowhere in particular. The million dollar homes became farm houses and ranches, vast expanses of green instead of concrete jungle and the rumble of steady traffic faded away to the occasional semi rig or farm truck. The roar of the wind dulled as they dropped from 60 to 30, winding their way deeper into the state forests of upstate Jersey and lower New York.

It was hard to believe that less than an hour from one of the largest cities in the US was rolling farm lands.

Shit, there were even cows.

Rick scrolled continuously through the radio channels, changing the station as soon as an ad came on or he heard someone talking instead of music. “You know, you would think in a year and some change, someone would’ve come along with more talent than Justin Bieber.”

“Talent isn’t what makes that kid famous,” TC argued. “Pop music hasn’t been about the music since the 70’s.”

Rick grumbled under his breath as he continued to tweak the dial back and forth before finally stopping on “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”, cranking the volume several decibels.

TC shot him an incredulous look. “This is what you stop on? This is what says bro trip to you?”

Rick smirked, putting both hands up in ‘white dude shuffle’ pose, the closest thing he could get to dancing while in the front seat of a car. “When men are confident enough to write songs about their friendships, then I’ll put those on – but until then, Cyndi has us covered.”

“You gonna sit there and deny, to my face, Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend’, or Bill Withers’s classic ‘Somebody to Lean On’?” TC demanded. “What about ‘You Got a Friend In Me’?”

“The theme song to Toy Story?! How is that better?”

“How is it not better than an 80’s women power ballad? TM, back me up here!”

When Thomas didn’t respond, TC risked a glance in the rearview as Rick whipped around as if he expected Thomas to have vanished from the backseat while they were driving.

But he was still there, sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Head tilted back against the seat with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses, arms above his head as he played with the wind currents like his hands were paper planes, lost in his own little world.

The dark shadows under his eyes from months of sleepless nights were lost in the bold noon day sun, and his clean shaven face looked years younger without the stubble and lines from worry and illness.

A smile as wide as the sky above them plastered across his face.

For the first time in forever, Thomas looked…well, like Thomas.

“Play whatever you want, guys," Thomas said without looking up. His too-large sleeves pooled around his elbows, and he didn’t seem to care, despite the still healing scars plainly visible. “The sun is warm. The grass is green. Today is a good day.”

[swtorpadawan]

Tales from the Eternal Alliance: Growing Up

Author’s Notes: Inspired by @swtor-prompts for 22 March 2019 – One-word prompt – “Us”. The following story involves my main OC, Corellan Halcyon, and takes place sometime between the conclusion of the Knights of the Eternal Throne expansion and my own Interventions and Awakenings series.

“Master Ranos and our survey teams have reported in from Tython. They confirm that there are no Jedi residing in the ruins of the old Temple. Likewise, there wasn’t anything of significant value left behind. Whatever survived when the Eternal Empire attacked was probably carried off when the Jedi evacuated. Most notably, the Archives are completely gone.” Theron Shan paused, letting that last point sink in. “There are indications that there have been scavengers in the past, but it seems unlikely they came away anything of real value based on the evidence.”

Another lingering pause. “Likewise, there’s nothing to indicate where the surviving Jedi may have withdrawn to. We know that many of them are serving openly alongside the Republic military, and I have reports that my mother was on Coruscant when the war ended, but there’s no indication of any larger organization, and no efforts to reform the Council.”    

Lana Beniko watched as Theron finished his summary report. It had been more than five years since the Eternal Empire had struck the Jedi at their home world of Tython and finding anything of great importance now had seemed a longshot at best. Still, it was bitterly disappointing to her about the Archives. At her heart, beneath the face of the cool, ruthlessly pragmatic advisor that she showed the rest of the galaxy, Lana Beniko possessed the soul of a scholar. Though the Jedi’s approach to the Force was nominally incompatible with her own Sith philosophy, the loss of all that knowledge still stung. And the irony that she had once coordinated an earlier attack on the Jedi Temple by the forces of the Sith Empire years ago was not lost on her. She could only hope that the surviving Jedi had managed to save most of it when they fled.

She then turned towards Corellan Halcyon, the Alliance Commander. Surely if Theron’s report was disappointing to her, it must weigh heavily on the former Jedi, the man who was once known the galaxy over as the Hero of Tython.  

“Mmm.” Came the rather non-committal sigh from the Outlander.

The Commander, Theron and Lana herself were gathered around the main holo-display in the War Room in the Alliance base on Odessen. They were joined by T7-O1, the small but highly capable Astromech droid who had been the Commander’s companion for years. Lana had the greatest appreciation for the droid, as Tee-Seven had spent several years helping her find Corellan when he’d been captured by the Eternal Empire. However, the droid’s constant presence at the Commander’s side since the Alliance had toppled the Eternal throne sometimes made her wonder.

What horrors had he experienced in that final battle with Valkorian? Lana wondered.

He hadn’t spoken about it with anyone, as far as she could tell. Even Senya and Arcann, who’d been in the Commander’s mind and fighting at his side, had little insight.

Afterwards, the Commander had been restless. He had put on a charismatic face for the celebrations on Zakuul and later back with the Alliance on Odessen. He could still be noble, brave, compassionate, diplomatic and even charming in brief moments, but they felt fleeting. He seemed more himself on missions and in battle, where his finely-honed warrior instincts took over. His daily sparring sessions, particularly against Arcann, seemed to do him much good, but clearly whatever satisfaction he drew from them was unsustainable in the long run. He was, as always, attentive enough during briefings but seemed listless if a clear course of direction was not readily apparent. It was as if his overall sense of direction – the path ahead for himself and the Eternal Alliance – was unclear. Something was clearly bothering him. Theron and others had seen him looking out onto the horizon from the main observation deck outside the Cantina. He was clearly reaching out into the galaxy for something he couldn’t quite grasp.

In every other matter, the Commander had placed his complete trust in Lana and Theron, as his senior advisors. But in this single personal affair, he was silent, only saying that he was fine.    

Lana had the greatest admiration and respect for the Commander. She just wished he had trusted her fully with the truth of this.

And at this very moment, Corellan seemed focused on the datapad with the details of the survey team’s findings, his expression rather grimly detached.

Taking his prolonged silence as a sign that he should continue, Theron pushed on with his report.

“Even though our survey of the temple didn’t produce much in the way of results, we were a bit luckier with the rest of Tython. The Twi’lek Pilgrims at Kalikori village were very welcoming to Master Ranos when she visited them. Their Matriarch has even contacted us directly and is waiting to talk by holo. I can take care of it if you like - ”

Suddenly, the Commander seemed to break out of whatever lethargic fugue he had been trapped in, putting the down the datapad and looking pointedly at Theron.

“You have Ranna Tao'Ven waiting on hold?”

Theron was startled. Lana’s eyes likewise narrowed in surprise. This was the most animated the Commander had been in nearly a week. He hadn’t mentioned having connections to the Pilgrims up until now.

Tee-Seven likewise seemed to come to life, as his top started spinning and the droid emitted a series of beeps and whistles.

“Ranna Tao'Ven = Old friend!” he beeped, happily.  

“Uhm, right.”  The former SIS agent answered dumbly, looking back and forth between the Commander and the droid. “I’m told she wants to exchange pleasantries and discuss possible trade and assistance…”

The Commander waved his hand towards the display terminal.

“Put her through.” He ordered. Corellan’s voice was measured, but the rest of his body language was suddenly animated.  

Theron quickly pressed a button at his terminal, and the holo-projector came to life.

The woman who appeared in the projection appeared to be about thirty-two years of age by Lana’s estimation, though Twi’leks did tend to age more gracefully than other species. Young to be in a position of leadership. Lana initially thought, but then recalled that both the Commander (and Lana herself) were roughly about that age, with Theron just a few years older. Indeed, now observing her at length, this Matriarch carried herself well, as Lana could feel a certain wisdom and a deep-rooted strength even through the projection. Regardless of her age, this was a woman who had seen her people through difficult times and had been left stronger for it.

The Commander smiled, then bowed, using the same form he had back when he had been a member of the Jedi order.

“Matriarch. Thank you for calling.” He paused. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Commander. Thank you for taking my call.” Ranna Tao'Ven returned the Commander’s smile. Her eyes grew softer in relief. It seemed to make her look much younger. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to speak to me.”

The Commander shook his head. “I never blamed you for what happened, Matriarch. And please – you can still call me Corellan.”

The Matriarch’s eyes took on a shine and she practically beamed. “I… thank you, Corellan. And please call me Ranna. I was so relieved to hear that you were still alive. I’ve missed calling you a friend.”

“Thank you, Ranna.” Corellan answered. Lana gave him a sideways glance. The Commander suddenly looked … younger, somehow, just as Ranna did. That haunted look that had been in his eyes since he destroyed Valkorian had eased somewhat. It was as if the weight of leadership had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. “I like to think we’ll always be able to call each other friends.”

“How are things there?” he continued. “Have the Flesh Raiders been a problem?”

“No, they are contained.” Ranna spoke with a touch of pride in her voice. “Our defenses are much better organized these days, and the Flesh Raiders remain scattered and give us a wide berth. We keep our young people from exploring the Ridge, but there have been no strikes against the village or our farmlands. We aren’t overconfident; we will always have to be wary of them. But a generation of my people are being raised who will know the Flesh Raiders only as tales to frighten children around a fire.”

“That sounds wonderful, Ranna. I wish I could see it.” His expression turned somber. “I’ve always regretted not visiting.”

“You have always been welcome.” she smiled. “Both of us have changed a great deal since we last spoke.”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion or doubt, but with a scrutinizing eye. Lana had seen that look in battle, usually just before he found a solution to a problem or the key to defeating an enemy.  

And just like that, his eyes widened. “That new band on your headdress… Ranna, you’ve married!”

Ranna’s cheek bones reddened in a pretty blush against her green skin. Her head tilted downward in mild embarrassment.

“You remember Viyo? You rescued him from that Flesh Raider who wanted to become a Jedi.”

“I remember.” The Commander nodded in remembrance. “He seemed very bright and kind.”

“He is, and he’s grown into a fine man. He’s been a wonderful husband and he is very supportive to me.” Her eyes glistened faintly. “I have two children, now. A three-year old daughter who we named Sumari, after my mother. She’s such a handful! She keeps both Viyo and I busy to keep her out of trouble.” She paused, giving a nervous swallow. “And a son born just this past autumn, during the harvest. We named him… Corellan.”  

The Commander’s pale blue-grey eyes blinked hard. He leaned forward, his hands reaching out and taking hold of the display terminal for support.

To her side, Lana heard Theron smothering a laugh at the Outlander’s reaction, covering his mouth with his hand. The Sith shot him a withering look, and Shan raised both hands in surrender, not bothering to repress a smirk.

The Commander, fortunately, appeared oblivious to this exchange.

“Ranna, I don’t know what to say.”

“Viyo agreed with my choice whole-heartedly.” She grinned a bit at his reaction. “My people still remember what you did for us. And we always will. Our children grow up learning the stories, and they will pass those tales down to their children when our time has passed.”  

The Commander let out a sigh, rising from the terminal. “You honor me more than I deserve, Ranna.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You not only saved my people, you also gave me the chance to make up for the mistakes I made.”

The Matriarch collected herself, once again taking on the demeanor of a wise and experienced leader. “I know you’re looking for any surviving Jedi. I want you to know that we sheltered several of them when the Temple fell to the Eternal Empire. We knew there was a risk involved, but we could do no less. They stayed with us a few days, thanked us for offering them sanctuary, then found transport off-planet when it was safe. For our protection, they declined to say where they were headed. The Skytroopers never came our way – the Jedi reasoned that our lack of technology made them discount us as a threat.”  

She paused. “It was the least we could do after all you did for us, and for… what happened.”

Whatever memory Ranna had invoked for the Commander was a powerful one. Lana could feel his emotions bubbling up just beneath the surface. How unlike him. Lana observed. He is normally so collected and reserved, keeping his emotions in check.

“Ranna, that was a long time ago.” Corellan replied, his voice quiet. “I’m very grateful that you helped those Jedi. But since we last spoke, I’ve taken on something of a mantle of leadership myself. To be honest with you, looking back, I understand why you made those hard choices. I’ve only come as far as I have because of the people around me. What you went through in those dark days… considering the losses you had suffered and the pressures you were under, I know you felt scared, alone and overwhelmed.” He exhaled. “Please know that if I was ever at all unkind or… self-righteous towards you, then I’m very sorry.”

Ranna gave the Commander a patient smile.

She looks very much like a mother. Lana thought. Her village’s title of leader – Matriarch – is well suited in her case.

“You’re wrong, Corellan.” She spoke gently. “You showed me nothing but kindness. When you spared Moorint and the others, when you helped us… that showed true character. I learned from my mistakes, and I became a better leader for it. When the chance came to atone for what I had done, I had to take it. Not just out of my memories of you, but because it was the right thing to do.” Ranna’s smile brightened again. “The principles we lead by are what matter most. You taught me that.”

“Today, my people are safe. Our village is thriving, even with a lack of off-planet trade. My children will grow up healthy and free. You made this all possible. Not just with your courage or skill, but your compassion, most of all.”

The Commander, for the second time that day, blinked then exhaled, reflecting on her words. When he finally smiled, it was the warmest expression Lana had seen on his face in months.

“Then maybe both of us needed to grow up.”

Ranna let out a giggle at that, smiling happily. Once again, a younger woman shined through her years. “Maybe we did. But it doesn’t hurt to remember the people we once were, for they made you and I possible.”

“Thank you, Ranna.” Corellan spoke gratefully. “I’ll have Theron contact you about any aid assistance you need and help you re-open trade if you like. And if your people are ever in danger again, please remember you can always call on me.”

“I will.” Ranna spoke confidently as the wise leader again. “Thank you, Corellan. For everything.”

“Thank you again, Ranna. Until we meet again.”

The call ended and the holo-terminal went dark.

The Commander of the Eternal Alliance stepped back, then turned to his advisers with renewed energy.

Theron was slightly amused, giving him a questioning look. Lana herself looked at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an explanation that she honestly doubted would be forthcoming. Neither senior advisor spoke aloud.

Tee-Seven finally broke up the awkwardness with another series of beeps. “Seeing friend Ranna again = Good?”

The Commander chuckled at his old friend. “Yes, it was, Tee. Yes, it was.”

“So!” he turned back to Lana and Theron, rubbing his hands together like an eager child.

“What’s next on the agenda?”

 Author’s Notes: I always liked the character of Ranna. In a way, she foreshadows so many other NPCs we encounter throughout the Jedi Knight story. So often, we see otherwise respectable characters taking morally questionable or short-sighted actions because they are scared for themselves or for their people. I like to think – assuming we did choose the light-side / Paragon route – that we’ve helped some of those folks to become better versions of themselves.

The state of mind Corellan finds himself in at this point in his story reminds me a lot of the place Ranna was in during the Prologue. Fortunately, he has Lana, Theron, Tee-Seven and others to help see him through.

Finally – No, Corellan did not hook up with Ranna. (He was too dense to comprehend that there were ‘Flirt’ options. Also, Kira is the only woman he’s ever thought about in that way.)

Thank you, and may the Force be with you.

(Image courtesy of Wookiepedia)

[readingraebow]

The Color Purple: The Whole Book

1. How does Celie come to get married? So Mr. ____ expresses interest in marrying Celie's younger sister Nettie and Celie wants Nettie to get married so she can get away from their father (who rapes Celie) and have one good year before she becomes a woman. But their father says no. He says Nettie is the smart one in the family and he wants her to be a schoolteacher and he'd never give her to Mr. ____. Instead, he says he can have Celie because she's getting to old to still live with them and even though she's ugly (father of the year), she's good with children and she could help Mr. _____ with the kids he was left with when his wife died. At first he says no but eventually he comes back to look at Celie again and then agrees to marry her. 2. What do Celie and Mr. ___ tell Harpo to do to get Sofia to listen to him? How does this turn out? Mr. ____ suggests hitting her. He says that wives are like children and you have to use the same approach to let them know who's boss. Celie thinks for a minute and apparently decides that Sofia needs to be knocked down a peg before agreeing that Harpo should hit her. Well, this works not at all since the first time they see Harpo after telling him this, he's beaten to a pulp. He has a lot of excuses about what happened to him but we all know that Sofia is stronger than him (both physically and her will) and the first time he tried to lay a hand on her, she beat him instead. Then one day Celie witnesses one of their fights and sees Harpo trying to hit Sofia but Sofia just not having it and beating him. (Which. Wow. I honestly find kind of funny? Because while I don't condone domestic violence, I think it's kind of hilarious that Harpo literally can't hit Sofia to make her mind because she's literally stronger than him and she just Isn't Having any of his trying to hit her.) 3. What happens when Sofia meets the mayor and his wife? So the mayor's wife is looking over all of Sofia's children and notices Sofia has a nice watch and they have a car and she comments that the kids are very clean. So then she asks if Sofia wants to be her maid. And Sofia says "Hell no" and when they can't believe what she said, she repeats it a few times. So then the mayor is mad because Sofia "sassed" his wife and he slaps her and, well, no one slaps Sofia so she literally knocks him to the ground. And that's when the police show up and literally beat Sofia to a pulp before taking her to jail. When Celie finally gets in to see her, she says that Sofia's skull is cracked, her ribs are cracked, her nose is torn loose on one side, she's blind in one eye, she's swollen from head to toe and her tongue is so swollen she can't even talk. 4. What is Shug’s surprise? So Mr. ____ thinks she's getting him a car for Christmas since she makes a lot of money now. And sure enough, on Christmas morning they hear a car pulling into the driveway. But when they go out to see her, she has a man with her. She says his name is Grady and he's her husband. Which basically hurts both Mr. ____ and Celie since they both love Shug. 5. How does Celie get a letter from Nettie? What does it say? One night Shug is asking Celie about Nettie and Celie tells her that Mr. ___ kicked Nettie out of his house and Celie would never see her again and she hasn't seen her since. She hasn't even heard from her. And Shug asks if Nettie would be living somewhere with funny stamps because sometimes when Mr. ___ gets mail out of the box, there's a letter with funny stamps which he puts in the inner pocket of his jacket. So, it turns out Nettie has been writing to Celie all this time but Mr. ___ is the only one who gets the mail so he's been keeping the letters. But Shug gets one from him and gives it to Celie. It says that Nettie wants her to know that she's not dead and she figures Mr. ___ has been keeping the letters. But she says she's going to come home within the year and she's going to bring Celie's children with her. 6. What has Nettie been up to? So after she left Celie's house, Mr. ___ followed her and when they were far enough away from the house, he tried to kiss her. But she fought him off and hurt him bad enough that he left her alone. But he was mad and he said that for what she'd done, she'd never hear from Celie again and Celie would never hear from her. So from there, Nettie makes it to town and there she goes to the Reverend ____'s house, like Celie told her to, and she ends up living with them as their maid. They have two children, Olivia and Adam, who are actually Celie's children. Well, Nettie has a good life with them. They're nice to her and they teach her a lot and she loves their family. But Nettie can't find work so she's knows she'll soon have to leave that town and go somewhere else. But, the Reverend's family-- Samuel is his name and his wife's Corrine --are about to go on a missionary trip to Africa. Well, the girl who was supposed to go with them can't go so they invite Nettie. So she goes with them. They travel through New York then sail to England. Then they sail to Africa. So Nettie has been living in Africa all this time with Celie's children and their adopted parents. And she honestly sounds really happy except she really, really misses Celie. 7. How do the men in Olinka remind Nettie of her father? They don't believe their women should be educated and when Nettie helps educate Olivia's friend, the girl's parents come to reprimand Nettie. Here's how the men of Olinka remind Nettie of her father: they only listen long enough to issue instructions. They don't look at women when women are speaking. Instead, they look at the ground and bend their heads toward the ground. And then, in turn, women are not supposed to look at men when they are speaking. To look a man in the face is considered a brazen thing to do. Instead, they are to look at his feet or knees. All of this is exactly how their father used to treat women: like they were objects instead of people. 8. What does the road mean for the people of Olinka? Well, they believed that the road was just for them and it was to help them reach other villages so when the road was "finished" or had reached the edge of their village, they threw this huge party celebrating the road. But then the next morning, the workers were back out there, building the road again. And that's when they learned that the road was supposed to go another 30 feet, right smack through the middle of Olinka. And anything that was in the way of where the builders had been told to build the road, would literally be torn down. This meant a bunch of fields, their school, church and Nettie's hut were all leveled within a matter of hours. Well this all seemed insane so the village chief traveled to the coast to find out why they were building a road through the middle of Olinka. When he finds the white man in charge, he discovers that all the land, including the village of Olinka, was bought by a British rubber company. So now Olinka doesn't even own their village anymore and will have to pay rent for it as well as for water. And in addition to the road coming to Olinka, the forests are also being torn out and rubber trees planted instead. Which makes it harder for the people of Olinka to hunt so they have to rely more on the food they grow. So the road means that for the people of Olinka, their way of life has just abruptly ended. 9. How did Samuel and Corrine come to adopt Olivia and Adam? Samuel says he's never told Corrine this story but once upon a time there was a farmer who was fairly lucky and everything he did generally ended well. Well, he owned some land and he did so well at farming that he decided to open a general store and the store, as well as the blacksmith shop attached to it, also did well. It was doing so well that he asked his brothers to help him run it and the three of them prospered. However, the white merchants got together and decided the store was doing too well and it was taking away their black customers and even some of their white. So in the middle of the night, the store was burned and the man and his three brothers were dragged out of their houses and hanged. Well, the man had a wife and small girl child at home and his wife was pregnant with another baby. When she saw her husband's body, she went into labor and gave birth to another girl. She, however, went out of her mind with grief. She couldn't care for her family and relied mostly on the neighbors to even feed them. Well, when the smallest girl was still a baby, a stranger came to town and he eventually married the widow. She was still quite ill from the grief of losing her first husband and she wasn't quite right in the head. But she was soon pregnant by her new husband. And every year after, she had another child and grew weaker and weaker and more mentally unstable until, finally, she died. Well, two years before she died, she had another daughter who she was too weak to keep and then a little boy. These children were Olivia and Adam. And the man who'd fathered them had been a friend of Samuel's before Samuel joined the church. And when the man showed up at Samuel's door first with Olivia and then later with Adam, Samuel found he couldn't refuse the children but, also, he saw them as an answer to his prayers since he and Corrine had been unable to have children of their own. But this story also means that Celie and Nettie are the two children from the first marriage and their Pa isn't their pa after all. 10. Shug and Celie have a discussion about what God looks like. What is your God like? So I was raised very Christian and for years I sat in church on Sunday learning that we don't really know what God looks like but he's an all powerful man who looks down on us and watches our actions and so we have to be good because he's watching. But, now that I'm older and I've done some soul searching, I honestly don't believe in God. And I honestly don't think I ever really did. And I agree quite a bit with what Shug said. I never found God in a church. I found a lot of other people waiting around, hoping he'd show up. And, to me, "God" is just an explanation for something we can't explain. So I don't really believe in God. I believe there are things that we can't explain and questions that we can't answer and that's okay. 11. How does Celie start to provide for herself when she’s with Shug? Well before they left for Memphis, Celie and Shug started making pants. Every day they would sew and read Nettie's letters. So when they get to Memphis, Shug is on the road a lot so Celie starts making pants. And finally she makes the perfect pair of pants. It's for Shug and it's perfect for when Shug is on the road. Then Squeak finds a pair that she likes. Then Shug tells Celie to make a pair for Jack. Then she starts getting orders from everyone. Finally, one day Celie tells Shug that she loves making pants but she needs to find a way to provide for herself. And Shug tells her she thinks she already did. Shug tells Celie she can have the dining room and they'll hire a couple more girls to do the sewing and Celie can design. And they'll put ads in the paper and raise Celie's prices quite a bit. And then she'll be well on her way to making her living doing what she loves: making pants. 12. Do you have any thoughts or comments on how the women’s relationships with one another in this book help them to face their struggles? I honestly found the relationships of the women in this book absolutely fascinating. Because they all took care of each other and it was like their men were irrelevant. Half the time they'd swap husbands and it didn't even affect the relationship of the women. The one that touched me most was when Sofia returned from jail/living in the mayor's house and Squeak had spent all that time helping raise Sofia's children but now Squeak wanted to go pursue her dreams and Squeak's had taken a liking to Sofia so Sofia offered to help raise her. It was like a trade off for Squeak helping Sofia for all those years. And even when Sofia left, when she was in trouble, Celie was right there to help her when she needed it. I just really liked that this was a book about women taking care of women, no matter what their circumstances. That was probably my very favorite aspect of the entire book.

Reading Journal

So. The beginning of this book was hard. The first hundred or so pages were honestly an emotional struggle, especially when Celie still lived at home, with her daddy raping her, and then immediately went into a loveless marriage just to get away from that situation. All of that was such a struggle. But then once Celie meets Shug and all of the other ladies showed up, this was an amazing book.

One that was super weird and bugged me a lot was that the timeline was super hard to follow? We had absolutely no concept of how much time was passing (example: Celie is 14 on the first page and then about 4 pages later, when she’s about to get married, she’s suddenly 20) and years would just pass in pages. It was honestly a little hard for me to follow? I wish the entries would’ve been dated because that would’ve at least given some continuity.

And I also hate it when books are written with horrifying grammar just to show you that it’s being written by a former slave. (Though that chapter where one of the girls sewing for Celie tries to correct her grammar and Celie Isn’t Having Any of It was hilarious. But you can also tell the difference between Celie and Nettie’s education levels because the grammar is perfect in all of Nettie’s letters.) Anyway, it just slows down my reading process when I have to process what they’re saying but you do get used to it and I think Celie actually gets a little better by the end of the book???

Anyway, I honestly really loved this book and this story. I loved the relationships between women. Celie, Shug, Sofia, Odessa, Squeak. What a group of strong women. And the backbone of this story was all of them constantly helping each other through their entire lives. They all played the husband swap but when, eventually, their relationships with the men ended, the women always came back together. And I loved that.

This was also a pretty progressive book. Celie is a lesbian (and pretty openly by the end, at least to her family) and Shug is bi. Grady has a pot empire. These are all issues that are big in our current world and in this book, they’re just the norm. Which I found interesting. (Also that chapter with Celie teaching Harpo and Sofia to smoke was also hilarious.)

So, I’m honestly really glad I read this book. I flew through it. It was a fairly easy read and (once you get past the first hundred pages or so) honestly a pretty fun one. Because I loved the end. Celie’s pants business and making peace with her past life. And Nettie returning home to her. I honestly wish the book would’ve kept going. Because now I’m invested in her family.

And I really do want to see this movie because the casting looks AMAZING. Sofia is my favorite character in the book and Oprah is honestly perfect casting. Though where was Angela Basset when this movie was made because she would’ve been a perfect Shug. Anyway, if I do manage to dig up a copy and watch it (or find it streaming somewhere since I haven’t even looked yet), I’ll definitely be sure to post a comparison here.

But yeah. Great book. I’m glad we read it. I definitely see why this is required reading in a lot of schools. 

[ladysifofasgard]

     Sif doesn’t much care for mortal television unless she’s watching with Clint, sharing in the experience, but she has learned about their news in her time and finds herself at an impasse. 

      Before Clint left they had seen news that had heralded the call from Captain Rogers. A bombing and this man Barnes, all of it spiraling from that first phone call about these ‘accords’.

    Clint had said no to that first call, said he was retired, that it didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to be with the Avengers now that he had Sif and their incoming child to take care of. If this was how it was going to be then he was done.

     Instead they were going to go on their mortal ‘honeymoon’, and relax, and enjoy themselves for a little while in celebration of their wedding. It had been as she was sorting a few things for her suitcase that Clint’s phone had rung. In a half caught conversation her stomach had slowly sunk and this time it had nothing to due with pregnancy sickness. They needed him. Things must be getting worse.

     She had wanted to go with, but as much as she hated it Sif knew it couldn’t be allowed. This child was half mortal. Fighting would put a child at risk even under the best of circumstances, much less these ones. So Clint had left on his own, and promised it should only be a few days.

     So as much as Sif didn’t care for mortal television she was glad that she’d turned it on anyway, unable to sleep alone in their bed and sitting up restless. The news had been boring at first. Talking of things she still barely understood and even more she did not care about, none of it helpful, but as she was milling around the kitchen an update flashed across the screen. She’d ignored it a little while longer. The news slowly traveled in, but soon enough her ears picked up the word ‘Avengers’ and her attention was pulled straight to the mortal screen.

     Sif hunkered down back on the couch and watched intently at the mortal ‘news anchors’ as they spoke about an incident at an airport in Germany. Sif had a general idea where that was, but her interest piqued as reports flowed in about Avengers in custody. They read off the names and her heart sank. Wanda Maximoff, Samuel Wilson, and Clint Barton. There was another name she didn’t know, a man, but that was only more worrisome.

     Clint had told her before about how the mortals thought Wanda was dangerous, but to hear the things they were saying about the girl was angering.  Sif knew Wanda as someone who’d helped plan her wedding. Who’d come with her and Natasha to look at dresses. Talked with Sif about her own people’s traditions and listened with interest about Asgardian ones. Wanda’s powers didn’t make her evil.

     The way they spoke of Wanda was enough to rile her for the next day, but once the analysts turned their attention to Clint Sif could not bear it.

    “This is a man who has participated in countless blackops. It’s no wonder he didn’t sign the accords. Clint Barton has never been beholden to a government. SHIELD was a front from Hydra, it never really answered to anyone. Who knows what wasn’t in their files.”

     “No one has heard from him since Sokovia. Where has he been all this time? Retired? Are we really supposed to believe someone like this just stops? He called himself an Avenger a few times and that’s supposed to wipe out everything?”

Sif was too angry to turn it off.

    Eventually she was too angry to do anything other than throw the remote straight at the tv, cracking the corner of the frame.

    She tries to call Natasha, but there’s no answer to the number she has. There’s no answer the next day either.

     On the third day there’s a call. Sif races to the phone, Italics barking at her heels and it’s a relief to hear Natasha’s voice. 
“Sif.”

    “Natasha. Thank the Gods, please, tell me how do I get to him, how do I get him out?”

“Sif, you can’t. This isn’t that kind of prison.”

“I’ll find a way. Tell me where he is.”

     “Not in your condition. And I don’t…strictly know. Yet.” There’s a pause and Sif waits for it. “But we might be able to find out.”

“I will do whatever it takes to find out.”

“Ok.” Natasha pauses. “Are you good? Do you need anything? We can send someone.”

“I’m fine. I can walk into town when I need provisions,” Sif dismissed, far more worried about Clint.

“You can’t walk nine miles.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that far.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” Sif insisted.

“I’m making Tony send someone. Or I’ll come. I don’t care that you’re Asgardian, if Clint gets out and that kid is not ok he’ll never forgive me.”

“Natasha, this really isn’t necessary…”

“You know I’m starting to see what Clint said about fighting with you. Can you let me do this? For him.”

Her lips pursed and Sif didn’t like having to relent, but she did. “For Clint.”

“Thank you.” Natasha sounded relieved.

     A car comes the next day to take her into town. She does her shopping and thanks the driver politely before he leaves. She stocks the fridge and thinks to herself that it won’t be long until Clint’s home. Surely this will blow over.

     A month and a half later she’s stopped buying orange juice because it takes her too long to drink it without him. It just sits there. Staring at her every time she opens the refrigerator and reminds her that he’s not there.

     She’s showing now, and the house feels lonelier than she ever thought it could. She lets Italics sleep on their bed most nights. Natasha visits when she can, checks in on her. Tony had come once, apologizing, and Sif had yelled at him, not ready to forgive him for his part in taking Clint away from her.

     Still the car came once a week until Sif insisted Natasha teach her how to drive. She had a good idea from watching Clint, so it had only taken a few lessons. Now she drives herself into town whenever she needs.

    She’s stopped most of her practicing. She does only the lightest of exercise, and keeps herself to the necessary chores around the farm. Five months. Just over halfway there. The baby’s kicking.

     She misses him something aching and hollow. For a brief few weeks they’d been happy. They’d decided to do this. Together. He’d asked her to marry him and not a month after their wedding he was sitting in a cell that no one would tell her about.

    Sometimes she’s angry with him, and sometimes all she can do is let tears flow. He was supposed to be there with her. She needed him there with her.

     Natasha and her had hatched plans, well, Natasha had hatched plans and Sif had eagerly agreed to help. Sif would go to those men who kept Clint and the others locked away. She pleaded and yelled and sometimes was distraught. It was never really a lie, only an outlet, a chance to let free all her anger and sorrow at what had been taken from her. While she did this Natasha promised she was getting the information they needed to get to Clint. She was the distraction. Sif could be a distraction.

    So they shuffled her between men who all looked the same, none of them worthy. But some of them more sympathetic to a woman showing more as the weeks went by, ring on her finger and only wanting her husband back, could they not tell her more?

   Eventually Natasha tells her they don’t have to keep trying. They got it. Word’s been sent to Steve.

Sif buys orange juice again.

[lilyissms]

1) to all the new members, it’s a’ me! a’ may’rio! i’ve been stanned a lot. i’m a #goodmin. 2) to members new and old, i’m gonna pull a mona and make an intro 2.0 bc i feel like,, a lot of things were left super vague in my og intro and also a few things have changed per my decision since then so ?? INTRO PART TWO, LEGGO !!

「 MARGOT ROBBIE, FEMALE, THIRTY, BRITNEY SPEARS. 」┈ did you read that latest viral gossip issue on LILY CAINE?  she is one of my favorite POP artists. they’ve been releasing music for SIXTEEN YEARS now, but viral gossip has only been talking about them for the last HOWEVER LONG IT’S BEEN AROUND PROBABLY. get this, i think i heard SHE’S BEEN UNDER A CONSERVATORSHIP FOR NEARLY A DECADE. they’re known as the PHOENIX of the music industry, since they have a rep for being RESOLUTE but INHIBITED, but who knows. maybe that will change once they become #1. ( MAY, 18, EST, SHE/HER. )

TRIGGERS: arguable emotional abuse, m a n i p u l a t i o n , death, suicide, unspecified mental illness.

1988 - 2002

lily was born in wisner, la with a population of 926 as of the last census. very small town. 

the expy has already jumped out.

she had a super nuclear family. mom and dad, older brother, younger sister. 

no middle child syndrome, i just... wanted to put her in the middle.

it wasn’t a harsh upbringing, per se, but it was a questionable one. they weren’t super well-off – her dad ‘ran’ a restaurant with little to no traction that was shut down in 1994, her mom was a job-skipper who was a waitress one day and a nanny the next. her brother started working at a gas station as soon as he was old enough. tried so hard, didn’t get too far.

did they really try that hard tho? i mean homeboy dad knew his restaurant was shit, homegirl mom knew she needed to actually work to hold down a job. only person who actually worked in the family was her brother tbh.

homeboy dad also had a problem with those alcoholic beverages and homegirl mom didn’t do much to help. 

so not a TERRIBLE, UNBEARABLE, TAKE THEM AWAY FROM THE HOUSE living situation, but a MAYBE GO MAKE SURE THESE KIDS ARE ALIVE situation

and that’s why lily and her younger sister were both used as meal tickets by her parents. they focused on them way more than they did their jobs, but not in that nice and pampering way?? more in the dance mom -esque way. like, they were CONVINCED one of the two was gonna rise to fame™ and all of their problems would be fixed. they put them in classes and competitions and basically used all of the money they should’ve been using for food and bills to see if one of these two kids could make them millionaires. 

sorry brother.

delusional? YES. but did it work? EVENTUALLY.

during one of said competitions, lily was kind of scouted out. she was 15 when she was signed to jive (wow, the expy is just thumpin!) and put out her first single, the anthem we all know, ‘...baby one more time’

2002 - 2010

so homegirl was OBVIOUSLY not used to a city life in la with this HUGE population after growing up... with like 1,000 people in her town (rough rounding of the 2000 census). was she in awe? definitely! was it also super weird and lowkey stressful? totally!

of course, she still visited home – went back to la from la (asdfghjkl) about every two months and spent around two weeks there – but she had stuff to do! people to see!

the label was like “hey ok so we’re gonna train u out of ur normal register and into what we think will make u a hit!!!!!!” and she was like “ok!!!! :D”

released the album ‘...baby one more time’ when she was 15. released ‘oops!... i did it again’ when she was 16. released ‘lily’ when she was 17. released ‘in the zone’ when she was 19.

-banjo noise- THIS IS FOR ALL THEM SOUTHERN BOYS OUT THERE

am i going to steal various accomplishments from her vc? obviously. i’ve already shown that she’s 110% an expy so WHY WOULDN’T I?

collaborated with madonna on ‘me against the music’. did she fuckin star in ‘crossroads’, as written by shona rhimes, when she was 18? obviously. 110% did the snake vma thing when she was 18. 110% did the madonna vma thing when she was 19. got a star on the walk of fame when she was 19. performed live with michael jackson when she was 20. won a grammy for ‘toxic’ when she was 20. ‘blackout’ would later be inducted into the rock ‘n’ roll hall of fame, but we’re not there yet. that’s just one of my favs.

she was totally america’s sweetheart. nice southern girl from a small town. nice manners. fun interviews. cute!!

but that ain’t how hollywood works, is it? catch whiff of a scandal and, yes!, tabloids!

the biggest one before her image completely shattered was when she got married to an old friend in vegas, also at the age of 20. 20 was an interesting age for her. 

god, i’m original.

believe it or not, it wasn’t drunken! they were just caught up in everything, then they were like “oh!! that was probably a bad idea!!” a few days later!! especially when her team was like “bitch what the fuck.”

two weeks later, the marriage was annulled. the tabloids were still super excited, and her team was still like “bitch what the fuck.”, so that being said:

people were shutting her doWN.

“bad ifnFLUneCE!!!” “sECX!!??”!” “eXPOasURE!!!” - every parent.

and that was the catalyst!!

so, as we all know by now, i’m really original? like, lily is 110% original with no outside influences whatsoever?

that being said, during a leg of her tour, she met this one guy who worked as a celebrity personal trainer and was immediately enamored with him. very smooth-talking, super good-looking, seemed intelligent, super good-looking, was pretty normal, super good-looking

so she immediately took to him. after only dating people who were essentially the exact opposite of him – very clean, very ‘generous’, etc. – she wanted a change. he provided the change she thought she needed. 

so lowkey everyone else totally saw through him. he was very much a druggie, very much a.... womanizer, very much just a douchebag in general? he was very much unfit to actually be in a committed relationship, but lily was totally blinded by how normal and, therefore, different he was. 

no matter how long she’d known the person, and no matter how close they were, the second someone was like ‘lily. he sucks.’ she was like ‘we aren’t friends anymore bye.’

what she wanted most out of him was to be domestic, and he was like “ya sure ok.” so only five months after they started dating, they got married. 

some of the people she’d shut out had found a perfect opportunity to make her into their own personal cash cow. her mom sold what was meant to be personal information, just between her and her family. her first boyfriend (back before she was #famous) sold a lot of the stuff she left behind or sent him on ebay (i could probably pretend i was being original here, but i’ve gotta embrace the expy, so here’s reg’s expy!!), etc., etc., etc.

i’m telling y’all, it just wasn’t her year!! i mean, she’s actually 21 by now i think, but it still just wasn’t her year!! her dad decided “you know what i’m gonna do... have a heart attack and die.” of course, they were never super close, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but like... WOW. must’ve ignored one of those ‘send this to 10 other people in the next 30 minutes or bad luck for the next two years!’ chain e-mails.

so she compensated for that by having a child, as one does. the same year, ‘blackout’ was put out (because i, of course, am original) and, although it’d later be very much acclaimed, they completely slept on promoting it. of the albums that’d been put out thus far, it’d been her least purchased, despite being arguably the best quality (listen, i’m not talking opinion, i’m talking FACTS. in the zone, blackout, and glory are the most acclaimed in production and content. FACTS.)?? and definitely being the one she was the most involved in.

essentially the only form of promotion they rly did was dropping an album of outtakes, then taking it down the very next day.

we stan all the songs on it. especially the last two.

but!! it was all g!! they named the kid after her dad!! and it was all good!!

up until it was brought to her attention that her husband (whose name was originally jett, but i feel like that needs to be changed now that there’s a jett in the roleplay?? input would be great. gotta be a name that a kid would think sounds cool, but would sound really strange on a grown man.) had had multiple hookups during their months of dating and their marriage. also lowkey admitted he, too, was using lily as a cashcow.

so the bitch was completely torn. he was the first ‘normal’ person who’d entered her life, and essentially the only person left, but everyone else... had been right?

cue ‘why should i be sad’ being added to the album!

ultimately, she filed for divorce.

after inspection, the initial custody ruling was that it’d be joint. there would be one week with brock (the new name has been decided), one week with lily. but, brock wasn’t the one always in the limelight. after the legalities had been, for the most part, settled, he was pretty much a normal guy again. very rare to see him in tabloids. his name was everywhere when lily was in an article, though! because everything was his fault, of course!

due to numerous articles that were very suspicious, reports of erratic behavior around paparazzi and reporters, etc., etc., plus just the general rules of it all, lily got some more visitation from the services who were really keeping a keen eye on her. 

there came times that coincidences made it look like the ‘house’ (see: mansion) was an unsafe place for a child. too often, the nanny wasn’t around and it was her word against her new manager’s.

although she was, in no way, romantically or sexually involved with her new manager, he was under the assumption that everything would be far easier if the kid wasn’t around. plenty of sabotage, y’know? (can we guess who he’s an expy of?) the fact that she was involved with a tmz reporter (expy of who?) didn’t help, either.

eventually, they were like “aight binch we’ve had enough” and decided it was in everyone’s best interest that the kid go live with brock, full time.

ok, so now she had: her new manager whom she and the nanny were wary of, that tmz reporter who, if she was being realistic, would probably milk her for all she was worth if they broke up, and the nanny... but not even really her, what considering she didn’t need her anymore.

so, one day, she was like, “bye bye, birdie!”

birdie being her.

but birdie didn’t go bye bye, what a relief. the one good thing her new manager ever did – redemption.

but, i’m original, she was placed under a 5150 hold. 

after one other incident, this time not exactly ‘bye bye, birdie-ing’, but close enough, everyone was like “ok wtf bitch.”

i feel like it should be known that the fact that it wasn’t just about a Boy or even her kid was ignored. there were many forms of therapy involved, some controversial. like,, we ain’t playin around,, we ain’t blamin boys,, it ain’t 1940.

in may of 2011, she was placed under a conservatorship.

so, if you’ve stuck with me this far, you’ve probably totally forgotten about her siblings. you know what happened to her dad, you know what happened to her mom, but what about her siblings?

one of them, her sister, almost signed to a label... until she was like “o shit.”

her brother was still a normal guy who wound up being the conservator of both the person and the estate. a good ol’ boy.

they’re dumb. in september of 2010, ‘womanizer’ came out as a single; october, ‘circus’; november, ‘if u seek amy’; december, the full ‘circus’ album. great comeback album, but........ super quick back into the spotlight.

i feel like that makes it seem like i’m going to start describing more events that took place after. nothing super dramatic did. there were a lot of questions, though. there was one (1) documentary in which no question was off limits (huh, wonder what that’s an expy of?), but, after that, B L A C K L I S T.

also, i feel as though i should specify: it’s pretty hard to?? not know when a huge celebrity has been placed under a conservatorship?? like y’all we know amanda bynes was and she wasn’t even a b-lister anymore. so!! that being in the ‘rumor’ section is more because it: 1) covers all the controversial parts without being specific bc we don’t want... anyone perusing the main to be like “wow chill”, 2) would probs have been forgotten by many by now?? so it’d be like a “o ya i forgot she was under a conservatorship!!” type thing.

2011 - PRESENT

after all of the Events, it was both in her best interest and in her worst interest to stay out of the spotlight. best interest so everyone would see she’s normal again!; worst interest because... the media was one of the dominoes in the effect??

so, up until 2013, when the next album was released, things were pretty quiet. during promotion in 2013, there’d been arguably enough time to collect everything and go back out and act n o r m a l .

as i said, i wanted to include the fact that ‘blackout’ was inducted into the rock ‘n’ roll hall of fame for its effect on the mainstream (essentially made dark pop mainstream and acceptable). it’s what it DESERVES.

in 2012, after proving herself to not be Bad, she was granted visitation rights. i haven’t mentioned it much because it... wasn’t in my original intro so it... felt weird... but!! she 110% utilizes those. 

i’m looking to move some things involving this, her ex-husband, etc., etc., etc. forward eventually, but i feel like i need to get some plots in here that’d help that move forward first, ja feel?? because if i just start writing self-paras out of nowhere about this topic then..... i feel like..... that would make no sense.

by the way, i want everyone to know that she never put out the equivalent of ‘britney jean’. we do not fuck with that album. she put out two songs from it, but we’re saying they were released as singles. WE DON’T FUCK WITH THAT ALBUM.

it has its cute bops but the production isn’t the best, anything where she’s with will.i.am never ends up the best, and... it’s not... all her.

i’m looking for this one tweet that says “britney when her team tells her she has to do more than one take for britney jean” then has the video where the woman says “well let’s just try this again, you bunch of bastards!”

everything else has been effectively released, though. still debating ooh la la. tbh it’s a bop but...............

anyway, is still under the conservatorship of her brother. DEFINITELY has a new manager who was... actually her old manager, same with her team – new team that was... actually her old team.

PERSONALITY

has grown a bit more like she Was by now. she’s still def like,, not 110% there anymore,, nor will she ever be?? still much more reserved and uncomfortable in public than she used to be?? 

not super bright. not super dull, either. for the most part, she’s very much about the surface. although she often understands the ‘deeper meaning’ of some things, she ain’t gonna act like it’s some profound thing when, really: “the concept for the music video ‘circus’ is basically about, y’know, a circus.”

she’s nice, she’s nice. most of my replies involve her being nice. girlfriend down to bite if she gotta, though, but will she do it first?? she ain’t about that.

asdfghjkl i still dk how common playback use is for her yet. if i’m gonna make her an expy and full-on admit it, she’s gotta have some involved, but......... idk how much........ it would. depend on the performance for sure.

do you beliiiieeeeveeeee in liiiiiifeeee afterrrr looovvvveeee???? she still dks for sure. some of her connections have to do with that (speaking of, i need to update them), and t hose connectio ns are, for the most part, reserved for characters 28+

tbh exceptions could be made for female/nb characters?? idk why but i could?? see that more than for males??

speaking of, she’s bisexual. she’s not super outspoken like “I’M BI!!!!!” about her sexuality, but like?? it’s there?? it exists. ain’t a secret.

tbh she’s been around for a while so i’m trying to think of other things i’ve noticed about her over time but i?? am drawing a blank. n e way, that’s what i got!!

“however long it’s been around probably” aka “we don’t know how long viral gossip’s been around so if it’s been around for fifteen whole years then that’s how long if it’s been around for seven then that’s how long” etc, etc, etc

listen y’all i joined the first day so we were super unclear ok.

tl;dr: almost a carbon copy.

i’m gonna treat this like a normal intro post so:

like this or hmu if u want 2 plot !! 

i have a wc page here which’ll probs be updated with more ideas later tonight, but i’m up 2 brainstorm or wha te ver.

also, to old members: if we’ve already plotted: like this for moral support pls.

[ohsweetkiwi]

I never meant to make you cry.

This is a blurb inspired by this post by @secret-rendezvous1d, thank you so much or letting my write this! 

A blurb about a dinner where you flip out at Anne and are left to deal with the consequences. 

You had never been someone to yell at others or start pointless arguments, you could let most things go easily and move on, you knew this and everyone at your house sitting at the table celebrating Harrys tour selling out in Europe knew this too. You were all sitting around the table, yourself and Harry, Gemma and her partner and Anne and the conversation had shifted to grandchildren, you inwardly groaned and tried to avoid the conversation allowing Gemma to talk about their plans to have a few kids now they were married. Your eyes avoided that of those at the table, busying yourself with trying to clean some of the plates at the table, your heart sunk when Anne had said your name and asked you when you were going to give her grandchildren. You looked up and smiled slightly as she started talking about what your children would look like, if they would have Harrys eyes or yours, wether they would be tall like him or short like you. She had looked over to you and asked if you had thought about it and said if you hadn't you should, “ you wont be able to have children forever my dear” she had said before launching back into various details about your hypothetical children lives, their appearances, their features and accents, things you had thought about continuously, things you and Harry had spoken about as you waited for pregnancy tests and being disappointed when they were negative. You hadn't meant to scream at her to shut up, you hadn't meant to slam down the bowl of peas you were holding or to yell at her to mind her own business and that you knew you wouldn't be young forever and you knew she’d love to have grandchildren because she told you all the time. You hadn't mean to slam the door to your bedroom so hard you could hear the photo frames on the walls rattle or sit against the door and sob into your arms. Truth be told you and Harry had been trying for the better half of a year to give Anne a grandchild, to have a baby that looked like you and Harry to love and care for, you'd spent the year trying for a baby unsuccessfully in and out of fancy specialists, getting blood drawn, crying over pregnancy tests, seeing fertility doctors and all they could tell you that you were physically fine, and yet a year on and you and Harry had nothing to show for. You had decided not to tell anyone you were trying for a baby, you didn’t want the added pressure onto of what you were putting on yourself, you had been more strict on keeping it a secret after two phantom pregnancies and a miscarriage at the beginning of the year that broke you so much you didn’t known if you could continue to try. So you knew you were out of line for yelling at Anne especially when you could hear her crying downstairs as Harry comforted her, he would be furious at you for the way you spoke to Anne. Despite being married for almost 4 years you'd never seen Harry be more protective over anyone as much as his mother, he never let anyone mistreat her or speak to her rudely, especially when it was his wife, but you wanted nothing more than to have a baby that you just lost it because you couldn't stand hearing all those things out loud, couldn't stand the questions of when you were having a baby, because you were trying so damn hard.

You had stayed in your room or the rest of the night, you couldn't face anyone yet especially not Anne and Harry, despite knowing everyone was staying overnight to wait to hear if the US tour had sold too and that you would see them in the morning right not you just couldn't do it. You had heard everyone head off to bed as you stayed in the same place in the corner of your room the whole time, next to a box of things you'd both brought for your future child, you had been stupid you thought to buy toys for a child who hadn't existed yet and despite the sobs that rippled through your body as you held them hope was still present in your heart for a child of your own.  The door had opened letting light into the dark room that was only lit by a small lamp next to your bed, you knew it was Harry by the heavy footsteps that had come up the stairs and especially when he had slammed the door causing you to jump slightly. “ Yeh owe my mother an apology” he spoke standing at the end of your bed a few meters from you even in the poorly lit bedroom you could see he was angry you didn’t speak to him just nodded scared for the fight that was inevitable at this point. “Got nothing to say now huh? After you screamed at my mother to shut up and to mind her own business” Harry hardly ever yelled at you but the tone of his voice was filled with enough venom that you could feel the tears welling up again. 
“ What was I suppose to say Harry! Tell her I have been trying to give her grandchildren, that-that I'm filling my body with hormones and getting poked and jabbed at the doctors, that having sex with you is almost a daily chore and that I can hardly look at you with children because it hurts so much and that everyday I loose hope to ever having a baby with you and it hurts so much that having someone tell me that I wont be able to have children forever is enough to make me scream”  you were standing now and couldn't help the tears that poured down your face or the fact you were shaking almost uncontrollably. “ You were suppose to tell her that we were trying, not have so little respect for the woman who raised me and ruin everyones night by being a fucking brat” You were sure the hole house could hear your yelling now, you were practically screaming over each other at this point. “ You will be lucky if she speaks to you again, what happened out there wasn't right! You weren't my wife there, you were unfair and harsh to her cruel even! My mother is a strong woman and it takes a lot to make her cry and you did” His words felt like a punch to the gut, you had always looked up to Anne as a strong woman and you felt terrible for what you had done to the woman who had taken you in with open arms, who had held you as you broke when your own mother had died and always kept you sane when Harry was on tour on the other side of the world and now you'd gone and treated her so terribly. “ I cant even look at you, get out” he spoke walking towards the door before opening it and throwing a pillow and a blanket from the bed to the hallway, you felt like an animal who'd been sent outside after being naughty. “ Harry please” you cried walking towards him grabbing his hand only for him to yank it away from yours almost in what looks like disgust. “ I said get out!”

You had stood in the hallway your bedroom door locked closed you were trying to hold your cries in but your sobbing was probably loud enough now that there was no way anyone in the house could not hear you. You had grabbed your blanket and pillow and headed to the lounge room, your cries not slowing at all as you walked through the pitch black house, you couldn't even work up the energy to place the bedding onto the couch and instead you curled up into a ball on the soft material on the floor and let out the cries you'd been holding in. You weren't sure how long you had laid there with your eyes closed shut before a light above you was turned on and Annes all too familiar perfume filled the air as she sat next to you on the floor. “ Come here my darling, it’s okay” her arms brought you into her chest where you wrapped your arms around her like a small child crying as she patted your hair shushing you. “ I-I’m s-sorry Anne, I was so rude” you could hardly get words out you were so hysterical. “ I know your sorry my dear, If id known I would've never pushed you like that” You didn’t understand how she could be so lovely to you despite you reaction to her earlier. “ I never meant to make you cry”  You laid there for a while in silence, your sobs and cries becoming less frequent while she continued to rub your back in a soothing motion. “ Harrys hates me” you spoke quietly a while later you had sat up on the couch now the two of you still sitting close together. “ I know my son love, he's upset and angry, but he could never hate you” Something about her words reassured you a bit, but you knew it wouldn't be that simple.

You and Anne had spoken for about an hour after that you apologised a dozen of times and she assured you continuously she forgave you. You walked silently back to your room and opened the door to see Harry laying facing away from you on his phone the light illuminating the otherwise dark room. You didn’t know what to say to him, you wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and for him to hold you and kiss your head goodnight, but you weren't stupid enough to realise it wasn't that easy. Your head reeled with thoughts that you'd go near him and he'd tell you to get out, that he hated you and that he didn’t love you, and although you knew they were in your head, it didn’t stop the fear from creeping up, You pulled your clothes off replacing it with one of his shirts from the floor and placed the pillow he’d thrown out for you on the bed softy not wanting to disturb your husband too much. “ I said I didn't want to see you” his words weren't laced with anger this time but he still stayed facing away from you as you pulled back the blankets and slipped in facing your back to his. “ Do you still love me?” your words were softer than you thought they'd come out, your voice had cracked at the end and you were almost scared to hear his answer. He turned around in the bed to face your back you couldn't see him but his brows were furrowed at why you would ask such a question. “ I will always love you, you drive me crazy y/n, and sometimes you make so mad that I say harsh things but I love you” his arms snaked around your waist and pulled you in close and he placed a kiss on your head. “ I hope our babies are like your mum, strong and forgiving” You wrapped your hands in his kissing his knuckles softy, you would never have thought that night would result to anything good, but in a few months time you laid in that same position and said the same sentence this time 5 months pregnant.

This is one of my favourite pieces Ive written so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Please reblog if you liked it, it helps my little blog out a lot. Feel free to request things it makes me super happy! x ohsweetkiwi 

[rufeepeach]

Fic: Happiness in Exchange

Title: Happiness in Exchange Rating: M/NC-17 Word count: 18,567  Summary: When Belle ascends to the throne of Avonlea after her father's death, shocks the court when she appoints the mysterious Lord Gold, the new owner of half her lands, as her Chancellor. Alone in a realm of strangers, finding themselves united against a common enemy, an unlikely partnership is born. But with everyone waiting for the Princess to marry, Belle has a choice to make: to fight to rule alone, or to find a partner who can meet her halfway.

A/N: HAPPY RCIJ @junoinferno​!!! Hope you enjoy this (loose) Victoria/Melbourne AU!!

On AO3 here 

---

“Presenting, for the first time: Her Royal Highness, Belle, Princess of Avonlea!”

The announcer’s voice rang out through the ballroom, and Belle took a confident step forward, out of the shadows and into the light. The metaphor was not lost on her, as she blinked out at a sea of strange, unfamiliar faces staring back. They were applauding, cheering, but how could they not? She was their ruler now, their young, completely unexpected ruler. For all they knew she would hold public executions for dissenters.

Belle took two more steps forward, once the applause had died down, and came to the top of the staircase. She gave a deep curtsey, and descended slowly, allowing everyone to look their fill. Her skin crawled. Belle hadn’t been the centre of attention this way since her betrothal ball, over a decade ago. Then, they had eyed her ten-year-old body seeking signs of fertility, deciding whether Lord and Lady Gaston had made the right choice for their son.

Now, there were bigger questions to ask: did this girl-child, barely out of her teens, a stranger in her own castle, have the mental and physical capacity to rule Avonlea? Had the realm made the right choice, allowing her to take the throne?

She had been away from home for nearly a decade, sent to live with her betrothed and his family when the ogre war broke out once more. She might never have returned had her father not died suddenly, leaving Belle as his only heir. So much had changed since then. She barely knew most of the faces staring back at her; they certainly did not know her.

She had left Avonlea a scared child, missing her parents: she returned an adult, and an orphan.

Belle tried not to shake under their scrutiny. She was glad of a familiar face to greet her at the foot of the stairs. She hadn’t seen Ruby since they were children: she almost didn’t recognise the beautiful, willowy young woman as Avonlea’s ten-year-old tree-climbing champion. That was until Ruby smiled, and suddenly they were children again, and for a moment she forgot her self-consciousness in how happy she was to see her oldest friend.  

“Your highness!” Ruby hugged her tight, “Welcome home!”

“It’s good to be home,” Belle grinned, remembering her manners only a moment later and pulling back. “I missed the sea.”

“The mountains always look so gloomy,” Ruby said. Her eyes turned grave and serious for a moment, “I am so sorry about your father, your highness. He was a great leader, and we all mourn him.”

There were respectful nods from the crowd, the people listening who weren’t polite enough to pretend not to. Belle swallowed, hard.

“He died on horseback,” she said, the answer she had prepared for this inevitable moment. “The stag in his sights. It is how he would have wanted to end, if he’d been asked.”

“He’ll be remembered a hero, your highness,” Lady Lucas assured her, warmly. She squeezed Belle’s hand. Belle wished for a moment that she was a child again, and able to grab Ruby’s hand and run away to the kitchens to steal sweet rolls, unmissed by the court. Back then no one called her ‘your highness’. But back then, everyone had expected a male heir, and for Maurice’s bookish daughter to never have a chance at the throne.

“Thank you, Ru- Lady Lucas,” Belle said, remembering herself. “Your kindness means the world, as it always has.”

Ruby smiled, and leaned in close, “If you need anything just let me know.” Belle nodded. “It’s so good to have you home, Belles!”

“What do I do now?” she asked, under her breath. “I don’t like them all staring at me.”

“Music,” Ruby advised, after a moment. “Call for music.”

Belle smiled, and stepped back, and did just that. The crowd cheered, the dances began anew, and music replaced the hush that had fallen over the room.

Ruby took Belle’s arm, and led her around the ballroom slowly, introducing her to old friends and new additions to the court, in particular her father’s favourites. She met young Lady Snow and her husband James; General Fa and his daughter Mulan, poised to take his place upon his retirement; Lord George, Belle’s father’s closest confidante, and his wife, who were James’ parents; it seemed Ruby knew everyone.

However, despite how often they veered close to him, there was a man Belle didn’t recognise, whom Ruby never seemed to introduce. He was slight, older, a distinctive gold-topped cane in his hand, and dressed in darker fabrics than any other man present. In a year when bright emeralds and rich blues were the fashion, the stranger’s blacks and browns made him a shadow in a sea of colour. A shadow Ruby seemed to be going out of her way to avoid.

He didn’t speak to anyone, she noticed, even while she spoke to everyone. She discussed the latest routing of the ogres’ forces in the Frontlands with General Fa, and crop rotations with Freeman Leroy and his wife; she discussed the formation of a new High Council with Lord George, who hinted heavily at his desire for a seat, and the latest dances with Lady Snow. But every now and then, her eyes strayed back to that slight, dark figure circling the outer rim of every conversation, never saying a word.

“Hey,” Belle said, when there was at last a lull in their meetings, “Who is that?”

“Who is who, your highness?” Ruby asked, and Belle rolled her eyes.

“Him!” she said, gesturing as discreetly as she could to the man in question, who was glowering over a goblet of wine. Ruby’s eyes flicked to where she had pointed, and she sighed.

“He’s no one,” Ruby said, brusquely. “Definitely no one worth talking to, anyway.”

“Then why is he here?” Belle asked. “This is an affair of state, surely we’re not allowing in total strangers!”

“He’s here because he owns half the land,” Ruby told her. “So he gets an invite so he won’t make trouble. We all pretend he isn’t here, he leaves early, it all works out.”

“If he owns half the realm then he’s someone I should know,” Belle argued. “If he’s that important.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with him,” Ruby insisted. “He’s rude, and an upstart, and he and your dad hated each other.”

“At least let me know his name, so I’ll know it when I hear it?” Belle asked. Ruby sighed, and relented. “Who is that?”

“His name is Lord Gold,” Ruby sighed, reluctantly. “Ugh, Granny made me swear I wouldn’t let you near him.”

“Lord Gold,” Belle repeated, nodding. It suited him. “So he just came from nowhere, and bought half the land?”

“You know the law,” Ruby said, “Technically the throne owns all of Avonlea. But apparently Sir Maurice granted him a thousand-year lease, so he’s as good as bought it outright. Half your people are his tenants.”

“I see,” Belle murmured. “Well, thank you. That’s very helpful.”

“Any time,” Ruby replied, smiling, apparently relieved the topic of Lord Gold had been dropped. She was about to speak again, but she was interrupted by a tall, dark, handsome young man with a warm smile, who tapped her on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, your highness,” he said. “May I steal Lady Lucas for a dance?”

“Billy!” Ruby swatted his arm, “I’m in the middle of introducing her highness to everyone Granny thinks she needs to know.”

“Billy?” Belle blinked at him, trying to reconcile this dashing young man with the round little boy who’d followed them around as children. “Sir William Gustav, Is that you?”

“Your highness,” Billy grinned, and bowed. “It’s great to have you back at court.”

“And you’re dancing with Ruby now,” Belle turned to Ruby, and raised an eyebrow. “Anything your Princess should know about?” she asked.

“Bil-Sir William is a really great dancer,” Ruby said, defensively.

“I’m sure he is,” Belle laughed. “It’s okay, Billy, you’re welcome to steal her. I’m just going to do a lap on my own, I think.”

“Come grab me if you need me!” Ruby cried, as Billy gratefully tugged her away toward the dance floor. Belle watched with amusement, and wondered how long it would be before there was another ball, celebrating their engagement.

Her absence, Belle had to admit, was welcome. It gave Belle a chance to step back, out of the crowd, and into a darker part of the room. Belle had never been a fan of crowds, and had known her coronation ball would be a trial. She promised she would return to the festivities soon. She’d just always felt more at home leaning against a wall, watching the dancers, than she had participating. The stone was cool, unyielding, ever lasting. For a moment, she’d never gone away, and nothing had changed. Her father would scold her for her shyness; her mother would spirit her away to the library under the guise of bedtime. The music from the party would lull her to sleep late into the night, safe and warm.

“Your highness,” a low murmur, softly accented, broke through her reverie. She glanced sidelong at the interloper, and found herself staring into the intense dark eyes of Lord Gold himself.

“Your lordship,” she said, politely. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Are you?” Gold countered. Belle didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I… yes, of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In my experience, young women who enjoy parties don’t tend to hide in corners.”

“I am not hiding,” she said, hotly. “You forget yourself, sir.”

Lord Gold laughed, a low chuckle that reverberated in Belle’s bones. “I assure you, forgetting myself is not in my nature,” he said. Something about the way he said it made something coil in the pit of Belle’s stomach.

“You forget your manners, then,” she retaliated. He eyed her.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But then, I hate these sorts of gatherings, and the sorts of people who attend them.”

Something about his intense gaze and his peremptory manner set Belle’s teeth on edge, and she heard herself retorting, “You attended, did you not, sir?”

“I did,” he said. “I was curious about you, I admit.”

“Dare I ask your first impression?”

He smiled, thinly. “You’re a decent public speaker,” he said, after a moment, “Beautiful enough, smiling, approachable, but insubstantial. Your remarks are over-rehearsed, and empty. Better than your father, who didn’t believe in thinking at all before he spoke, but the fact remains. You have been trained in courtly manners, I suppose, and your manners are really very pretty. Hardly your fault all that dancing and curtseying crowds the brain.”

Belle’s face flushed red, then paled, then flushed again. She didn’t think she’d ever been angrier in her life. For a moment, she wanted to slap the smirk right off his handsome face, or maybe land a sharp knee to his groin. She’d gotten rather good at that, fending off he former betrothed’s advances.

Then, for just a second, she saw the flash of challenge in his eyes, the gleam that begged her to retaliate. He was curious about her, he’d said. Perhaps this was a test.

“You are Lord Gold?” She asked, as if she didn’t already know. He nodded. ”You’ve bought up my father’s land, I hear,” she said. He inclined his head again, ineffably elegant with his heels aligned and his cane between his feet.

“You hear correctly.”

“Then I expect the leases to be brought to my steward within three days,” she said, pulling herself up to her full, unimpressive height. “I wish to review the terms.”

A flash of surprise crossed Lord Gold’s face. “Whatever for?” he asked, as if the concept mystified him. Belle smiled.

“As you so astutely noted, Lord Gold, my late father often acted before thinking. I worry now that you may well have ensnared him in deals he did not understand. Given that the land is rightfully mine, I will need to review all contracts pertaining to it before I continue any on-going relationships. If they are not to my liking, I am sure you will be reasonable enough to negotiate.”

“My contracts are airtight, your highness,” he assured her. She smiled.

“Then I’m certain we won’t have a problem,” she said. “I look forward to discussing them in due course. Lord Gold,” she curtseyed deeply, and grinned as she came up. He inclined his head, and looked a little lost for words, his bow automatic and stiff. Belle didn’t think she’d ever felt happier.

“Still curious?” she asked, softly. She didn’t know what made her do it, but something about his dumbstruck face made her mischievous.

“Immensely,” he admitted. Something like electricity ran down Belle’s spine.

She swallowed hard, and walked back toward the crowd, leaving Lord Gold at home in the shadows.

Belle had never seen such complex, well-drafted leases.

She had begun her perusal certain she would find egregious demands and unfair terms, loopholes large enough to ride elephants through. She had intended to find a way to discredit Lord Gold, and force him to renegotiate. If he intended to remain a permanent tenant, with controlling interests over two-thirds of her farmlands and most of the forest, they had to work together.

But the more she read the more those hopes died. Gold had been ruthlessly thorough: every contingency was planned for, every loophole efficiently plugged. The more Belle read through the pages of agreements, the more she realised where the real power in Avonlea had sat, since the end of the war that had taken her mother and ravaged the land. Her father had, in all likelihood, been the puppet of Lord Gold – who ran the countryside – and Lord George – who ran the city.

Lord George’s family had held controlling interests in Avonlea’s only city for generations: it was a hereditary right, and one no Princess could hope to sever. The country had always been the counterbalance, the seat of true loyalty and wealth in Avonlea, controlled by the throne. Gold’s intervention threw off that balance.

Belle couldn’t imagine, no matter how huge the sum of money Gold offered, why her father would have agreed to sign away half his realm. There was something she was missing, something to make sense of all of this.

Had the money been enough to turn the tide of the ogre war? Belle had been kept safe, sent to live with her betrothed when the first ogre attacks hit Avonlea, protected in a citadel far from her war-torn home. She had been amazed, upon her return, to see Avonlea looking so strong and prosperous. Had Gold done that? Had his wealth and clear administrative talent won not only the war, but also the peace? If so, what was he doing living as a country squire, in a mansion on the edge of the realm? His talents were certainly better utilised closer to home.

Belle had trained herself in these administrative tasks, the day-to-day running of a kingdom. Gaston’s homeland had been the Marchlands, and she had expected to rule it someday, while her husband hunted and wenched. She knew that money did not solve everything. She couldn’t imagine how any sum could have accomplished so much in so little time. So how had Gold done it? She knew for a fact George and her father hadn’t the talent, so it had to be him, but how?

“What’s all this?”

Belle’s head shot up, startled by Ruby’s sudden entrance into her study. The other woman bustled forward, her eyes on the papers spread out on Belle’s desk.

“Ruby, you startled me!” she laughed.

“Sorry, Belles,” Ruby apologised. “I just thought you’d be reading or sewing or something. This all looks so official.”

“Well, you told me Lord Gold owns half my land,” Belle reminded her. “So I asked him to deliver the leases this morning so I could read them for myself.”

“Do you want me to call for Lord George, or General Fa?” Ruby asked. Belle blinked at her.

“Whatever for?”

“Lord Gold has a talent for talking good people into knots,” Ruby warned. “He’ll take advantage of your kindness. Give that man an inch, he’ll take the realm.”

“Lord George helped broker the deal,” Belle countered, tapping the clause in question. “I doubt his input would be unbiased. And General Fa has more important matters to attend to than holding my hand while I read big words.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ruby said, and Belle nodded, accepting the apology. “You always were the smart one, always reading. If it were anyone but Gold on the other side…”

“But it is Gold on the other side,” Belle said, “And it’s important he knows he’s dealing with me, from now on. I won’t be taken advantage of just because I’m young, and no one expected me to inherit the throne.”

“So have you discovered anything?” Ruby asked, finally taking a seat on the other side of Belle’s desk. Belle made a soft snort through her nose, and shook her head.

“Only that Lord Gold might be the shrewdest merchant in the Enchanted Forest,” Belle said. “These contracts are watertight. They even make provision for me!” She pointed to the section in question, against which she had made a small, erasable mark in charcoal. “You see? In the event that Sir Maurice should pass before the contract ends, my father agreed on behalf of any heir to uphold it!”

“He made the decision for you?” Ruby asked. Belle nodded.

“I was already locked in before I even met the man.” She sighed, and slumped back in her high-backed chair. “I’ve combed through these documents, but everything is provided for. I cannot raise or lower taxes, alter the flow of goods from his farms to the castle or out of the realm, even change basic building regulations, without consulting him first!”

“That snake,” Ruby bit out. “No wonder your father hated him so much.”

“Why did he sign this?” Belle asked. “There’s so little benefit to the realm, and so great a cost!”

Ruby shook her head. “You weren’t here during the war, Belle,” she said. Her eyes were clouded, sad. Belle swallowed: Ruby had lost both her parents to the first battles with the ogres, and the war had raged on in her absence. “Things got really bad, we were running low on everything. When Lord Gold showed up, and bought the land, suddenly we had enough money and spells to fight back properly. He turned the tide.”

“Then why do you hate him so much?” Belle asked, mystified. “If he won the war for us…”

“We won the war,” Ruby corrected. “Gold just profiteered off our misery. He set himself up as your father’s business partner, as if he could run the realm from his office in town. Everyone hates him for that.”

“Well, I’ll get to decide that for myself when he gets here,” Belle said, briskly. Ruby gasped.

“What?”

“He’s my next appointment,” Belle said, calmly. “He’s actually due to arrive any minute.”

“You’re going to meet with him alone?” Ruby asked. Belle shrugged.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want,” she said. “But I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” Ruby said, a little ominously. “Most of the rest of us are.”

Right then, as if on cue, the steward entered the room. “Your highness, Lord Gold is here to see you.”

“Send him in, Leroy,” Belle replied, and turned to Ruby. “Last chance to scarper.”

Ruby stood, and straightened her spine. She gracefully rounded the desk, and took a seat behind Belle, in one of the councillor’s chairs. “Not abandoning you alone with him,” she said, stoutly. Belle smiled in gratitude.

Lord Gold entered. He was dressed similarly to the night before, all blacks and dark browns, although now she noticed that his breaches were leather, rather than the customary velvet or brocade, and it matched the collar and detailing on his long coat. Last night, among the riot of colour, he had appeared a shadow hanging over the crowd. Now, in the muted tones of her father’s study, Lord Gold appeared somehow darker yet, the hard lines of his jacket giving him an almost malevolent appearance. Another of those odd shivers ran down Belle’s spine.

“Lord Gold,” Belle did not curtsey; instead, she held out her hand for Gold to shake. She didn’t throw him off so easily this time: he shook her proffered hand, and remained standing when she sat down. “Take a seat,” she offered. Only then did he do as bade. His cane rested between his knees; he rested both hands on the handle.

She held his gaze, and felt for a moment as if his probing stare would reach into her mind itself, extract every hidden thought, every memory and dream. Belle resisted the urge to look away. Gold’s eyes were unreadable, and for a moment they just blinked back at hers, a staring contest Belle refused to lose. His irises were a rich, deep brown, that seemed to grow darker and cooler the longer she stared into them. She almost flinched when she was certain, impossibly, that for a moment they became snake’s eyes.

“I trust the contracts are all above board,” he said at last, when she didn’t speak. Belle called it a victory, and gratefully looked away.

“Indeed,” Belle smiled, “it’s a masterpiece. You have somehow managed to purchase the realm right out from under me.”

“I’m just a tenant, your highness,” he spread his hands, modestly. “Your father thought the terms very reasonable.”

“My father, it seems, was held to ransom by a war he couldn’t win.”

“The realm is safe, is it not?” Gold asked. He grinned, a shark’s smile, and a gold tooth in the corner of his mouth glistened. “Clearly the war was not so futile as once thought.”

“Clearly,” she conceded. “Which is why I think a reward far greater than a long-hold tenancy is in order.”

“I’m sorry, your highness?” Oh, Belle enjoyed his confusion. He blinked at her, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. It was perhaps the most human he ever appeared, when wrong-footed.

“Well, given that there was clearly more offered in consideration for the land than these contracts let on, it has been suggested that you are our saviour, Lord Gold,” she said. Ruby made an odd noise behind her. “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

“You have the agreement between your father and myself there in your hands,” Gold said. “I don’t think there’s much more to say on the matter.”

“The facts speak for themselves,” she said, briskly, “You arrived in town, and the war ended. So, congratulations.”

“For what, pray tell?”

“Your appointment to my Council, of course!” Belle grinned, almost brought to laughter at the consternation on his face. “Given that you must be consulted on all changes made that might affect your holdings, I thought why not make the relationship between your holdings and my government official? I am officially appointing you as my Chancellor, beginning immediately.”

“Belle!” Ruby jumped to her feet, “What are you doing?” she hissed.

Belle glanced around at her lady-in-waiting, “I’m giving Lord Gold his due,” she said. “If he wants to be close to the throne so badly, then why not sit at its side?” She turned her eyes to Gold, and raised an eyebrow, “Unless you want to end the contract, and renegotiate your tenancy?”

Gold was glaring at her, anger simmering in his eyes behind his cool expression. Somehow nothing on his face had changed, and yet Belle could see him seething. “And if I do not accept the appointment?” he asked, coolly.

“Then you will have to negotiate with whomever I do appoint,” she said. “And I’m afraid my flighty female feelings may well lead me to choose someone who will be less pleasant to deal with than myself. It’s all that dancing and curtseying, you know. It addles the mind. Lord George would almost certainly find a way to drive you out, if he were given the power to do so. And he is likely the only other qualified candidate.”

Gold’s eyes fixed on hers. Belle didn’t flinch. If he wanted to hold her to ransom, then he would have to put his money where his mouth was.

“As Chancellor,” she pressed on, “You would report directly to me. You would be responsible for running council meetings, as well as being my principle advisor. It is a position of great power.”

“I will not be kept beneath your heel,” Gold snarled.

Belle considered him. The outburst had come from somewhere other than the cool, dismissive persona he had presented thus far. Ruby had called him an upstart, and certainly he didn’t conduct himself like a noble. Belle had the sudden insight that he had struggled to reach a position of such influence; someone, long ago, had forced him to the ground, and he refused to return to that position. In so doing, she saw herself through his eyes: a Princess, born to privilege and power, able to snap her fingers and crush him at a whim.

“I am in need of an experienced advisor,” she said, her voice moderated and conciliatory. “I am new to this, and aside from a handful of old friends, I don’t know who I can trust at court.”

“Most, including your erstwhile lady-in-waiting would agree that that distrust should begin with me,” Gold told her, with a glance to Ruby, still fuming at Belle’s side. Belle nodded.

“So I have heard. I can therefore trust you are not in league with any other element.” She gestured to the papers on her desk, “You put everything in writing, Gold. I know your interests, your ambitions. You are now the counterweight to the George family’s influence, and the architect of Avonlea’s current stability. You belong beside the throne, not managing petty holdings in the countryside.”

“Oh Gods, you’re serious,” Ruby moaned.

“I am,” Belle confirmed. “You’ve gone to great lengths to rise up in Avonlea, and you have clearly done more still to rescue it from ruin. I’m asking you to take your place in its future.”

Gold eyed her closely, scrutinising her. She could see the curiosity in his eyes, the interest, perhaps even joy at being surprised. He looked for a moment ageless, hold as the hills and yet young as the dawn.

He opened his mouth, as if he were about to reply, when a commotion outside the door cut him off. The door burst open a moment later, Lord George and poor Leroy tumbling into the room.

Lord George caught himself, and straightened his doublet. Leroy proclaimed belatedly, “The Lord George to see you, your highness.”

“Thank you, Leroy,” Belle gave Leroy a sympathetic smile, and had to bite down a laugh at the man’s grumbling as he left the room, glaring murderously at Lord George as he went.

“Your highness,” Lord George began, “I must object to this on the strongest possible terms!”

“Object to what, my Lord?” Belle asked, although she was certain she could guess. Lord Gold was grinning like a crocodile, with gleaming teeth and sharp eyes. Lord George looked as if he could throttle the other man where he sat.

“This… this clandestine meeting with a rival landowner,” Lord George sputtered. “I must insist that a member of the Council is present when-“

“It was hardly clandestine, my Lord,” Belle cut in, bristling although she kept up a polite smile. “My steward is free to share the details of my meetings through the day with anyone who asks. I presume that was how you heard of this in the first place, in fact. Leroy can be such a terrible gossip.”

Gold’s eyes flicked from George back to Belle, and she felt an odd burst of pride at what she saw there. He almost looked impressed.

“Nevertheless, I must insist on being present if any court contracts are being renegotiated.”

“Considering how you brokered the deal in the first place, I can understand your consternation, my Lord,” Belle replied. “However, I assure you I am more than capable of taking it from here. Your kind offer of assistance is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

“I hardly brokered anything,” Lord George objected. “I only made the introduction at the insistence of your father.”

Belle swallowed, her poise faltering. George was mentioned in the contracts, and she had assumed therefore that he had been involved in the negotiations. He’d always intimidated her as a child, her father’s Chancellor, a grim, stoic man with a face cast in granite and an unimpeachable military record. He’d lead the charge that had routed the ogres, or so she had been told. Much as she believed she was in the right here, it was hard to maintain her position in the face of his anger, towering over her from the other side of the desk. She felt Ruby’s hand on her arm, but brushed it aside. The comfort was welcome, but she couldn’t show weakness, not now. If she let him, she had no doubt Lord George would undermine her at any turn, relegating her to a figurehead and consolidating power in his own hands.

She had lied to Gold: there was no way in hell she would ever make this man Chancellor again.

“You were compensated handsomely for any inconvenience caused to your business,” Gold muttered. Belle and George both stared at him: Belle with gratitude, George with contempt. “I hardly see how renegotiations would impact you at all.”

“You have no say in this,” George retorted. His gaze swung back to Belle, “Your highness, I demand you throw this upstart out at once, until the Chancellor’s office has had time to read over any new proposals.”

“Chancellor’s office?” Belle blinked up at him, Gold’s intervention having given her time to regroup. “I wasn’t aware I had officially appointed a new Chancellor yet.”

“My apologies, your highness,” George backed down, but she knew it was only an act. He felt he owned the place. Belle’s smile was icy.

“Your name is under consideration,” Belle told him. “As are a number of other well-qualified candidates. A new government may need new ideas, don’t you think?”

“I think continuity and stability at a time of transition are vital, your highness,” Lord George replied. “I had assumed you were bright enough to recognise that too.”

Lord Gold snorted, a soft, dark little laugh. Lord George turned to him. “Something to add, Lord Gold?”

“No, no, you’re doing a fine job insulting her intelligence all on your own,” he chortled. “Do go on, dearie, it’s going swimmingly.”

“Your highness, without a Chancellor to properly inspect any changes to the contracts, and considering your lack of experience in this area, I must caution against any deal you make with this… this…”

“Monster?” Gold suggested, smiling with all his teeth. To Belle’s surprise and fascination, George baulked a little. “You would know all about deals, wouldn’t you, George?” he continued, his soft voice slicing through the air. “Tell me, how is your son, by the way? He was looking well at the ball last night.”

George’s face went white. Belle watched on with a hundred unanswered questions, as George’s gaze flicked between her and Lord Gold.

“Is that all, Lord George?” Belle asked, pleasantly. “As you can see, we are rather busy here.”

George swallowed, hard. With one last fearful look at Gold, he gave a curt bow to Belle. “Your highness.”

“Lord George,” she inclined her head, politely, and he turned on his heel and left. Leroy seemed grateful to slam the doors behind him.

Belle took a deep breath, and slumped back in her chair. Ruby’s hand covered her shoulder again, and this time Belle held it tight, comforted by her friend’s silent support. “Next time I sit with you, I’m borrowing Granny’s crossbow,” she muttered. Belle laughed, a welcome release of tension.

She looked to Gold, and straightened up. “You see what I have to deal with?” Belle asked. “This is day one. He won’t ever respect my authority, he barely respected my father’s, but his position is secure. I need someone at my side who is at least united with me in opposition to him, someone who knows the terrain. It seems we make a decent team.”

An odd smile was playing about the corners of Gold’s mouth, and Belle caught herself watching it for just a moment. He looked nothing like handsome, burly Gaston or friendly, smiling Billy, and yet there was something so interesting about his face, an odd mix of malice and care, as if his face had been made for smiling but twisted into something else. And then there were those eyes, just a little too dark, almost opaque.  

“If I decide to leave, you will not prevent me,” he stipulated, carefully. “You will use no means at your disposal to prevent my departure or force my hand, at any time.”

“You are free to act as you choose,” Belle agreed. Her eyes narrowed: it was such a specific demand. Had he been a prisoner once? An indentured servant, even a slave? The more he spoke, the more certain she was that he had started with nothing, and was terrified of returning to that state. “Do we have a deal?”

His eyes narrowed, and an odd smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “It appears we do.”

One month later

Belle took a deep breath, and finally reached the top step. Typical of Gold to have chosen to make his office not down near the throne room, where Lord George had set himself up, but in the tallest tower of the castle.

He didn’t like people; she had learned that right away. It was part of what made them a good team: she liked to make friends, and he liked to keep to himself. It was also what made state functions these days so much harder to bear. Belle found herself gravitating more and more to the dark corner where her Chancellor always lurked, than to the midst of the party where the Princess was supposed to be.

She rationalised it that it was to avoid the flock of suitors who had streamed into Avonlea following her coronation. That didn’t explain her disappointment that Gold always refused to dance, with her or anyone else.

“Gold, open up!” she called, hammering on the door. “I need to talk to you!”

She wasn’t sure if she was breathing hard from exertion or anger. Gold had quickly become her confidante, her chosen partner for venting. Ruby was wonderful for social slights and gossip, but when she was angry, no one understood like Gold. She heard a sound on the other side, and that odd scent of ozone she always seemed to smell in these situations. A second later, he had opened the door, and stood in the doorway. “Your highness?” he asked. He didn’t give a damn what she called him, but he refused to drop the formalities even for a moment. “What can I do for you?”

“George is petitioning again to make whomever I end up married to King instead of Prince Consort,” Belle snarled, storming past Gold into his tower-office. “Does he have no shame at all?”

“No, none,” Gold agreed pleasantly. She was the only person he was ever pleasant to, and it threw her off a little. Even Ruby, who she knew he didn’t dislike, received only the thinnest of smiles.

“Thank God that man only has one son,” Belle muttered. “Otherwise I think he’d hold me at sword-point until his family was on the throne.”

“But he has only one son, so what are you so concerned about?” Gold asked, closing the door and stepping around his fuming Princess to return to his desk. “You know this ridiculous proposal will never leave the Council.”

“I think he has support this time,” Belle said. Gold frowned.

“Really, from whom?”

“Well, General Fa, for one,” Belle said.

“Well, that’s disappointing. I thought General Fa had at least a semblance of brain activity,” he said. “How did George achieve that little coup?”

“I’ve no idea,” Belle sighed. “But when I mentioned the proposal to the General, he became cagey.”

“Well, he’ll never get Dame Lucas on side,” Gold said, waving a hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it, dearie.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Belle said, miserably. That was what hurt the most about this whole ridiculous situation: she wasn’t sure she even still had Granny’s support that she could rule alone. “Granny mentioned this morning how nice it would be for me to have a partner, someone to share the burden of ruling with.”

“Ah,” Gold nodded, taking a seat. “Do you agree?”

“I think I’m learning, aren’t I?” she demanded. Gold shrugged.

“From where I’m sitting, you’re doing a fine job, dearie.”

“Women rule alone elsewhere, don’t they?” she asked. Gold considered the question.

“Well, I’d hardly recommend you model yourself on Queen Regina, if that’s what you mean,” he said. Belle swallowed, hard.

“You… you think I can’t do this?”

“I would never dare think such a thing,” Gold assured her. “I’m well aware that the moment anyone implies you cannot do something, it will hit the top of your agenda.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep down a smile. His respect meant the world to her.

“It’s basically a vote of no confidence, isn’t it?” she said. “The Council would rather I marry a biddable fool and relegate me to second string, than place their faith in a woman.”

“It may be more complex than that,” Gold sighed, and Belle couldn’t understand the note of regret in his voice. “Belle, no one can deny what you’ve achieved in a month…”

“Then why are they trying to oust me?” Belle demanded. “I mean, the first school is already under construction in Avonlea town centre! The water’s cleaner now the Hatter’s Row witch has her own well to dump her waste in, and the farmers are coordinating their crop rotations so there will be more variety in the marketplace. I know what I’ve accomplished, so why do they think some Lord’s son with a ring on his finger will do better?”

“Your highness, who drafted and submitted the contracts for the building of that school?”

“You did.”

“And who gave you the exact right words to say to the witch to convince her to accept a new well, rather than using the local stream?”

“You…” Belle murmured, dread curling in her stomach.

“And who provided the maps and guidance on how best to rotate those crops?”

“You did, but… but you’re not running Avonlea through me! Those were my ideas!”

“You know that,” he said, gently, “I know that.”

“I’m not marrying some concussed young knight and handing over my power because some suspicious idiots are afraid of you,” Belle spat. She didn’t know why that made her so angry, so protective. She couldn’t have done any of this without Gold’s help. She knew what the townspeople thought, what Granny thought, what even Ruby and Billy, her friends, thought of her Chancellor. There were rumours he used dark magic to manipulate her, and that he was the real Prince of Avonlea. It was malicious, and ridiculous, and she wouldn’t stand for it.

“You’re a very brave young woman, Belle,” he said, softly. She thought it might be the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. She liked how it sounded in his low, rolling accent. It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, which she chose to ignore.

“Lord George hates you,” she said, “and so he hates me for listening to you.”

“Yes,” Gold agreed.

“Why does he hate you so much?” Belle asked, a question she’d asked any number of times and received no plausible answer. “Is it just because you’re his rival?”

“Who knows why men think the way they do?” he asked, a question for a question. He could be so frustrating sometimes.

She sighed: she knew she’d never get a straight answer out of him. “What do I do now?” she asked.

“What do you think you should do?” Gold asked, spreading his hands.

Belle rolled her eyes. “I think I should approach General Fa and Granny alone, in a low-pressure setting, and convince them to switch their votes.”

“Correct,” Gold inclined his head. “Tonight’s ball would be a perfect opportunity.”

Belle made a face, “You know I was planning to feign a headache and miss that,” she said. “The suitors have been arriving all day, and my facial muscles start to hurt from pretending to smile after a while.”

Gold snickered, “It’s hard being royal, isn’t it?” he said. “Why not just give the job to Lord George, if he wants it so badly?” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, cry a river for the poor princess, forced to dance and wear pretty dresses. Woe betide, there shall be much hair-pulling and gnashing of teeth.”

“Someone’s been reading the Greeks,” he murmured, approvingly. Belle grinned.

“I should save some reading for all my future free time. You know, when I’m someone’s little wife, embroidering and weaving while my strong husband rules my lands.”

“Your highness, I doubt you could ever be a ‘little’ anything.”

Belle stood up, and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I’m five-foot-one even in heeled shoes,” she said. “I’m nothing but little.”

“I was referring to your personality,” he countered, easily. “You fill up a room.”

Belle felt herself blush at that: she almost thought it was a compliment, especially when accompanied by the warmth in his eyes.

“I was only reading the Greeks on your recommendation,” she said. She didn’t know why that was important, it just felt like something he should know.

“Careful who you say that to,” he said. “Someone might decide that you’re being unduly influenced by the realm’s personal monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” she replied, firmly. “Anyone who says that can answer to me.”

“And therein, I believe, lies the problem,” Gold replied. “Anyhow, you have a plan now. You’ve no more need to disturb an old man.”

Belle looked at him, really looked at him. “How… how old are you, exactly?” she asked. He narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head to one side.

“Ancient,” he said. “Old as the bloody hills themselves.”

Belle rolled her eyes, “You know, if you ever give a straight answer to anything, I think Hell will freeze over.”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

Belle threw up her hands, and left the room. “Good day, your highness!” he called after her; she slammed the door without responding.

Belle didn’t see Lord Gold again until the ball.

As ever, as always, she found him skulking in a dark corner, a glass of wine in one hand. She was stunned, however, to see that he wasn’t dressed in his customary dark leather trousers and coat. Instead, his waistcoat was cream brocade with a gold trim, and his frock coat was rich, royal blue velvet. It was as if a shadow had decided for one night to become a handsome prince. She couldn’t quite keep her eyes off him, even his hair looked softer.

“That’s a new look for you,” she said. He shrugged.

“I like to subvert expectations,” he replied, with a lopsided smile. She loved when he smiled like that. She didn’t get long to admire it, however, before he spoke again, gesturing to General Fa across the ballroom, “You should speak with him now, before he becomes embroiled in conversation.”

Belle nodded, and regretfully left Gold’s side to find the General. When she reached him, she was glad to still find him unattached to any of the wandering conversations. There was no risk of the man dancing with anyone; like Gold, he had been injured long ago, and was now forced to walk with a limp. Unlike Gold, however, the cause of General Fa’s injury was well-known: he had famously launched himself onto an ogre’s back to sever its spine at the neck, and when the beast fell he had been crushed.

The cause of his injury was yet another question Gold always refused to answer. But Belle couldn’t dwell on that now.

“General Fa,” she greeted him, and he turned to her with a warm smile.

“Your highness,” he inclined his head. “You are looking lovely tonight, as ever.”

“Thank you, General,” she said. “Your wife and daughter are here, I hope?”

“My wife is visiting her mother, but my daughter is around here someplace.”

“And are you having a good time?” she asked. The General nodded.

“Your highness always throws enjoyable parties,” he said, diplomatically.

“This ball isn’t of my design,” Belle said. “A fact we are both well aware of. This is Lord George’s party: he should take the credit.”

“Indeed,” Fa murmured. He looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if he knew where this conversation was heading.

“Speaking of Lord George, have you had time to look over his newest proposal yet?”

“I have, yes.”

His forthrightness knocked her back a little: she had expected more of the caginess from a few days back. “I see. And your response has not changed?”

“If it comes to a vote, I will be supporting the proposal, yes,” he said.

Belle grit her teeth, fighting the rising sense of injustice and accompanying anger. “May I ask why you believe I need a man to hold my hand?”

“Your highness,” General Fa sighed, his shoulders slumping, “I have no doubt you will become a very capable ruler. I intend my own daughter to succeed me upon my retirement, so you understand this is not an issue of your gender.”

“Then why are you supporting such a ridiculous proposition?” Belle demanded. “You never did before!”

“It’s politics, your highness,” General Fa said, heavily. “Much as I detest it, this is the way of the world.”

Belle looked at him, really looked at him, and thought about what he’d said. “If this isn’t about the bill, then… is this about Lord George himself? Did he buy your vote, or threaten you somehow?”

General Fa’s gaze drifted, and Belle followed his eyes. Across the room, not far from where Gold stood, in fact, she saw General Fa’s daughter Mulan standing with Ruby, their heads together as if sharing a secret, both women laughing. As Belle looked closer, she saw their hands were clasped between them.

“It’s an exchange of favours,” General Fa admitted, as if even saying the words pained him. “It’s not honourable, I’m not proud of it.”

“Whatever he can do for you, I’m sure I can match it,” Belle said. General Fa looked at her.

“He has offered to make sure that Dame Lucas’ granddaughter is married before the year is out,” he said. “Can you offer the same?”

“Why would you care if Ruby is married or not?” Belle asked.

General Fa’s eyebrows rose, and he looked again at his daughter. “You may be the only person in Avonlea who does not see what I see,” he said. “I want my daughter to be happy. In a perfect world, I would be able to see her paired with anyone she chose. But this world is imperfect. I will not have my daughter made mockery of, made an outcast of, if I can help it.”

Belle blinked at him, then back at Mulan and Ruby, and felt realisation hit in a rush. “You… you believe that if she could, Mulan would marry Ruby?” she asked.

“Lord George believes so,” he said. “I see no reason to dispute it.”

“And you would… you would sell Ruby to some unknown man, just to keep them apart? Don’t you see how that would hurt Mulan?”

“In time, she would see the kindness in it,” he said.

“You would force two women to marry against their will, because you can’t accept your daughter’s choice?” she demanded. She couldn’t believe it: she had always respected General Fa, had always thought of him as a good man and a kind father. He had always respected and valued Mulan, never treated her any differently than if he had had a son for an heir.

“I see no other option,” he said. “The men will have a hard enough time accepting a female General as it is, when the time comes. What will they say, if that woman is also...?”

“In love with a woman?” Belle finished. General Fa nodded. Belle took a deep breath, and found her gaze drifting, away from her friends laughing together and toward Gold. She met his eyes; he was watching her too. “They will say that in Avonlea, we love whom we choose. I am willing to issue a counter proposal to that effect, in fact, with rigorous enforcement.”

“Lord George will never approve,” General Fa said. Belle shook her head.

“Lord George disapproves of kittens and sunshine, too,” she said. “This is a new era, General Fa. In my Avonlea, we will educate our children, clothe our poor, and love as our hearts desire. Will you help me with that?”

General Fa looked at her, a small smile curving the corners of his lips. “I will speak with Dame Lucas, but I believe we have an agreement.”

Belle beamed, and shook the General’s hand. She looked back across the room, and saw Gold still watching her, his eyes warm. He looked so handsome, his hair all soft and tousled, the blue setting off the warmth of his skin. Perhaps Lord George should meddle more often, if setting him off-kilter achieved these results.

Belle made her way back across the ballroom, as if drawn to him by an irresistible force. “The General looks happy,” he said, when she was back at his side.

“I presented a counteroffer,” Belle said. “He’ll talk to Dame Lucas, too.”

“Well played, your highness,” he murmured, and took a sip of his wine.

“I’m rather proud of myself,” she admitted, looking up at him. His profile was distinctive, his long nose and high forehead, the ends of his hair curling at his collar. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

He snorted, “You’re more than capable of defeating Lord George’s ridiculous proposal at the next Council meeting,” he said. “You didn’t need my help to accomplish that.”

“I negotiated, just like you taught me,” she pressed. “I noticed what he cared about, identified the problem he needed resolving, and found a way to align our interests. I created a win-win.”

“And I’m very proud of the monster I’ve created,” he agreed. She grinned.

“You speak like I’m going around murdering peasants and bumping off family members,” she said. “I see no monsters here.”

“You’d be the only one,” he said. She rolled her eyes. “It will be noted if you refuse to dance with any of your suitors tonight,” he said then. “People will talk.”

“I don’t want to dance with any of them,” Belle sighed. “I don’t want to marry any of them.”

“You intend to remain a maid?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. “It’s not uncommon among women who inherit in their own right.”

Belle’s eyes drifted to him, away from the crowd. She wondered whether she intended never to marry. She wondered if she could imagine a husband she would love, who would support her and encourage her, challenge and delight her, as much as the man beside her. Was it so unthinkable that she could choose a husband who was older than her, not the young, well-meaning son of a noble house but a merchant-lawyer who had clawed his way to a title?

“What about your former betrothed?” he spoke again, before she could give voice to her thoughts. “Sir Gaston? An alliance between Avonlea and the Marchlands would be beneficial to both.”

Belle shook her head. “I never cared for Gaston,” she said. “I never could have loved him.”

“Oh?” Gold raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at her. She thought she saw hope there, behind his cool exterior, but perhaps she was only seeing what she wanted to see.

“To me love is… love is layered,” she continued, “Love is a mystery to be uncovered. I could never have given my heart to someone so superficial as he.”

Gold looked down at her; her eyes met his. For a moment, the world stood still.

The music changed, the country jig changing to a slower waltz, one of Belle’s favourites. Belle sighed: she’d have a hundred young men lining up to dance with her any moment now, and only Gold’s fearsome reputation was currently holding them at bay.

“Will you dance with me?” she asked. She knew what the answer would be before he said anything, and stepped in before he could, “We can go slowly around your leg, I promise. I just need to not have this song ruined by some handsy suitor, and it’d definitely set Lord George off his game. You’re trying to subvert expectations, right? Subvert mine and dance with me.”

He looked at her, and she blinked up at him, her eyes as wide and appealing as she could make them. Then he sighed, and to her amazement, he held out his hand. “Your highness,” he said, his voice low and wonderful, “May I have this dance?”

“You may, my Lord,” she said, and took his hand in hers.

They touched so rarely, and never on purpose, that Belle was taken aback by the sudden jolt of electricity up her spine as his skin met hers. His hand was rough, calloused and strong, and again she wondered at his past. These hands had done more than pen contracts, once upon a time. Not that he would ever tell her what, of course.

He lead her out onto the dance floor, and if she had thought holding his hand was intense, she was unprepared entirely for the feeling of having his other hand brace on her waist. He left his cane by the wall, but he seemed to manage remarkably well without it, as he lead her confidently in the waltz. Belle was grateful for that: she didn’t know if she would have remembered the steps without his guidance. His gaze never left hers, warm and intense, hot and dark and that little but dangerous, his eyes containing far more than eyes had any right to express. The smile on his lips was kind yet sardonic, an intoxicating mix of light and dark that set her stomach clenching, the shocks down her spine continuing every time she brushed against him, every time his hand tightened on her waist or his fingers stroked her hand.

Belle barely heard the music. It was such a strange delight, to be held in his arms, and yet they did not speak. Their relationship, a partnership built on intelligence, on a meeting of minds, a mountain of words wrapped and bound between them, and yet now Belle could not think of a thing to say. Their feet moved almost of their own accord, as if the harmony of their conversations had moved from the verbal to the physical, their bodies moving together the way their minds had been for weeks. Belle even fancied that when he pulled her close, she could feel his heart beat in time with hers.

She didn’t know his forename, but she knew he liked his tea black and his wine red. She didn’t know where he came from, or why he’d come to Avonlea, or how he’d injured his ankle, but she knew he slept badly at night and that he thought higher of strong women than hard men. He hated the military, and had an odd knack for knitting and sewing, for dextrous activities Belle had never mastered. She knew him, and yet he was still a total mystery to her.

“Why did you want to dance with me?” he asked, breaking their silence. His voice was low and rough, rasping as she had never heard it before. It was intoxicating.

“You looked so lonely,” she said. “Any man would be, living the way you do. Some days, I think the only person you talk to is me.”

“If I had my way, every day would be like that,” he said. It was such a strange confession, it sent a shiver down Belle’s spine, made something low in her belly clench and coil, heat building where she’d rarely felt it before. “I look forward every day to you banging on my door.”

“Why did you come to Avonlea?” she asked. She searched his eyes, trying to find truth when she knew his mouth would evade the question.

“I saw opportunity,” he told her, the same old half-answer.

“And did you find it?” she asked, as he spun them around. She wished he would pull her closer, crush her against his chest, dip her low and kiss her mouth so she could see if his lips felt as soft as they looked.

He didn’t answer. The music came to its end, and they stood still on the dance floor, his eyes locked on hers. There were a million things she wanted to say, but they clogged her mouth and stopped her tongue. She said nothing at all; neither did he.

His hand came up, and for a moment his fingers brushed down the curve of her cheek, his thumb playing over her bottom lip. Belle’s eyes fluttered closed; she waited, hoping desperately he would follow that touch with a kiss.

The other dancers began to applaud the band. The sound jolted Belle out of her reverie, and her eyes snapped open. She applauded too, glancing away from Gold to cry praise at the band, as was expected of their patron.

When she looked back, he had melted away into the crowd like new snow, as if he had never been.

Belle raised shaking fingers to her lips. They still tingled where he’d touched her.

Belle plastered on a bright smile, and cried out for an encore, a group dance perhaps. The crowd cheered, and the wine flowed, and Belle made sure to let everyone see her merriment before excusing herself.

She strode off the dance floor with a murmur she needed refreshment, and found a quiet place to stand for a moment and collect herself. All the blood had rushed to her face, and her heart was pounding far, far too fast.

“You’ve made quite the ally there, your highness,” a voice she hadn’t wanted to hear cut through the music, and she turned, as poised as she could muster, to face Lord George.

“Lord Gold has made an excellent Chancellor,” she said, not even attempting to feign ignorance.

“A matter of taste, I suppose,” Lord George smiled, thinly. “I hear you had an interesting conversation with General Fa, earlier.”

“He was concerned for his family’s welfare,” Belle said, her skin crawling. She wished Ruby were here, or Gold. She didn’t feel comfortable alone with Lord George, even among a sea of people. Without an ally, she felt like a mouse alone with a lion.

“He’s a good man, the General,” Lord George agreed. “I had thought him an honourable one, too. But I see now those are in short supply in Avonlea these days.”

“Do you have a point to make?” Belle snapped. “Or are you here simply to badmouth your peers?”

Lord George sighed, deeply. “Your highness, you have altogether the wrong impression of me. I am not, as you may imagine, a villain from one of your storybooks. Certainly Lord Gold is no dashing hero, however he may have chosen to clothe himself in that skin tonight. Believe it or not, I am speaking from a place of concern, for both your welfare and the realm’s.”

“Your concern expresses itself as contempt, more often than not,” Belle replied. “You will forgive my scepticism.”

“You know me, your highness,” Lord George said, bluntly. “I was your father’s friend and confidante, his Chancellor, for decades. You grew up with my son James. You know where my holdings are, what my interest is. And whether you believe me or not, I have been impressed by how well you’ve taken to the task of ruling, with some glaring exceptions.”

“Then I expect you to withdraw your latest attempt to replace me with a squire of your choosing,” she said. Lord George gave her a stern look.

“My concern is not with your abilities, but your objectivity,” he said. “Lord Gold is not what he appears.”

“Then what is he, Lord George?” she asked. Lord George reached into his doublet, and pulled out a long, gleaming silver knife.

Belle flinched, afraid for a moment, but then he took the blade in his palm and handed her the handle. Belle took it, and ran her fingers over the metal, a shiver of something ancient and terrible running down her spine. It had serrated, wavy edges, carved black into the polished metal. A name was inscribed on the blade: Rumplestiltskin.

“I recognise this,” she murmured. “This is the Dark One’s blade.”

“Indeed it is,” Lord George replied. “Your Lord Gold kept it in his possession, but at last it has been wrested from his grasp. It is the only thing capable of controlling his power.”

“Then why give it to me?” Belle asked. Lord George shrugged.

“You are the ruler of Avonlea,” he said. “You brought him into the castle, into your confidence. It is your duty to banish the monster, not mine.”

Belle gaped at him, then let out a bark of stunned laughter. “You cannot be serious,” she said. “You go too far, my Lord, if you’re accusing my Chancellor of having possession of a demon!”

“I do not accuse him of controlling the beast,” Lord George replied, tautly. “I know that he is the beast.”

“That’s impossible,” Belle shook her head. “The Dark One has skin like a snake’s, and eyes that devour the world. He makes mountains tremble, he doesn’t sit in a tower office and read over court documents!”

“I have told you what I know,” Lord George said, implacably. “This is no political ploy, and certainly no trick. My work is done. If you continue on as the plaything of the Dark One, if you cling to power through dark magic, all of Avonlea will know of your crimes, and his. This is your last chance to prove your loyalty to your people, your highness. This realm will not fall to his evil. I have already lost too much to his tricks for that.”

“What… what did he do to you?” Belle asked. “If you expect me to believe this fairy tale, you must tell me all of it.”

“Once, my family had need of something very precious. My wife, in her desperation, summoned the most powerful creature she could find. He engineered it so that despite the joy the deal brought us, it soon turned to sorrow, and we were forced into his debt a second time. He is a vicious, malicious creature. He absolutely cannot be trusted.”

“How am I to know you are not in his thrall, then?” Belle asked. Lord George shook his head.

“I know the demon for what it is. I know the mistakes I have made, the choices I have to live with. This land will not fall to those same demons.”

“Are you threatening me?” Belle asked, her voice low and dangerous, the tone Gold had taught her.

“I’m telling you that you have a choice to make. You can choose your kingdom, or your beast. Mark my words, you cannot have both.” Lord George gave a curt bow, “Your highness,” and walked away into the crowd, his head high like he hadn’t just said what Belle had heard him say.

Belle looked back down at the paper in her hands. She ran a hand over the picture, the lettering on the blade. She thought back over everything he’d never told her, the things he’d never said. Why wouldn’t he tell her his age? Why didn’t he say why he’d come to Avonlea? How could mere gold, however much he had spent, destroy an ogre army and rebuild a realm in a matter of weeks, when the war had raged unrelenting for half a decade?

Belle swallowed hard around the knot in her throat. For the first time since she had risen to the throne, she felt completely lost.

Belle’s fingers trembled where they held the blade. Whatever did one do with an item such as this, something so dark and powerful, so terrible? She couldn’t bear to have it on her person, but she couldn’t risk losing it either.

It could be a fake, she reasoned. Yes, it was probably a fake, a forgery Lord George had given her to incriminate her should he need leverage. It still needed to be hidden for safekeeping.

Belle slipped out of the ballroom through a side door, pleading a need for air. She made her way through the castle to the empty, quiet library, a space few save herself frequented. She knelt, and with shaking fingers found the loose floorboard beneath the heavy rug, where she’d hidden sweets and contraband as a child. She wrapped the knife in her handkerchief, and buried it there, until she could formulate a plan.

Then, she rose to her feet, and wrapped her arms around herself. For just a moment, she allowed herself to miss her parents, to miss her youth, to miss a time when such terrible decisions were not hers to make. She could not turn to her Chancellor for guidance here. She knew what Ruby and Dame Lucas would say, what Mulan would say, what General Fa would say. They would all tell her what they always had: that she should never have trusted Gold in the first place; that Avonlea had to come first.

Unbidden, the memory of their dance flickered through her mind. The way he’d held her in his arms, the way his voice had lowered to that rough, soft timbre, the way he’d held her face at the very end, as if he might kiss her at any moment… the thought that it all could have been a lie, a demon’s trick, made her stomach turn. She thought in that second that she might be sick.

Belle took a deep breath, and released it slowly.

Then, Belle mustered a broad smile, and returned to the party. Gold was nowhere to be found; she felt Lord George’s eyes on the back of her head with every step.

The book in Belle’s hands was heavy, leather-bound and ancient.

Three days from the ball, she had spent closeted away in the library. She had told everyone she was sick, something contagious she had contracted at the party, and left Dame Lucas in charge of the day-to-day running of things. She hadn’t spoken to Gold since their dance. She didn’t know what she’d say to him if she did.

Finally, after three days of research, she had found the book she was looking for.

She had tried, after Lord George’s departure, not to think about what he had told her. It seemed by turns threateningly possible, and ridiculous in the extreme. The Dark One was legend, however recent many of the stories about him were, and to believe that the creature Rumpelstiltskin and her friend Lord Gold were the same person… it stretched even Belle’s impressive imagination. What would a being of pure magic and power, a creature of fairy tale, have to gain from playing a minor country Lord and merchant? Why would someone who could have everything, who could go anywhere and do anything he pleased, choose to settle for such a mundane existence? The Dark One could level mountains, why would he walk with a limp?

But then she thought of the thousand unanswered questions, the simple queries he danced linguistic circles around her to avoid. She thought of his odd dress, so much darker and sharper than his peers, and the instinctive fear all of Avonlea seemed to hold for him. She thought of how his arrival, his seemingly unremarkable bargain with her father, had coincided exactly with the destruction of the ogre forces.

She wanted to trust that her closest friend at court, the man she trusted and adored, would not have kept such a terrible secret from her. She needed to believe him incapable of such a feat. The problem was that she knew no one in the world better suited for just such a task.

A better woman, kinder and more trusting, might have confronted him directly. Belle hoped she might yet find the strength to march into his office, slam the knife down on the desk, and demand an explanation outright. But that plan would accomplish nothing.

If he was the Dark One, and had lied to her from the moment they met, then why would an accusation founded only on the word of an enemy prompt his honesty? And if he were not, then accusing him outright would only betray her own doubts and misgivings, that in a moment of truth she had listened to his rival instead of him. It could ruin forever the delicate, wonderful bond between them. Belle had only had Lord Gold in her life a month, but she already couldn’t imagine how she would continue at court without him.

That left two other options: either she could try and raid his office or his home, in search of evidence of dark magic, or she could summon the creature himself.

Belle had brushed the former idea off immediately. She was no spy: she was small, but hardly nimble, and had no clothing without a full skirt. The Dark One would hide the evidence, anyway, surely. Maids cleaned his rooms in the castle every day, just like everywhere else, and she couldn’t reach his estate in the country without someone finding out.

That left only one option: the book in her hands, containing a summoning ritual to bring the Dark One before her.

Belle swallowed hard around a knot in her throat, that seemed to be directly connected to the much larger tangle in her belly. Her skin crawled, alive with anxiety and fear. What if he didn’t come, and she was left as clueless as before? What if he did, and she didn’t survive the encounter?

She shook her head. Her mother had died in this very room, protecting the realm’s knowledge and delaying the ogre attacks until her servants could get away. She had known her duty, to the realm and to herself. Belle had been hiding leagues to the north, sent away to her betrothed’s home for her safety when the war began. She wasn’t there to hold her mother’s hand, to die beside her or to carry her memory. All she knew was that Colette had died a hero.

Belle had always wanted to be brave. Now, it seemed, was her chance.

The candles flickered in a circle before her, flanked by amethyst and quartz, and every religious symbol Belle could filch from the temple downstairs. The other lights had been extinguished: the creature liked the dark, according to her reading. She didn’t mean to offend the demon, only to find her answers.

Belle took a deep breath, and raised her head, straightening her spine and planting her feet wide apart. She raised the knife in her fist, so the flat of the blade faced her heart.

“Rumplestiltskin, I summon thee!” she called out into the darkness.

The silence was deafening. The very air seemed to hold still, as if to emphasise the emptiness of the room, how alone Belle still was.

“Rumpelstiltskin, I summon thee!” she cried again. A tree branch tapped at the window, and Belle almost jumped out of her skin. She looked around with wild eyes. Nothing.

This time, she threw her whole being into the shout, her anger and fear and crippling doubt forcing the words from her throat, “Rumplestiltskin, I summon thee!”

The wind whistled outside. The candles flickered. Silence reigned.

“Well,” a voice cut through the night, high and full of vicious mirth, “There’s no need to shout.”

Belle spun on her heel. Her summoning circle remained empty; a figure lounged in the doorway. His arms were folded, his heel pressed to his ankle and knee casually bent, the picture of nonchalance and elegance. His face was cast in shadow.

“You didn’t reply,” she said, “So I thought maybe you couldn’t hear me.”

“If you wanted to speak to me,” he said, taking a step forward into a shaft of moonlight from the windows. She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Through all of this, she had not expected everything to be true. She had thought… she didn’t know what she had thought. “Then you know where my office is, dearie.”

Belle swallowed down the initial sob, the barrage of insults, the accusations and betrayed, terrified scream. She wasn’t a little girl. Everything she had become since she came back to court, since her coronation, kept her head high and her lips pressed tight closed. She lowered her shaking hand to her side, and clenched it into a fist.

“So it’s true,” she said.

He crept forward on light feet, “Bit of a shock, eh?” he teased, his voice higher and lighter than she had ever heard it. His hands made a slight flourish. Every muscle in his body was tight, every movement practiced and precise. His hair, usually so soft and smooth, sprung from his head in wild curls and brushed the high leather collar of his long coat; his boots laced to his knees. His skin glistened in the moonlight, as scaly and dark and reptilian as her books had led her to believe.

His eyes were what caught her most: opaque, greenish-grey and too large, as if they would swallow the world. She hadn’t realised how greatly she would miss the dark brown she knew, until it was gone.

“Well then, speak, dearie!” he cried, his voice harsh and sharp, startling her. His hands flickered and danced before him. She took an unwilling step back. “You did summon the Dark One, after all! And wherever did you get that?”

His fingers steeped before him, the points of his index fingers pointing at the knife wavering in her fist. “The man who told me who you really were gave it to me,” she said, trying to hold her voice steady. She felt her heart crack and break in her chest; she looked at him, her dearest friend, and didn’t know him at all.

“And I wonder how he got his grubby little hands on it, hmmm,” Rumplestiltskin murmured, stepping closer yet. Belle’s hand did not loosen on the blade. He did not try to take it.

“I just wanted to see if he was right,” Belle whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Then why did you?” Rumpelstiltskin sneered, his nose wrinkling. “Why demand the truth when fiction is so much sweeter?”

“Stop it!” Belle snapped, shoving the blade forward, and she was stunned when he took a step back. “Stop lying to me!”

“Put the blade down, Belle,” he said.

“No,” she shook her head, and to her horror she heard her voice crack, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “No, you lied to me, and now I want the truth!”

“We had a deal, dearie,” he reminded her, softly, his high voice a twittering mockery of the low, sweet brogue she knew so well. Who was this creature? How could her friend, her ally, the man who made her heart beat faster, who challenged her and guided her, exist within this sneering, prancing body? How could both men coexist within the same skin?

“I never made any deals with the Dark One,” Belle bit out. “You owe me the truth!”

“You agreed to never force my hand,” he told her. “You have to put down the knife.”

Belle looked at the blade in her hand, and thought back to what Lord George had said. “The blade controls the beast,” she murmured, and her eyes flicked back up to Rumpelstiltskin. “If I… if I command you, holding this, do you have to obey?”

“Yes,” the word seemed forced from his throat, and she remembered her order from before, that he stop lying. The urge to keep hold of the blade, to keep the order in place, to force him to tell her everything and apologise and whatever else came to her mind, was almost overwhelming.

She looked at him, really looked at him. He was not the man she knew, the man she might even have loved. He didn’t smile like him, his eyes weren’t the same; she didn’t know him at all. But he was terrified of the blade. Not because she might stab him, but because she could force him to his knees. Once more, she saw herself in his eyes: a Princess born to freedom and power, with the ability to bring him to heel and remove his free will with a flick of this blade. She could be cruel, she could be a tyrant, she could make him pay for every moment he had lied to her, every crack that had formed in her heart since his betrayal was revealed… and it would consume her. And worse, whatever truth there had been in her beloved Lord Gold, it would kill him too.

“I promised never to force you,” she said, softly, lowering the knife. “Unlike some, I keep my word.”

“What promises have I broken, Belle?” he asked, softly. She didn’t like her name in this voice, this pretended tone. She missed how the letters had rolled over his tongue before, how warm and safe his voice had made her feel.

“I trusted Lord Gold,” she said. “Not… not whatever you are.”

“I’m not a what,” he corrected.

“You know what I mean,” she said.

“You should be careful, dearie,” he said. “I’m not to be trusted around ambiguities.”

“Don’t do that!” she cried, “Don’t… don’t talk to me like I’m other people, like I’m someone else! I might not know you but I know you know me, don’t you dare pretend you don’t!”

“You summoned the Dark One,” he reminded her. “Your wish is my command.”

“Do you know how badly I wanted anyone else to show up?” she demanded. “How hard it was to even imagine you might have been lying this whole time, manipulating me?”

“When did I lie to you, Belle?”

“From the moment you introduced yourself as Lord Gold, and not Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, her chin raised in defiance.

“A name is only a name, dearie,” he said, but his voice had taken a gentler tone, something softer and more yielding than the sneering from before. “You are both Belle, and the Princess of Avonlea. Could I not be both Rumpelstiltskin and Lord Gold?”

She watched him move, the little dances of his fingers, and wondered at how he could be so different and yet so completely the same as the man she had known. Every movement was still elegant, graceful and practiced, but where Lord Gold had been smooth and restrained, Rumpelstiltskin was wild and frenetic, otherworldly.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she said, stoutly.

“And what would you have done, had I walked into your office some sunny morning, and told you that as well as being Avonlea’s largest landowner and collector of antiquities, I was in fact the physical embodiment of an ancient demon hell-bent on destruction and chaos? Are you telling me you wouldn’t have had me banished from your realm?”

“I was owed the chance to make that decision for myself,” Belle replied. “This is my realm. Given everything you’d done for me, the good we did together… I hope I would have given you a chance.”

“Are you certain of that?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. His eyes bored into hers. She nodded. “Then put down the knife.”

Belle’s grip on the dagger wavered, loosened… then tightened again. She held it to her side. She neither raised nor dropped it.

“How did you come to Avonlea?” she asked. “You owe me that answer now.”

“Your father summoned me,” he told her, with another of those giddy, unsettling little movements. He circled her, rested his chin on her shoulder; she shivered at his voice in her ear. “Help, help, we’re dying, can you save us?” his voice was high with mimicry; in the corner of her eye, she could see his mocking smile. “There was no firstborn in sight, no gold in the coffers, nothing to offer in exchange but the land itself. My price was ownership of all the fertile farmland and forest in Avonlea.”

“And in exchange, you beat back the ogres?”

“Oh no,” he purred, and she shivered again, a sensation both unsettling and strangely exciting. “I destroyed them,” he whispered, and bared his teeth. She flinched; he giggled, and danced away.

“Then were is the contract?” she demanded, turning to face him head-on once more. He tilted his head to one side.

“You mean the pages of leases you so carefully examined weren’t sufficient?” he asked, his finger tapping his chin as if flummoxed by the very idea. “Ah, yes,” he flicked his finger upright, struck by a thought. His theatricality was unnerving, and yet she couldn’t look away. “There may have been one page missing.”

He bared his hand into a fist, and a scroll appeared in his grasp. He shook it out, and it flew down, exposing a long roll of script. He held it out, one hand at the top and the other at the bottom. Belle read as fast as she could.

“A thousand years of ownership, in exchange for the kingdom returned to its pre-war state,” she murmured. “And the total annihilation of the ogre army.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave another of those little giggles. “That’s about the size of it,” he said.

“Then why stay?” Belle asked, frowning. “If the land was just… just a last resort, the only thing my father had to offer, why do you care?”

It was odd: she thought he was a little impressed with the question. His eyebrows did the same thing Lord Gold’s had, when she did something particularly clever. “The forest contains something very… precious to me,” he said, softly. “The war threatened it. The Council’s expansive ambitions threatened it. Your father’s sudden death, and the coronation of an unknown party threatened it.”

“What is it?” she asked. He tilted his head to the side.

“Is it so important you know?” he asked. She raised her chin.

“What is it, Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Is it important enough to force me to tell you?” he asked. She felt herself falter, waver. She shook her head. “Then put down the knife.”

Belle’s grip on the dagger trembled again. She wondered what he would do if she dropped it. What if once the dagger was returned, he turned on her, and she had no means to defend herself? What if his dark arts could enthral her, and she became a puppet ruler, controlled by the Dark One?

He had saved her kingdom. He had danced with her, laughed with her, walked and talked and shared his mind with her. He had made her fall in love with him. If he were still that man, surely he wouldn’t hurt her now, out of spite?

“Was any of it real?” she asked, her voice shaking, barely above a whisper.

“Any of what, Belle?” he asked. His voice sounded lower, softer, more familiar. It broke her heart.

“Our partnership,” she said. “You were my friend, I thought we trusted each other.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me, and ask me if what you’d heard was true?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you come to me, and tell me the truth?” she countered.

“Do you want the answer?” he asked, and she swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of his presence as he came closer, and closer yet. She looked into his eyes, those strange, opaque eyes… and all of a sudden, she knew him. He had the same expression he’d worn when they’d danced, the same intensity, the ambivalence. His face was the same, save the shimmering skin, and she could learn to love that, too. The same man looked out at her from behind those eyes, and she couldn’t look away.

She nodded.

“Then drop the knife,” he whispered, his words a breath against her mouth. She felt the dagger slip from her grip, heard it clatter on the floor. She knew him. She trusted him. He would not hurt her.

He was breathing hard; so was she. Her heart thundered in her chest. His mouth still looked the same: just as soft, just as warm.  

She leaned up on her tiptoes, and on impulse she took the lapels of his stiff jacket in her hands and pressed her mouth to his. It was a soft kiss, gentle and warm, a sweet press of his lips to hers entirely at odds with their heated words from before. It felt like a continuation of their dance, like time had looped around and returned them to that place where his thumb had traced her lips, and the world had stood still.

He coaxed her lips open with his, and Belle moaned when his tongue touched hers. It was nothing like when Gaston, the rare times he’d been given the chance, had shoved his meaty tongue into her mouth and almost choked her. Rumpelstiltskin, Gold, whoever he was, kissed with the same delicacy and deliberation he brought to everything else he did. The tip of his tongue danced over her lips, played with the tip of hers, stroking and dipping as his lips caressed hers. Belle felt her knees give out, her body melting against his as he held her close against him, his arm coming around her waist, his hand tangling in her hair.

Belle moaned, and slid her hands from his collar up and around his neck, into the springy locks of his hair, and he hissed when her nails bit into his scalp.

This couldn’t last: Lord George would never allow him to remain in the castle now that the truth was known, and she had no doubt that if he had had the knife, he had other proof as well. Lord Gold could never return as Chancellor, so long as Lord George breathed. He would have to leave. She would have to continue on without him. Certainly any wistful fantasy she might have had about marrying him was out of the question, if she intended to keep her throne.

She kissed him deeper, more desperately at that thought. She was running out of breath, but she couldn’t imagine pulling away, parting from him, being forced to deal with the fallout of whatever they were doing now.

It felt so right, his mouth against hers, their bodies pressed tight.

Eventually, she did have to pull back for breath. He didn’t try to speak, didn’t make her think about what they’d done, what she hoped they would keep doing. Instead, he began to kiss along her cheek, down her jaw. He nibbled with sharp teeth at the corner of her jawbone, making her jump and whimper, a shot of sensation shooting straight down her spine. He kissed down her throat, along her collarbone, exposed by her simple white blouse.

Belle stepped back, and back again, pulling him with her as she found one of the long study tables, so she could brace herself and not have to think about staying upright. When his mouth found her pulse point, her forward thinking paid off. Her knees wobbled and melted again, and when he felt her tremble he lifted her with one hand under her backside, so she was sitting on the table.

She felt his harsh breath on her throat, and she swallowed hard. She pulled his head up with her hand in his hair, and rested her forehead against his.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed him in, enjoying his closeness however it came. He didn’t look like he should. He wasn’t the man he ought to be. She had thought – perhaps hoped – that once she had learned the truth she would forget her feelings for him, and regain the objectivity Lord George had accused her of losing. But he was still the man she knew, somewhere inside. She had always known he was a mystery: somehow, this only created new layers to uncover.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” she whispered. His low exhale brushed against her lips and made her tremble.

“I’m sorry, Belle,” he replied. “The darkness is who I am. I never intended to know you. I never intended…”

He trailed off, but Belle understood. She nodded, swallowing around a lump in her throat. She didn’t want to cry now. For now, she wanted to enjoy whatever this was.

“Kiss me again?” she asked. There were so many questions that needed answers, so many things to be said, but right then Belle thought she might die if she couldn’t kiss him.

He nodded, and returned his mouth to hers, kissing her for long moments until her heart was racing and her bones were liquid. Her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist of their own accord, so he was holding her tight, every inch of his body pressed to hers.

His mouth slipped from her mouth again, and worked down the other side of her face and neck, pushing the barrier of her blouse aside so he could kiss along her shoulder too, lavishing every inch of skin he could find with his mouth.

Belle’s fingers shook, but they found their way to the stays of her bodice. She wanted him to touch her all over, her skin all but shivering with desire for him. If she could never marry him, if she would have to spend forever alone or with someone else, someone she couldn’t possibly love the way she loved him, then she would have this one night. He owed her that much. She needed that much.

He pulled back and gaped at her as she opened her bodice, revealing the sheer blouse beneath. The bodice had enough corsetry in it that for days spent alone in the library, she had little need of other supports. She had not considered until now how transparent the blouse was, how much of her was exposed through the thin linen. She blushed with embarrassment when she saw his eyes drift lower, watched his throat bob as he gulped at what he could see. Her nipples had hardened to rosy peaks, clearly visible through the fabric.

Belle lifted her arms to cover herself, but Rumpelstiltskin caught her arm with the lightest touch. “Please?” he murmured. He sounded like himself again, that low rolling brogue she loved so much. He sounded wrecked, desperate. She nodded, and lowered her arm.

Gently, his thumbs rubbed over those little points, sending sensation racing through Belle’s whole body. She gasped, her head arching back, her whole body pulled tight and taut as a bowstring. His hands gently squeezed and massaged her breasts, and Belle felt her breaths growing quick and shallow, her whole body heating with pleasure and sensation, an odd, thick heat pooling between her legs. She suddenly, desperately needed him to touch her there, too. She needed to feel him everywhere.

“Please, Rumple…” she sighed, unable to finish the rest of his name. It seemed a good compromise, all things considered: not the name of the twittering demon, but also not the human lie he had spun her in the past month. Something in between the beast and the man was the person before her. The person she loved.

He nodded, and his hands left her chest, coming to push and tug at her skirts, lifting the fabric up her knees and letting it puddle around her hips. It was Belle who took the final step, and pulled her pantaloons down to her ankles, kicking them free so they fell to the floor in a little white heap.

The cool air on her exposed skin suddenly brought her back to reality, to how open and vulnerable she currently was. She blushed all over, and pulled back, trying to regroup. “Belle?” his voice came to her, and her eyes blinked up into his.

What she saw there comforted her more than she could say. His eyes were full of concern, no hint of his former malice or of his guarded care from before. He looked like he would die if she stubbed her toe, like he wanted to protect her from everything and anything that came her way. He looked like he loved her. She wondered if he knew than she loved him too.

“I love you,” she said, softly. “It doesn’t change anything, but I do.”

Her eyes dropped from his, her bravery not holding out to watch the expression on his face.

“Oh Belle,” he murmured, and lifted her face, kissing her again, reigniting the banked fires within her. He kissed her again, again, until she was breathless and shivering again, although she was hardly cold. She was burning up, in fact, afraid she might well combust before this was over.

She wrapped her legs back around him, and moaned into his mouth when she felt the hard bulge between his legs, encased by his leather trousers, pressing against her sensitive flesh. She was so ready for him, embarrassingly wet and ready. She had never felt this way before, and hoped he didn’t mind, hoped he wouldn’t think her wanton for needing him so badly. It wasn’t her fault: she had been lost the moment she’d first looked into his eyes, whatever their colour, green-grey or brown, it didn’t matter.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, and she nodded.

“Please, Rumple,” she moaned, “Please.”

He nodded, dazed and lost for words. She felt a ripple, a tingle, a shiver of something alien and strange, and then the leather was gone, the stays of his breeches untying themselves and exposing him. Suddenly Belle could feel hard flesh pressing between her legs, and then it was accompanied by dextrous fingers, brushing over her, slipping into her folds and over a sensitive place at the apex, that made her cry out when it was touched directly.

“You really want this?” he murmured, frowning. She kissed his forehead, the little line between his eyebrows; she had always wanted to.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His fingers withdrew from her, and then she felt him, his member, the broad head pressing against her entrance. It hurt when he pushed it a little way inside, and she cried out, tensing up. Rumple’s fingers returned to her, and there was another ripple of that odd sensation, not quite pleasurable, not quite unpleasant. Then he was pushing in again, and this time it felt good, no pain at all, and she felt him fill her, their joining so perfect it made her arch her back and moan aloud.

When he was inside as far as he could go, he stopped, and his forehead rocked forward again to rest against hers. Their breaths met between them, and it was like their dance, like their conversations, like every moment they’d ever spent together encapsulated into a single second. She had never felt more connected to another person in her life, and Belle felt both rooted and set free.

Then he shifted out a little and pushed back inside, and his fingers were back at it between her legs, and everything was liquid and heat, pleasure and sensation, sparks up her spine and shivers across her skin. She gasped and keened, rocking in time with his movements, and his mouth was everywhere, open and kissing her throat, her cheeks, and finally her mouth, a kiss both messy and perfect, searing her soul.

His fingers twisted and pinched, and suddenly she exploded, the tension coiling at the base of her spine bursting into a thousand sparks, her whole body set alight. She moaned and whimpered, clinging to him with every muscle, her inner walls clenching around him as he continued to thrust within her. She felt him tense a moment later, as she was descending from her high, and he buried his face in her throat with a low groan as he released inside her. She petted his springy hair – she could grow used to it, although she missed the softness of before – and he clung to her, shaking as hard as she was.

For a perfect moment, it was as if nothing in the world, not even his lies or her duties, her kingdom or his dark curse, could hurt them. Belle wished she could live in it forever.

Then he had stepped back, withdrawn from her. Another ripple of magic had their clothes set to rights, and Belle felt suddenly cold, lonelier than she had ever been in her life.

“Goodbye, Belle,” he said. Then, in a swirl of purple smoke, he was gone, and the dagger on the floor with him.

One month later

Lord George had what he wanted: his rival was banished, and as the only man who wanted the job, he was installed once again as Chancellor.

He was competent: Belle would give him that. But he was domineering, and poor company, and ran roughshod over her in every Council meeting. Things returned to how she remembered them being under her father: with a ruler on the throne, but the real power rested in Lord George’s Chancellor’s office.

The leases binding the land in Lord Gold’s name were still valid at least, so he couldn’t claim all of that for his own, too. The man himself, the story went, had gone home to the Frontlands to help the war effort.

Belle was bereft.

She didn’t want to mourn him. He was a liar, and he’d never told her half of what she needed to know. They’d made love in the library, and she was certain he loved her too, but then he’d vanished.

Belle was starting to realise that what she’d enjoyed about ruling Avonlea wasn’t the power, or the politics, or even love of the land. She’d only lived here for a portion of her childhood, and while she knew the people cared for her, they were equally loyal to the Council, and especially Lord George. She was a young woman who had come to her maturity somewhere far away. She had never intended to inherit; no one had expected her to.

Sometimes – often – she thought on what Rumple had said to her, the day before the ball. If George wanted the throne so badly, why not let him have it?

She was stood in the garden when that thought occurred to her again. Since Lord George’s return to power, she had a lot of time to walk in the gardens, to sew, to read, to do anything but rule her lands. She supposed she should be thankful that she didn’t have to marry; Lord George already had what he wanted. She could appoint or adopt an heir, find a distant cousin to inherit. She didn’t think she could have borne the touch of another man, after she knew what it felt like to be with the man she loved.

She was watching the gardeners tend the flowerbeds – even they were allowed to do their work in peace – when she heard Ruby calling her name.

“Belle!” the other woman all but tumbled out of the doors and onto the balcony, and caught Belle’s arm. “Belle!”

“What, what is it?”

“They need you in the throne room!” Ruby cried, breathlessly. “The Lord Chancellor has an announcement!”

Belle frowned: Lord George only had need of her signature or her silence. Whatever he wanted now, she was sure he could accomplish alone. But then, he took a perverse joy in making her sit and bear witness to his us of her power. Everything he did, by his own design, was under her name.

“What is it?” Belle asked, as Ruby led her by the hand through the palace. Ruby shook her head.

“He won’t say,” she said. “He just said you were needed.”

Belle was only more confused, but followed Ruby all the same. They reached the throne room, and Leroy announced her with an odd smile on his face. He knew something about what was about to happen, but Belle had no time to ask what.

“Her Royal Highness, Belle, Princess of Avonlea!” Leroy announced, and Belle stepped through the doors and along the podium. Everyone in the chamber stood in respect. She gestured for them to sit as she took her place on the throne.

“Please, sit down,” she said. “Now, Lord Chancellor,” she turned to Lord George, standing uncomfortably before the throne. Usually he dominated proceedings from his chair to her right, crowding her, giving the impression of equal footing. “What is this about?”

“Now that your highness is here, I can present this document to your highness,” Lord George looked as if there was a knife in his kidneys, as if every word was acid, but he shoved a scroll in her direction.

Since when did Lord George use scrolls?

Belle unwound it, puzzled beyond belief. “…My Lord Chancellor, is this what it appears to be?”

“It is my resignation from courtly life, your highness,” he managed, through a heavy grimace. “I have decided to spend my days with my family. Our family seat is in the Marchlands. I have a desire to be in the mountains.” “I see,” Belle couldn’t believe what she was hearing, what she was reading. The document in her hands was watertight: Lord George officially abdicated his position, and the claims of his whole family to any part of Avonlea. “You will be a loss to the realm, my Lord,” she lied, fighting to keep a smile from her lips. She had a suspicion as to what was really behind this. Who was really behind it.

She would find out that night, she supposed.

“First Lord Gold, now you,” she continued. “My Chancellors are dropping like flies.”

“Dame Lucas has kindly offered to take my place,” he managed. The way his nostrils had flared, his eyes hardening at the name of his predecessor told Belle all she needed to know.

“Thank you, Dame Lucas,” she said, smiling to the older woman in her seat along the podium. Dame Lucas inclined her head, and went back to her knitting.

“You will be greatly missed,” Belle lied. “Your service to this realm will not be forgotten.”

Lord George looked as if he wanted to say something. Then he looked out at the crowd, and whatever he saw made him think twice. Belle followed his gaze: all she could see in his direct line of sight was an older woman with dark hair streaked with grey, shaking her head with a placid smile. She didn’t recognise the woman, but Lord George clearly did.

“Farewell, your highness,” he said, with the shallowest bow Belle had ever seen. He stormed from the room without another word. The door slammed behind him.

---

Belle stood in her bedroom, and took a deep breath.

This time she had brought no book, no summoning stones, no dagger. She stood alone, in the middle of the night, the servants sent to bed and the castle quiet, and her call was not a scream but a soft, quiet plea.

“Rumpelstiltskin, I summon thee.”

This time, the whistle of the wind was not a slap in the face but a sigh, an exhalation of held breath. He was standing by her window, right in front of her.

“I need the whole story,” she said, before he could speak. She held her thin robe tighter about her, her arms folded to keep from running to him, kissing him, so grateful was she to see him again. His hair looked soft again, his scales muted, and he’d forgone the stiff dragonhide jacket. He came before her in a waistcoat and silk shirt: the most casual she had ever seen him. He looked handsome in the candlelight. She had known she could get used to it.

“The story, dearie?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Lord George just happened to resign today,” she said. “Out of nowhere, apropos of nothing, at the moment of his victory, he walked away. Why would he do that?”

“Who knows why men do what they do?” Rumple asked, spreading his hands with a shrug. “Perhaps it was something he ate.” He wrinkled his nose, his voice high and strange. Even that, she could get used to. His pantomiming was as funny as it was unsettling.

“It wasn’t something he ate,” she shook her head, catching herself smiling. Even now, with an expanse of empty air between them, seeing him again felt more like home than the past month in her castle without him. He was so familiar: the shape of his jaw, the long angle of his nose, the soft springy hair and slender frame, the smile on his lips. She’d missed him more than she could say.

He took a step toward her, and she leaned closer almost without thinking. “What is your hypothesis then, dearie? A knock on the head?”

“Nope,” she grinned, and popped the ‘p’. “I think you happened to him.”

“I, good lady?” he asked, pressing a hand to his chest, his mouth opening in shock. “Perish the thought!”

She laughed at his antics, and she saw his eyes brighten. There was gentleness to his mockery now, affection instead of malice. She rather liked it. He hadn’t been so different as Lord Gold, after all.

“He told me once you’d made a deal with him, long ago. I need you to tell me what you did.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why not simply remain innocent?”

“Rumple, stop it,” she said, firmly. “I need to know. You know I do.”

It was incredible the effect her words had, even without the control of his dagger. He rolled his eyes, “Well, if you insist.”

He gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a Lord who had everything, everything he could desire, power, honour, money, land… but no sons. And then, in a village not far from here, there was a farmer who had nothing… except he had two sons. You see where I’m going with this?”

Belle pursed her lips. “You sold one of the farmer’s sons to Lord George?” she asked. He tilted his head to one sid.e

“I facilitated an adoption, your highness,” he corrected, a little snidely. “In return for which, the Lord got in the way of a merger of kingdoms some way from here that benefitted me, and the farmer was greatly compensated. All was well, until the careless bastard the Lord raised was murdered by an ogre during a foolish raid-“

“But James is still alive,” Belle objected, “He’s-“ she stopped, the pieces falling together. Rumple made a gesture with his hand, imitating the penny dropping. She threw a cushion at him. “He’s the other son, isn’t he?” she said.

“Clever girl,” he grinned, and tapped her nose with one finger. Even that slight, teasing touch made her shiver. She hoped he wouldn’t leave without more of those lovely kisses, once she had her answers. “The farmer had died, terrible shame, and his wife was at risk of losing their home. The son agreed to the charade for his mother’s sake. Very noble young man, that one: some might call him charming.”

“The mother is an older woman with dark hair with grey streaks, a flat nose and an open face,” Belle said. Rumple stopped still, and tilted his head.

“You saw her this afternoon,” he murmured, and she watched as he ran his eyes appreciatively over her, as if he’d only just noticed her state of relative undress, clad only in her nightgown. “Very clever girl.”

Belle shivered again, and felt that heat beginning to build low in her belly. His gaze was almost physical, and slipped over her like a caress.

“So… what, you threatened to expose Lord George?” she asked. He grinned.

“His James is the pride of the family, even if now his real name is David. He married above his station, Snow’s closer to royalty than you are, and he’s a war hero to boot. His reputation would be marred forever, if it were revealed he traded in stolen babies with a demon to achieve such glory.”

“I thought you said it was an adoption,” Belle’s eyes narrowed, and Rumple’s smile gleamed.

“All a matter of your point of view, sweetheart,” he said. Oh, she liked when he called her that.

“Why do that?” she asked, shaking her head. “Your land was secure, the leases are still watertight. Even if he’d wanted to destroy whatever you need in the forest, he wouldn’t risk offending you.” She tilted her head to one side, her curiosity returning. “What was that, by the way? I can make sure it’s protected as Avonlea’s Princess.”

He sighed, as if he’d finally run out of reasons to avoid the question. “A tree,” he said, simply. “A tree that will one day become a very special piece of furniture.”

“You did all this… for a tree?” Belle blinked.

“It has magical properties,” he told her. “As will the wardrobe that will be created from it.”

Belle blinked. “You drove out Lord George, manipulated two families and a whole realm, for a tree?”

He looked at her, frowning, his head tilted. “Were you happy with him as Chancellor, Belle?” he asked. She laughed.

“I don’t know, are birds happy in cages?”

He didn’t reply. She looked at him, really looked at him, and blinked in disbelief. “You did all of this for me,” she said, softly. She’d thought it, hoped for it, but hadn’t really believed until now. “You… you banished him for me.”

“You’re a good ruler, Belle,” he fidgeted with his fingers, uneasy and restless. “You deserve a chance to do it right. And it only seems fair that young David be reunited with his mother.”

“You did it for me,” she said, biting the inside of her lip. She looked up at him, and if she’d had any doubt that she loved him, or that he loved her, they were no more. “I love you, Rumple.”

His eyes met hers, sheepish and hopeful, an odd expression on such a face. “I love you too, Belle,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t catch it.

She rose from the bed, and stepped into his arms. When he kissed her, she swore she could fly.  

[sarahw-world]

Hey, it's me Vegetastan ☺. Got a new play along for ya. Trunks: Hey Mom, can I ask you something? Mom: Sure, what is it? Trunks: How did you know you were in love with Papa?

Bulma momentarily stopped spreading thechocolate frosting over the cake she’d just baked for her husband and shelooked at her son.

“Why do you ask?” She finally said, resumingher task.

“Well… Today is your wedding anniversary,right?”

“Yeah… And?”

“And… Every year I go to Goten’s place so youtwo can celebrate together…”

Bulma kept working on her cake, secretlywondering where her child was going with this. It was unlike Trunks to ask alot of questions about her relationship with Vegeta, particularly about theirearly rocky years.

“So?”

“So, every year Goten’s mom asks me about youtwo. Like… I don’t know… It’s almost like she can’t believe you guys are inlove or something…”

The hidden sorrow behind her son’s voice madeher heart sink a little, and her anger at her discovery of Chichi’s nosiness didn’thelp either.

‘Damn, Chichi…’

She was one to talkabout love and romance…  

Her husband only married her in order to keepsome stupid childhood promise he’d made without even knowing what marriage wasreally all about. Thankfully, it’d all worked out in the end for the two ofthem, but it wasn’t as if it’d been the ‘Romanceof the Century’ either, certainly, not at the beginning.

For Dende’s sake! Gokueven thought getting married had to do with food!

“Sweetie, come here. Sit down…” Bulma saidsoftly, encouraging the boy to sit by her side. She guessed it was as good atime as any to discuss certain things with Trunks.

She quickly finished her work and she set thefinished cake aside, peeking at the large bowl on the table, which still hadsome melted chocolate left in it.

“Wanna dip?” Bulma offered, playfully wigglingher eyebrows.

Trunks replied enthusiastically, withouthesitation. “Yeah!”

Bulma chuckled, shaking her head as she walkedto Capsule Corp.’s massive fridge to fetch some fresh strawberries. Living witha couple of Saiyans wasn’t always easy, but at least it wasn’t hard to figureout how to cheer them up: with lots of delicious food.

She set the strawberries on the table, quietly offeringthem to Trunks, who eagerly grabbed a juicy berry and happily dipped it intothe chocolate as Bulma imitated his actions.

“So… Love, uh?”

“Yup!”

“Okay… Well…” Bulma started, taking anotherbite. “I’d say it wasn’t something that happened overnight, you know?”

The little boy scowled. “So, it wasn’t like inthe movies?”

“In the movies?”

“Yeah…” Trunks shrugged. “Like, when the girlmeets the guy and she knows she’s gonna marry him and stuff…”

The woman smiled knowingly. “You mean ‘love at first sight’, right?”

“I guess…”

“Mmm… No, Trunks. From my experience, lovedoesn’t really work that way.”

“It doesn’t?” Trunks asked, honestly surprised.

Bulma finished her strawberry, picking upanother one and losing count of how many her son had already eaten.

“Nope. I think you have to get to know a personbefore you love them. I don’t believe you can really love someone you don’t knowtoo well…”

There was a brief pause, and Trunks realizedhis mom was now deep in thought.

“I guess I knew I was in love with your dadsometime before I found out I was pregnant with you…” She finally concluded.

“Really?” The child enquired, raising hiseyebrows. “So, you didn’t like him at first?”

“Oh, no! That’s not what I meant! If I hadn’tliked him I would have never invited him to live here! No… I guess… I guesswhat I mean is… You know your dad is a quiet man, right?”

“Uh-huh…” He agreed.

“So, that’s why it took longer for me to get toknow him, I guess…”

Trunks swallowed a mouthful of berries beforeasking again.

“And why is that?”

“Why is what?”

“You know… Why is dad so quiet? Is it becausehe’s Saiyan?”

Bulma tilted her head to the side a little,knowing she had to be careful with how much information about Vegeta’s past shedisclosed to her son. When Trunks was a baby and Vegeta finally agreed to stayon Earth and give their relationship and fatherhood a chance, she knew, eventhough her man had been too proud to discuss such things, that Vegeta wasprobably afraid of his son ending up hating him in the future, so she told himhe’d only talk about his past with Trunks when the child was older and only ifhe felt comfortable discussing certain matters with him.

Interestingly enough, Bulma had never beentruly scared of Trunks hating Vegeta when he’d finally discover his past. Afterall, if Mirai Trunks had ended up loving and respecting him so much withouthaving spent a lot of time with him, she knew their Trunks, the one who’dactually been raised by a dad he fiercely admired, would undoubtedly forgivehis father’s evil deeds when he was older.

“I think so, Trunks… I think a big part of it hasto do with him being Saiyan. And, also… Well, your dad didn’t have a lot offriends growing up, so I guess it was hard for him at first to open up topeople…”

“Papa had no friends?”

One look at Trunks’ sad frown told Bulma she’djust perhaps said too much…

“Hey! Come here!” Bulma asked invitingly,offering him a hug with open arms her son accepted greedily. She hugged himtightly and kissed his forehead, realizing that, even though Trunks wasn’t asmall child anymore, he’d always be her little boy to her.

“Your dad grew up in Space, and it’s harder tomake friends out there, that’s all…” She lied, after all, there’d be enoughtime for her son to discover how dark the Universe could be sometimes. Untilthen, she’d protect his innocence as much as she could, not that the child hadn’talready gone through hard times during the battle against Buu.  

“But then he came to Earth and we all welcomedhim. And now he has lots of friends, right?”

Trunks smirked, so much like his father the resemblancewas uncanny.

“He does…” He agreed.

Bulma held him closer, whispering in his ear. “Andwe all love him very much, don’t we?”

The boy blushed, embarrassed about disclosinghis feelings towards his father in front of his mom.

Oh, yeah…

He was Vegeta’s child,after all…

“Moooom…” He whined as Bulma playfully ruffledhis hair.

“We do love him! Now, be a good boy and bringyour dad his cake, he’s been in the GR for too long and he needs to take abreak anyway.”

Trunks cautiously held the massive chocolatecake his mom had baked for his dad, knowing just how much it must have meantfor her since Bulma almost never cooked, always relying on their own privatechefs to deal with all the cooking.

“Be careful, baby…” Bulma warned him tenderly.

“Mom?” Trunks asked again, already on his wayout of the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“Then when did you finally know you were in lovewith Papa?”

“Oh, right… Um… I guess I knew when I finally realizedI’d be really sad if I ever had to live without him; that was also before I gotpregnant with you,” she honestly replied.

It was the truth.

Despite the fact that it was their mutualphysical attraction towards each other what started their sexual affair so manyyears ago, at some point around the time she discovered she was pregnant withTrunks, she finally had the courage to admit to herself she’d really fallen inlove with the proud Saiyan Prince and, even though Vegeta was still in deepdenial about their new, still very fragile relationship, she knew he’d alreadygrown fond of her on some level even then.

All in all, Bulma liked to believe there’d beensome kind of love involved during Trunks’ conception, and she unquestionablywanted her child to firmly believe that too.

“I see… Thanks Mom!”

“No problem, sweetie… Careful with that cake!And don’t drop the fork!” She cautioned as she saw the boy walking out into thegarden in search of his father.

Once he reached his destination, Trunks knockedtwice on the heavy gate of his dad’s beloved Gravity Room. Almost instantly,the buzzing noise ceased, signaling Vegeta had switched it off, and a verysweaty Saiyan opened the metal door.

“What is it, boy?” He asked, wiping off some ofthe sweat from his brow with a white towel and taking a large gulp of ice coldwater with his other hand.

“Um, Mom asked to bring you this, she made itfor you…”

One look at the sweet delicacy told Vegeta allhe needed to know about what day it was.

“I see…” He replied, sitting on the stairs bythe door and grabbing the cake, putting it carefully on his lap and picking upthe fork his woman had also placed on the large plate. When he raised his gaze,he noticed Trunks still standing right in front of him, staring at him withintrigued eyes.

“Is there anything else you need, boy?”

“Uh? Um, no, that was all… I hope you like it,Papa!”

Vegeta assented in confirmation and just as hisson was about to leave, he saw him turn around, asking him one final question.

“Papa?”

“Yes?”

“You have a lot of friends now, right?”

The Prince stopped chewing on his mouthful ofcake for a moment, wondering what the Hell was the kid talking about now.Whatever it was, the expression on his face told him it was a serious question,so he pondered his words for a minute.

‘Friends.’

What a word…

He knew just how fond those damned earthlingswere of their friendships and all of those strange, sentimental attachments and,yet, hadn’t he ended up becoming one of them anyway?

The closest thing to a ‘friend’ he’d had before he landed on Earth were Nappa and Raditz,and they were more like comrades to him, subjects of the Royal Crown, and if hewas honest with himself, they basically stuck together because they were theonly ones from their kind left.

Then, did he have anyfriends?

If the definition of a friend was someone whofought by your side and that you could rely on when things got ugly, then, muchto his shame, he had to admit all these bizarre, ridiculous people had becomehis friends, so he assented.

“I do, boy. Now, why don’t you go to thekitchen and help your mother clean up?”

Trunks offered him the brightest smile, and helooked so relieved by his answer that now Vegeta knew he’d definitely have toask Bulma what that whole friend questioning thing was all about later. He hadthe feeling she’d had a hand on it.

“Sure!” He yelled, running to the kitchen. “Havefun with Mom tonight!”

Vegeta drank some more water, paying closeattention to the scene taking place now in their kitchen through its largeglass windows. Trunks was, indeed, helping Bulma place all the dirty dishes inthe dishwasher as she sat down, distractedly rubbing her belly. He noticed hiswife had been doing that a lot ever since she’d found out she was pregnantagain, and even though she wasn’t showing yet, she kept caressing her stillflat tummy at all times. It was a miracle no one had noted her strange behavioryet. Bulma had insisted they kept it a secret for as long as they could,concerned about something potentially going wrong during the early stages. Shewas older now than she was when she conceived Trunks and he’d had a hard timeconvincing her about having another child.

He smirked, pleased to see his son was growingup to be a responsible young man, obeying him without question, though he knewBulma had played a big role on Trunks becoming the kind-hearted kid he was.Without his mother’s presence around him, the child would have probably becomethe grumpy, miserable man he himself had been before the woman came into hislife, smashing his barriers down and making him see and explore life in a wayhe never thought possible.

The warrior savored another bite of thedelicious cake, secretly trying to imagine what kind of a surprise his mischievouslittle minx would have prepared for him tonight, and he wiped off his browagain with the back of his hand, looking at the summer’s bright blue sky and wonderinghow was it possible that someone like him ended up getting so damn lucky.

Yes, life was good forthe Saiyan Prince… 

There you go @lingoarchaic!

Sorry it took me so long to write this one for you!

Now I finally have more free time to write again, I hope you like it!

[zitis-sims-adventures]

Week 1 Part VI: Celebrating Love (and WooHoo)!

“Careful with your old teeth, daddy,” Walburga shouted as she lunged at her father. “Unless you want to drink plasma juice for the rest of your life.”

“Not so cocky, young lady,” Fravitta panted, but he barely blocked her blow. “I'm still older and wiser than you!” Walburga couldn't help but pity him a bit. He was technically right of course, but when it came to powers he was a pathetic excuse of a vampire – all these years he'd never cared about training or even learning the basic about undead life. It was no surprise she always defeated him.

“Aaaand another round goes to me!” Walburga giggled as she grabbed Fravitta by the scruff of the neck and pulled him with her when she gracefully floated to the ground. There she let him down more gently than she'd fought him, because he was still her father and she was happy he'd never begrudged her the victories. However, there were others who did.

“I don't remember teaching you to fight so sloppily,” Edeltraut said coolly. “You left your defense wide open – any little girl calling herself a vampire slayer could have defeated you.”

She didn't let that comment get to her. Her mother had been in a bad mood ever since her boyfriend had turned down the proposal. Walburga on the other hand had barely stopped smiling since then – things were finally going well for her. Now that her title was secured, she had time to focus on her studies of the vampiric arts. Also, her wedding was right around the corner and who could be unhappy at the prospect of getting married to a princess? “Well, dear mother, why don't you show me how to do it right?” she asked cheerfully and made a taunting gesture. Edeltraut barely waited until she'd finished her sentence before she attacked. Her movements a blur, blows quick and merciless. Walburga dodged some and raised her arm to deflect others, but she had severely underestimated her mother. Not that she'd ever won a sparring duel against her, but she usually wasn't that fierce. Apparently the heartsickness had brought out the true vampire in her again. Walburga was pleased about that, even if she wasn't about her inevitable defeat.

The sparring-match ended with Walburga falling to her knees quite ungracefully and with more bruises than she would have liked. “Let that be a lesson to you, girl,” Edeltraut said, floating far above the ground. “You may be talented and eager, but you have nothing against your elders and you should never forget that.” Then she was gone before her daughter could even reply as much as a word.

“Wow, that was amazing,” a voice behind Walburga said. She turned around and saw a vampire boy looking at her in awe. “You're really good at using your powers!”

Flattered, Walburga smiled at him. She may have lost the fight, but this boy was smart to see her true strength through it. One day she'd make her mother understand it as well. “Well, I am the heiress of the von Wolfenberg family. To me it was nothing.”

“I don't know the von Wolfenberg family, but you must be really strong then!”

Walburga cocked her head. “What? You've never heard of us?” That was surprising. After all, the von Wolfenbergs were not only an old and powerful line of vampires, but also one of the most important families in the country. “Are you freshly-turned? Didn't your master teach you?”

At that the boy looked a bit embarrassed. “Well… I don't have a master – I think I've been born like this. And I've lived alone and secluded for a long time now.” He blushed. “You're the first other vampire I've ever talked to...”

“Really? That's so… sad!” Walburga sighed and looked at this pitiful boy. She usually didn't talk to commoners she didn't know, but no vampire should be without a proper mentor. “How about I teach you a bit? We can have a sparring-match too!”

“Uh, if you want to. B-but I have to tell you, I'm really bad at this...”

Walburga just smiled. Who wasn't, compared to her. And he couldn't possibly be worse than her father, who'd spent more time arranging flowers than weakening foes.

Besides, Walburga was always up to new challenges, be it studying with unusually strong vampires or teaching weaker ones – she learned something either way and that was what counted. “Let's do this~”

The boy had been right: Walburga defeated him so quickly and easily, that she knew her feeling of pity had been more than justified. Still, it had been fun, so she said, “If you like, we can do that again some time. My name is Walburga, by the way.”

“Thanks, I'd love to. My name is Vladimir.” The boy smiled and Walburga couldn't help but return it. If all commoners were so well-behaved, she'd talk to them more often.

Later that night, Walburga continued her training with Valentine. He had a better humor about it than her parents and he was always open to some practice. Or at least he was whenever he wasn't busy partying or dating.

Staring intently at her brother, Walburga gathered her power. “And now,” she whispered as green rays of energy flew from her hands and swirled around Valentine's head, “you see… a giant bunny.”

For a second, everything was quiet and Valentine stood still. Then he shrugged and shook his head. “Nope. Guess your hallucinations don't work on me.”

“Huh, that's odd,” Walburga replied and pouted. “Guess I should have made it a woman-shaped bunny.”

“Might have worked better,” Valentine said, a wide grin revealing his pointy teeth. “Although I don't think I'd need one – it's not like I'm deprived of attractive people.”

“Or maybe you do, if you have to point it out like that. Let me try again, brother, I can't stand to see you single on Love Day.”

“Can't.” Valentine's grin grew even wider. “Thanks for your concern, dear sister, but while I'm not getting married tomorrow, I'll be on a date soon.”

“Really? Who's the lucky girl?”

“Actually, it's a guy…”

Elliot raised an eye brow. “My, I didn't take you for the romantic sort, to ask me out on a day like this.”

“I'm not.” Valentine smiled. “Or wouldn't be sitting in an old, run-down inn preparing to drink our asses off while all the couples go to fancy restaurants and post pictures on Simstagram to show the world their perfect relationship.”

“That's a fair point. Though it would be a shame if that came off.” His eyes wandered deliberately slow down Valentine's spine, before settling on his face again. “And I should warn you, buying me drinks doesn't come cheap.”

“I'd be disappointed otherwise.”

Elliot laughed. “Very well, let's see what this place has to offer.”

Valentine showed him a smile while suggestively playing with the plasma fruit skewer decorating his drink. “Well, I'm not that interested in what this place has to offer...”

After a couple of hours passed by sipping (or downing) drinks, flirting, and casually exchanging news of their lives, Elliot put down his empty glass and rose. “It's been a lovely evening so far, but I think I'm getting bored of this. I think I'll head home.” He cocked his head and grinned at Valentine. “That is… unless you have an idea to entertain me otherwise?”

Valentine, already feeling giddy from the drinks, felt his heart making a jump. “Sure, he replied, emptied his glass and got on his feet as well. Glancing briefly at a nearby man who looked a lot like Queen Zehena's husband, he added, “Why don't we go somewhere more private?”

They headed downstairs and found themselves in a narrow corridor, alone. There was not much to see here, except some sparse candles and a closet nestled in a corner.“You know, I've always been warned to walk alone with good-looking vampires.”

Valentine let out a laugh. “What, are you scared I'll suck your blood.”

“The possibility you doing something that involves sucking doesn't trouble me.” Elliot gently pushed a strand of stray hair out of Valentine's face. “Not at all. I just advice you to leave your teeth where they belong – otherwise this might have unfortunate consequences for both of us.”

“Well,” Valentine said, displaying a playfully sarcastic bow, “I shall treat you as tenderly as I'd touch a delicate flower.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “Oh, there's no need to be a bore now, my friend.” Valentine didn't reply anything, because the other man kissed him in a way that could be described as anything but tender and pushed him against the door of the closet. There was no reason to resist.

It took quite a while until they stumbled out of that closet again, exhausted but pleased. “Well, that was something,” Elliot remarked, smirking. “It's no surprise the ladies were so happy to see you included in our little club.”

“That's me, I just like to make other people happy.” Valentine's eyes shone brightly as he straightened his clothes and added, “Sometimes even more than once, you know.”

“Well, that's certainly a virtue of yours.” Elliot's voice didn't lose any of his cheerfulness and he didn't stop smiling. But his eyes seemed to grow a shade colder when he said, “But just to be clear, I hope you're aware that this is no reason to grow attached. I'm a man who values his freedom and I've yet to find a person to challenge that.”

Valentine shrugged. “That's fine with me. Keeping people trapped is more work and infinitely less fun than just looking for others to have a good time with.”

At that the young noble's expression relaxed a bit. “Well, in that case I'm looking forward to our next encounter.”

“You look beautiful today,” Walburga commented on her fiancée's appearance. It was true, she'd donned a bright red dress that matched her lipstick and hugged her tall, slim figure tightly, leaving not much room for imagination and revealing much of her long legs. A very different style, compared to her own traditional vampiric dress in green with a long flowing skirt and frills everywhere. They truly were a beautiful couple, anyone who disagreed had to be a liar.

“I just dressed for the occasion. It's the last Love Day before our wedding – who knows how often we'll get to go out like this as a married couple.”

After they'd ordered food, she finally broke the silence. “You know, we shouldn't worry. Maybe this is our last Love Day as an unmarried couple, but it's also our first. We should just enjoy it, whether tomorrow will be a catastrophe or not!”

Xuvia laughed at that. “So you think tomorrow could potentially be a catastrophe? That's not reassuring.” She did seem a bit more relaxed now, though.

“You don't know my family,” Walburga grumbled, only half jokingly. “But you know, I'm as prepared as I can be and if anyone should ruin our day, we shouldn't let them have this one too.”

The waiter stopped by their table and brought them their meals. “A toast to that,” Xuvia said, smiling and grabbing her glass of wine.

“To that,” Walburga agreed. “And to not letting anyone come between us!”

“So, it's karaoke?” Lydia sounded a bit less excited than Arishat had hoped.

“Yeah, you said you wanted to try it, so I thought now might be a good time. Plus, I heard they have amazing juice here!” She also hoped it would cheer her girlfriend up. She and her mother had packed their stuff and thanks to Valentine found a new home right away, but the whole “suddenly getting kicked out” thing was still rough on her.

It was very early in the evening, so most tables were still empty and the volume of the surrounding noises was still low enough so they could understand each other talking. Lydia smiled as they said down, turquoise lipstick matching her hair. “Thanks, Ari,” she said softly. “For asking me out today. And… for sticking with me.”

“Of course.” She knew that promising to marry her one day had meant promising to give up on her privileges as a noble. For some, that would have been a great sacrifice. Maybe it even was for Arishat, having grown up as a noble she didn't know what it was like to live as a commoner. But the thought didn't scare her and the uncertainty was nothing compared to the thought of losing Lydia.

Just then, as if instructed by a higher power, a young woman began to sing a soft ballad with the voice of an angel.

Arishat decided to use that moment and reached into her pocket. “Here,” she said and gave Lydia a daisy. “I know, it's supposed to be roses, but I couldn't find any. I plucked it myself this morning.”

“Well, you know I think traditions are for being broken,”, Lydia said with a sweet smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Arishat grinned, gesturing at the karaoke stage and then the bar. “And now, on to the fun part?”

“Count me in!”

So they spend the evening trying new drinks...

... singing loudly (and terribly)...

... and finished with a slow dance. Arishat wished that night would never end. It was perfect.

Meanwhile, others spent Love Day alone, distracting themselves with work.

Or brooding over the turns their lives had taken.

And some were just moving on, leaving behind empty beds and taking with them nothing but memories.

[a-fandom-reimagined]

My Love for You

Word Count: 1447

Summary: When Elena Gilbert walks in on you and your husband, Elijah Mikaelson having an intimate moment, Elijah relays a bit of your past and expresses to her his feelings for you.

Requested By: @badhippiehabits

Can you do an Elijah Mikaelson imagine? Where the reader and Elijah were together and married before he was turned and when he was turned she was turned too. And when Elijah and the reader go to help Elena with Klaus, Elena walks in on Elijah and the reader having a cute moment and when the reader is leaving she over hears Elena asking Elijah about their love and he gets all glossy eyes and tell her about their story and how their love will never die. Please and thank you❤️

Pairings: Reader x Elijah Mikaelson

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long it’s my first request and I wanted it to be as perfect as I could possibly make it!

 It was Elijah’s night to make dinner and as always the delectable scent of his cooking lured you downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Mm.” You said upon entering the kitchen. “I don’t know what you’re cooking but as usual it smells delicious!” You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

He chuckled. “Thank you, my sweet.”

You kissed his shoulder blade, spreading your hands along the strong, muscular planes of his chest. “I love you Elijah Mikaelson.”

He turned off the stove and spun around to face you. Taking either side of your face in his hands, he leaned down until your faces were mere inches apart. “I love you more, y/n”

“Impossible,” you smirked.

He wrapped his arms around you. You placed your hands on his chest. He leaned in further and kissed you. Slowly, your eyes closed and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer.

That kiss was perfect. It could have gone on forever and neither one of you would have noticed. And then you heard it. A soft knock at the doorway.

You broke apart, startled. Elijah shoved you behind him. He tensed, barring his fangs ready to protect you from the world itself if necessary.

Elena, stood wide-eyed in the doorway of the kitchen.

Elijah relaxed his stance and began straightening his shirt collar. “Um, hello Elena.”

You dipped your head in greeting. “Elena.”

“Hi.” Elena said in a meek voice followed by a tiny wave.

You laughed breathily.

“How did you get in here?” Elijah asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Elena’s lips moved but no words came out.

A smile tugged at your lips. You wondered if it was Elijah making her nervous or if her own embarrassment had left her tongue-tied. Maybe both, you decided.

“Elena!” you exclaimed.  

“I knocked but no one answered!” she finally said. “And both of your cars were in the driveway so I figured that either you two were avoiding me or something terrible happened to you! I’m sorry! I don’t usually go barging into other people’s homes but I really, really need to talk to Elijah! So I tested the door…and it was unlocked…and then I found you guys…in here….kissing…”

When Elena finished she was nervously wringing her hands and looking down at her shoes like a child who’d gotten caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. It was so adorable that you were nearly in tears trying to keep yourself from laughing.

Elijah cleared his throat awkwardly. “And what is that you need to speak to me about, Elena?”

The doppelganger sighed, throwing her hands in the air. “Klaus is up to his old tricks again.”

You and Elijah groaned in unison. You’d had enough of Klaus and ‘his old tricks’ to last you a lifetime.

“Well, in that case I’m going back upstairs to—“

“Keep the bed warm?” Elijah finished.

You gaped at him in shock. He was rarely so playful in front of anyone outside of his immediate family.

From the corner of your eye you saw Elena’s cheeks turn bright red.

“Elijah! We have a guest,” you scolded, gesturing to Elena.

“What?” he laughed.

You playfully swatted him on the arm. He returned the favor by swatting you on the behind. You yelped in surprise.  

“No, no! It’s fine. I did break into your house after all…” Elena’s cheeks reddened further.

“What is wrong with you?”

Elijah shrugged. “I love you. That’s all.”

You smiled and pecked a kiss on his cheek.

Striding past Elena and out of the kitchen, you spoke, “Just yell if he steps out of line, Elena.”

The two snickered as you made your way upstairs and into the master bedroom.

“Please excuse my crude behavior, Elena.” You heard your husband say from below.

“No, it’s fine. You and y/n are adorable together.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Since I was human,” you could almost hear the grin in his voice.

“Wow… What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Being with the same person for over a thousand years… I can’t imagine being with just the same person for one thousand years.”

“I suppose that it’s all about the person. I can’t imagine a day without my y/n at my side.”

Climbing into your bed you beamed with pride and pleasure.

“That’s beautiful, Elijah.”

“It’s true too.”

She laughed. “So how did you meet y/n?”

“We sort of grew up together. Our fathers were in business together, my father was a wealthy landowner and y/n’s father was a contractor. My father owned the land and y/n’s father built the houses on the land.”

“So your family was supportive?”

Elijah snorted. “Our mothers were supportive and so were my siblings. Rebekah especially. Y/N is like the sister she never had. Our fathers on the other hand were furious.”

You shuddered at the memory.

“Why?”

“Who knows? I remember Mikael went out of his way to make y/n uncomfortable every time she visited our home. Y/N’s father, thankfully at least tried to be civil when I was over.”  

“That was nice.”

“Yes, but when I left he would yell at y/n so loudly that the whole village could hear.”

A chill crept up your spine, you could still hear the roar of your father’s voice in your ears.

“Oh.” She said flatly.

Elijah snickered lightly. “It’s okay though. We got through it. And we’ll get through anything else that life throws at us so long as we are together.”

Your lips twitched, fighting a smile.

“That’s really beautiful.” Elena said softly. “You really, truly love her, don’t you?”

“That woman up there is my world,” you heard him say.

“That’s amazing. When I was little my mom used to read to me stories about princes and princesses finding their soulmates and true loves. When I grew older I tossed the whole idea of true loves and soulmates aside. It all sounded so…childish and unrealistic. And yet here I am looking right at in you and y/n.”

Elijah released a breathy laugh. “Well if true loves and soulmates are indeed real then there is no doubt in my mind that y/n is mine. I love her like I have loved no other. Her very existence completes me. Her eyes, her scent, her personality bewitches me… I remember that on the night of our hundredth wedding anniversary party I looked upon the face of my wife with such overwhelming love that I was afraid I might burst before the first toast could be made. Just days before the celebration I was wondering if it would always be like this, if my love for her would ever fade. Nine hundred years later I think it’s safe to say that the answer to that question is no.” He laughed.

But you weren’t laughing at all. You were crying. Your husband’s words had brought you to tears. His voiced feelings hit you where you needed it most. You too had shared your husband’s worries and for centuries you dreaded the day when your husband would lose interest in you or when someone new would manage to catch his eye. Now you knew that that day would never come.

You heard Elijah sniff a couple of times.

You swallowed your laughter. He felt it too, you realized, the relief, the overwhelming euphoria of being and feeling completely content and satisfied in your relationship and in the one you love.

“So what was it you needed, Elena?”

X

 When Elena departed, Elijah resumed cooking dinner and made a quick and sharply-worded phone call to his brother, Klaus.

When he was done, he entered your bedroom with a gleaming silver tray in his hands. He grinned at you, sitting the steaming tray with your dinner on it at the foot of the bed. “I thought we might eat in bed for a change.”

He leaned down and kissed your lips. His lips were soft and warm against your own but kiss remained strong.

You stroked his cheek, his stubble scratched at your palm. “I love you with all of my heart, Elijah Mikaelson.”

His cheeks colored a tad. “I knew you were listening.”

“You meant it? All of it?”

“Every last word.” He confirmed.

“I feel the same,” you told him. “I’ve never felt as strong, or as confident, or as beautiful or as…whole as I have in these last one thousand plus years I have spent at your side. When I’m with you no matter where I am the world is brighter, kinder. Thank you for being my husband, Elijah and thank you for making me your wife.”

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading. And thanks to @badhippiehabits for requesting.