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bellatrixobsessed1 · 7 months ago

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I Am Blackened Bones (Part 23)

Azula finds herself a spot on Appa’s saddle. Frankly she wants to sit where the Avatar sits, right upon the bison’s fluffy head. But the Avatar is worried that she will fall. He says that he would trust the other Azula more because she isn’t as fidgety.

You lack common sense and you act like a child, says her human counterpart, of course he doesn't want you sitting next to him. You’ll jump off of the bison and get us both killed. She concludes. Unfairly, the spirit thinks.

Azula is particularly cranky today and the spirit is certain that it is because she is terrified. Azula gets moody when she becomes afraid. And so the spirit decides not to take her commentary too personally even though it is quite personal.

“All set, Azula?” Katara asks.

Azula’s heart gives a little leap. It usually does when the waterbender talks to her. She can’t explain it but she feels lighter, more fluttery when she talks to Katara than when she talks to anyone else. She thinks that it might be because Katara has done so many nice things for her. And her smile is warmer and more cheerful—prettier too—than everyone else’s.

She has tried to ask human Azula what that means but human Azula only tells her that she is being ridiculous and should stop reading so much into things.

“Azula?”

Azula jumps.

“Are you ready to take off? We’ve got a few more hours to fly.”

Azula nods. “I’m ready.”

“Great!” There’s that smile. The one that makes Azula’s cheeks all warm. Azula returns that smile with one of her own. She hopes that her smile makes Katara feel fluttery and joyful.

.oOo.

She knows that they are getting close when the spirit retreats into the dark place and she comes to the physical world. She is terribly tired of weathering all of the pain and discomforts on its behalf—not that it won’t feel the things that she does. Making this retreat has all the efficacy of hiding from the monsters under a blanket. Stupid creature that spirit is.

Today the spirit has left her in a more comfortable positon, unlike two days ago when she had re-emerged to dripping hair and soaked undergarments. Today she is propped up against Katara’s shoulder and looking up at the clouds. She sighs, she may as well enjoy the leisurely time while she has it.

“Are you doing okay?” Katara asks.

“Well enough, I suppose.” Azula replies. This time even she can’t tell if she is being truthful or not. She has certainly seen worse days but her predicament still stands and it is constantly nagging at her even in moments of very relative comfort. She would, for once, just like to be truly content in life again…or possibly for the very first time.

“Which Azula are you right now?”

“The real one.”

“Good!” Exclaims from his own little corner. “I was hoping to talk to you before we reach the Fire Nation.”

“What do you want to talk about, Zuzu?”

“What things are going to look like when you get home.”

“If I get home.” Azula mumbles. “It is perfectly possible that I will have to live out the rest of my days in the Earth Kingdom or one of the Water Tribes.” Without her firebending…

Her stomach sinks. She misses it terribly, misses how powerful it makes her feel. Misses how much stress it relieves to run through familiar routines. But she is so out of practice now. So much so that it might even be embarrassing to try to get back to it.

Now she is getting ahead of herself.

“Well if you get home there are going to be some changes…”

“There have already been plenty of those, Zuko.”

“You aren’t going to treat me like I’m beneath you. And you…”

“Have I been doing that recently?” She replies.

“I…” He furrows his brows. “No. But…”

“Yes?” She quirks a brow.

“Are you only treating me better because you’re in a pretty vulnerable position right now?”

A jolt of anxiety slices through her, leaving a fluttering sensation in her belly in its passing. She takes herself a subtle but drawn inhale. With her exhale some of the tickles subside. She hums, “possibly.” She hadn’t really put much thought into why she behaves the way that she does. Why she feels what she feels. Just that she has her behaviors and feelings and that there are some patterns to them. Patterns that have been disrupted by the spirit enough for them to become muddled. “I suppose that, that could be a part of it, yes.” She can’t place fondness for Zuko on the spirit’s emotions because the spirit seems to have a bigger distaste and mistrust for him than Azula herself. “Or maybe it’s because you’re the only one who seems to prefer the real me.” She looks from one face to the next. Sokka is rather shameless and open in that he knows that what she said is true, she supposes that she can respect him for his honesty. Toph, Katara, and, especially, Aang wear grimaces of varying intensities. Aang’s expression conveys the most guilt.

Azula shrugs. “It’s fine, I don’t really care.”

But you do. The spirit informs her. It hurts a lot. I can feel it. You know it. I know it.

It both scares and comforts her that the spirit sometimes talks like her.

“Do you want us to like you?” Toph asks.

Azula furrows her brows and considers. “I haven’t decided yet.” She wants to be angry at them, but for what? With the exception of Sokka, none of them had particularly done her any wrong. They’d faced her in combat but she can’t say that any of it was truly personal. They had been on opposing sides and they’d done what they needed to do the same as she.

And they have taken care of her.

Taken care of her and treated her rather well, all things considered.

“You don’t want to be alone anymore.” Katara says softly.

“I’m not alone. I have a highly agitating spirit to keep me company at all times.” But of course that isn’t the same as having several highly agitating friends to keep her company. She finds herself absently brushing her thumb over the polished spearhead in her pocket. “But I suppose that it would be nice to speak to someone who isn’t me now and then.” She has been alone for so, so long.

Zuko nods. “Yeah, it’s hard being alone.”

“You’ve always had uncle.”

“Except for that one time that I made him really mad…and that other time when I outright pissed him off. He won’t admit that he was pissed but I could tell.”

“When you took my side in the Crystal Catacombs?” She guesses.

He nods. “I was alone then.”

“You had Mai. TyLee too.” And her. He had her. But she holds her tongue on that one, she doubts that he remembers. If he does remember, she doubts that he views her company and kinder words as genuine. “You were never alone, alone Zuzu. You would be worse off if you had been.” He would be like her.

Her stomach is full of fluttermoths again, this time birthed by a sense of loss, loss over what she could have had. How things could have been.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “I guess so.”

And the conversation is through.

Through and ended with a lack of closure that she cannot quite place.

You thought that he was going to tell you that you wouldn’t be alone anymore. The spirit helpfully informs her.

She unhelpfully tells it to keep itself quiet unless it wants to come back to the forefront.

.oOo.

Azula begins complaining about an ache some fifteen minutes before the skyline comes into view. She says that it usually starts in her head or her stomach, precisely where she used to feel the energy from her fire chakra. Katara supposes that it only makes sense that her fire chakra flare.

And for it, Azula has taken to laying on her side, bunched in on herself, and tightly clutching her middle. Her grip only grows tighter as the skyline comes closer into view. And by the time that they can make it out clearly there are tears in her eyes and an occasional tremor throughout her body. Katara can’t decipher if the shudders are the product of pain or anticipation of pain to come.

And the look on her face…Katara cringes. She has grown to hate that look. The torment that shows so unveiled upon her face in the crease of her brow and the gritting of her teeth. In the way that her fists clench ironclad and with the whites of her knuckles showing.

“Can I…do you mind if I hold you?” Katara offers. The spirit loves her cuddles. She hadn’t been so sure about Azula until the woman dragged herself right into her lap. With the princess so close comes a new sense of knowing; a better ability to gauge her level of distress.

Proximity grants her the feeling of Azula’s trembles, the less violent shakes. It grants her the ability to hear Azula’s softer, shakier breaths.

She wonders how the spirit is faring, tucked away into Azula’s mind. If Azula is scared then the poor thing is probably terrified.

Azula gives a shaky hum of unrest and Katara holds her hand out. She almost regrets offering the princess her hand; that ironclad grip of hers threatens to shatter bone.

At least she isn’t screaming yet.

Her screams are always so bone chilling.

“How are you holding up?” Zuko asks.

Azula only shakes her head.

That in itself is answer enough.

She is doing just dreadful and growing worse with every inch of travel.

And then they make it past the point that they’d turned back the last time.

“Please no.” Katara gets the sense that those whispered words were meant for Azula’s own ears rather than hers. “Please no.” She repeats. It becomes a steady mantra until finally the princess cries out.

The first one is always the worst; it is startling and usually the loudest.

Katara squeezes her closer.

They push onwards.

And Azula writhes in her arms.

Her fingers clench and unclench. One hand squeezes Katara’s, the other grips at the loose fabric of Katara’s shirt. Her face is hot and red with strain and tension. Her cheek is pressed very firmly against Katara’s chest.

Katara’s own heart hammers hard.

She wishes that the princess would just pass out and spare herself the suffering. Katara thinks that she would have done so several minutes ago if it had been her. But Azula has a remarkable pain tolerance threshold, that or she is willfully stubborn like nobody else.

“We’re almost there.” Katara says.

“I can tell.” Azula forces. Katara has never heard such strain in her voice.

“We don’t have to do this.” Zuko mentions.

Azula lifts a rather limp hand and waves the comment off. “We’re already so close.” She pauses for a muffled whimper. “I haven’t gone through this for nothing.”

That she can still think coherently, let alone speak is an impressive feat in itself.

“I can try some waterbending.” Katara suggests. “But I don’t know how much it will help. Your injury isn’t physical. It isn’t even particularly mental. It comes from a plain of existence that waterbending can’t touch. It doesn’t stop Katara from trying when Azula grants her permission.

.oOo,

She derives no sense of soothing from Katara’s waterbending. It can’t even take the edge off. It is cool on her forehead but she swears that instead of granting some of that coolness to her forehead, her forehead brings the water to a boil.

And so she returns to gripping at her erupting head and the roaring bemoaning the furnace in her belly.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that the skin of her arms and legs is peeling away.

Maybe there is some merit to that because Katara does move the water to stretch over her right forearm.

Agni, it hurts! It is killing her!

Maybe she will die.

Can this kill her?

She looks below, they are close enough now to the Royal Plaza that she can clearly make out the people below.

They are having their mid-afternood firebending practice.

She cackles to herself.

The looks on Katara and Zuko’s faces are almost comical. Comical and depressing.

She knows for certain that the pain is driving her half mad when she glances over at Zuko and mumbles, “well it was nice flying with you, Zuzu, enjoy your walk home and good luck with Mai.”

She sees his lips moving but they don’t make a sound. She wants to assume that he is saying goodbye and wishing her luck with her endeavors. He has a fuzzy little halo of darkness around his head and it is closing in quickly until it consumes him entirely.

And then she is back in the dark place, laying across from the spirit who is sitting cross-legged and staring at her with a tilted head. “We’re together.” She comments, somehow it sounds more like a question, as though the creature is too dumb to see what is in front of it.

“Yeah…we’re together.” Azula grumbles.

She supposes that she would rather be alone with this chipper, off-kilter version of herself than out there with searing sensation.

“We’re together.” Her spirit self remarks again.

She holds out her hand.

Azula is too exhausted to take it.

Maybe she’s the clueless one.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #zuko #katara #azutara #fanfiction

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tootiredmotel · 3 years ago

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Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

#gen.fics #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #userjennmish #userdorksinlove #userstarry #tuserari #plantdadcas #offbeattraxx #slipper007 #thisisapaige #lyntracks #deancas #destiel #college au #fic #spn #gen creates

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years ago

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chips laid down

I did not intend to post this today but uhhhhhh??? i feel like we deserve it. Another piece for my trust au fics, matters of trust and rules of three.

cw: talk of abuse, mentioned injuries, sleep-deprivation

Scott can't sleep.

He hasn't slept in days, which isn't necessarily abnormal for him, but this time he's not so wrapped up in a project or area of study that he doesn't notice the time passing. This time, he can't sleep because every time he tries, he wakes up with nightmares. Nightmares about Jimmy.

Scott ignored his communicator for seven whole minutes while reading. He assumed it was another stupid message from Solidarity, who, now that they were allies, found every possible way to annoy him. He assumed it was a way of testing boundaries, and if he ignored the messages for long enough, they would stop coming in.

When he finally checked his communicator, his blood froze in his veins.

So instead of sleeping, he forms plans of action. He's never without his communicator, checks it every couple of minutes. He sends intense letters of warning to fWhip, Sausage, and Joey. He requests a meeting with Katherine to discuss the expulsion of certain members of the House Blossom alliance.

But it's been nearly a week since the incident, and it's not enough.

His guards stopped him at the gates, telling him that one of his advisors had been looking for him. They tried to hold him there, and Scott wasted precious minutes that he could have been flying convincing them that he'd already met up with the advisor.

When he was finally off, he messaged Jimmy, letting him know he was on the way. Jimmy didn't respond.

He can't stay in the Cod Empire and Jimmy can't stay here. He's in conversations to send soldiers there, but it's apparently not a step he can take at this early stage of an alliance.

He needs to guarantee somehow that Jimmy is safe. Which is why he decides, in the early hours of the morning as he stares out of his window, that he needs help in protecting Jimmy. As soon as it's a reasonable hour, he sets off for the Ocean Kingdom.

He messages Lizzie to let her know he's on his way and that it's urgent. He knows that for her in particular, in order to meet with her, one must schedule an appointment to see an advisor first who will decide whether or not it's worth her time, and that must be done at least four days in advance. He doesn't have the time for that, though. At any point in time, Jimmy could be in trouble.

The flight was long, too long. The empires of the lands were close to one another as the bird flies, and the Cod Empire realistically not far from Rivendell, but every minute felt like hours as Scott flew.

When he arrived in the Cod Empire, Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. In his panic, he even asked a villager—lucky that he did, because the villager was able to inform him that Count fWhip had walked with him into the forest a little while ago.

When he arrives at Lizzie's door, a well-dressed lobster hybrid beckons him in and leads him to an ornate sitting room. For the first time, Scott realizes that he is well underprepared. His wings are grimy, feathers sticking up here and there—he hasn’t groomed them in at least two weeks—and he’s wearing the same rumpled clothes he wore yesterday. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t combed his hair all week, and with the way he’s been tangling his fingers in it while endlessly pacing his bedroom, it probably looks as bad as it feels.

He sits on the edge of a chair with a sea sponge cushion, the seat at the table that is furthest from the door. It’s not particularly comfortable—he doesn’t think this room was designed to be comfortable. It’s too decorative, too inconvenient to be intended for everyday meetings with allies.

It took him a moment to figure out where the villager meant. There was a path leading off, close to the Mythland border.

What if it wasn’t just fWhip? What if Sausage was there too? His mind flashed through possibilities—Jimmy unconscious on the ground, Jimmy with badly broken bones, Jimmy beyond repair—and his breath quickened.

There were two sets of tracks on the path, close together. Here and there the tracks were obscured, streaked away by wind—or by someone flying over low to the ground. It wasn’t a windy day, after all.

He didn’t have time to get there on foot. Scott spread his wings and shot straight up, then arced down and dove.

Scott starts out of his fugue when the door opens. He lifts his head from the table—he’s not sure how long he’s been out of it, but there are lines on his arms from where they’ve pressed against the table. Anyone could have been in and seen him half-sleeping, and he would never know.

The lobster-hybrid enters, and Scott rises before seeing the Ocean Queen herself following, as well as King Joel of Mezelea. He’d expected to be escorted to a different room where she was already waiting, not have them come in here. He hadn’t expected Joel at all.

Lizzie sits at the opposite end of the table, Joel beside her. The attendant leaves, and Scott bows a little before seating himself as well.

“Ocean Queen,” he nods to her, “King of Mezelea. Thank you for meeting with me.”

Lizzie raises a brow. Joel does as well. “You look terrible,” Joel says, and Scott has to bite his lip to keep from shooting back with a remark on the appearance of Joel’s face.

“I apologize for the wait,” Lizzie says, voice regal and cold. “But I was not given proper advance notice. I hope you understand how gracious I am being by meeting with you.”

“Well, the matter is one of great importance,” Scott says. He’s fighting tooth and nail to keep the exhaustion from leaking into his voice. “I—”

“I have to give you a warning, Smajor,” Joel interrupts, and Scott does not miss the lack of a title. “If we find that you are wasting our time? Don’t expect us to be so open to discussion in the future.”

This is why he doesn’t talk to this side of the House Blossom alliance. They’re so petty and stuffy. He conveniently ignores the fact that many have said the same of him.

“Thank you for the warning,” he starts to say, but Joel talks over him again.

“I’ll be totally honest, Smajor, we don’t like you,” Joel says with a shrug. Lizzie whacks his arm, but doesn’t look like she disagrees. He shrugs. “Just telling the truth. You are one wrong move away from closing off the possibility of allyship for the rest of both of our lives.”

Scott snorts. “Bit of a while, seeing as I’m immortal,” he mutters. Is he this hostile to them during meetings? Surely he isn’t.

Joel turns red. “Exactly,” he blusters. “Never allies.”

“Right. Thank you for the warning,” Scott says, and he waits for a moment. Nobody interrupts him, and he continues. “I am here to request a favor.”

Both Lizzie and Joel sigh loudly, and the anger that has been so close to the surface this past week rises. It’s not even for him, he’s asking a favor on behalf of their ally, and they’re annoyed. Like Jimmy hadn’t—like Jimmy wasn’t—

He heard voices from up ahead and touched down lightly, wings still beating in case he needed to take off at a split-second’s notice. And up ahead, past a slight bend, he could see it.

Jimmy was bleeding, crying, restrained by Sausage, who was—Sausage was laughing, mirth lined his face, he tightened his grip around Jimmy and snorted when he flinched—

And there was fWhip, one fist pulled back and then slamming into Jimmy.

Scott saw white.

“—Smajor?”

Scott blinks, looks up at them. He’s not sure how long he’s been zoning out, eyes on the table. Clearly long enough to be noticeable. Both Joel and Lizzie are looking back at him, and there’s some sense of concern emanating from them. Lizzie leans forward.

“Joel’s right, you look terrible,” she says bluntly. “You’re always so put-together. What’s happened, Lord Smajor?”

Scott rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, his fingers curling into his hair. “I—are you aware that Solidarity and I have formed an alliance?”

Joel snickers. Lizzie raises a brow. “Of course. Believe me, you wouldn’t have been let in today without a connection. I can’t say I approve, though,” she adds, before Scott can continue. “If you want my blessing, I’ll have to see a fair amount of respect and gifts from Rivendell.”

“Blessing?” Scott repeats dumbly. “For an alliance? I—is that customary around here?” he doesn’t remember learning anything along those lines, but it’s been a while since he focused on the intricacies of alliances in other empires.

Lizzie’s other eyebrow goes up as well, and she and Joel exchange a look. “. . . Yes,” she says eventually. “Yes. It definitely is. That is the way alliances are approved around here.”

Right. That’s . . . weird, to say the least, but Scott doesn’t comment on it. He’s tired and he needs to know if they can help so he can go back home and not-sleep.

“Look. I formed an alliance with Jimmy, and. . . .” he shudders. He doesn’t want to admit this, but it’s true. He can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop beating himself up over it. He can’t sleep over it. “I can’t protect him,” he says quietly, and he just knows that the tips of his ears are turning pink. “He—there’s all these legal hoops, and we’ve only been allies for a few weeks, and I just—”

“Oh, that’s what this is about,” Lizzie says with a sigh. She looks at Joel, who pats her arm comfortingly. “It’s the Jimmy complex,” she says after a moment. “Every ally he makes tries to protect him, it’s just natural. But—well, he’s impossible to protect. He’s always done what he wants, and trying to deal with every scuffle he jumps into just isn’t feasible.”

Scott—Scott gapes. “I—we’re talking about the same thing, right?” he asks haltingly. “About—”

“His temper, and the way he jumps to fight anyone, and everything else? Yes,” Lizzie says. For her credit, she does look sorry to tell him—but not sorry about what’s happening. “It’s his own fault, really. We’ve all tried to help him, but Jimmy’s just Jimmy.”

It’s his own fault, really, plays over and over again in Scott’s head. Jimmy’s closest ally is—how can she—?

The next couple of seconds were a blur to Scott, but somehow he ended up on fWhip’s chest, pummeling him in the face. His nose cracked, snapped—there was blood everywhere—fWhip’s eyes rolled up into his head—Scott was screaming, he wasn’t even sure what he was saying—

And when fWhip answered him, and he stood, saw Sausage and chased him off, and chased fWhip away too, and then he turned to Jimmy.

Jimmy was curled on the ground, arms clutched protectively over his chest, silent tears falling down his bloodied face as if he was scared to make a noise.

Scott knocks back his chair when he stands, hands shaking. “I—I can’t believe this,” he manages, head reeling. He has to save Jimmy from his own allies, he has to get to him— “I—how could you? He’s—after everything he’s gone through, and you’re saying exactly what his abusers—” he cuts himself off, throat choking, and stumbles out of the room.

He doesn’t see the growing concern on the nobles’ faces when he leaves.

He’s all Jimmy has left now. He’ll cut off all his alliances, if he has to—do all of them treat Jimmy so horribly? Is he the only one who wasn’t aware?

The Prisma Palace is like a maze, and Scott’s only half-aware anyhow. He thinks to retrace his steps, realizes he has no clue how he got to the meeting room, and just does his best to look for exit signs.

There aren’t any, but somehow he finds his way back to where he entered. He spreads his wings, intending to glide straight to the Cod Empire and check on Jimmy, let him know that his allies are aware of the abuse and do nothing—

“Wait! Smajor!”

He ignores the shout, starts to run to the side of the building—

Someone grabs his wing at the base and he windmills for a second before falling back onto them. He blinks back memories that he does not want at the surface right now and rolls off whoever grabbed him.

It’s Joel, his crown rolling away from his head as he also sits up. Lizzie runs up beside him, trident in hand.

“Don’t leave,” she commands. Scott doesn’t even think he can get up, let alone leave. Being dragged to the ground has taken it out of him, and he closes his eyes and focuses on breathing.

“What did you mean?” Lizzie asks without preamble. “You said abusers. Who’s hurting Jimmy?”

Scott reluctantly opens his eyes, glancing between the two rulers. Both of them seem . . . confused. What?

“I—you know what I’m talking about,” he stumbles over his words a bit, but just shakes his head and goes on. “Jimmy said that everyone knows. But I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.”

“Let what happen?”

“The abuse!” He pulls himself to a standing position, groaning as his vision goes fuzzy for a moment. As soon as he can see, he turns a glare on them. “Don’t play dumb, you just said you knew about it. The way fWhip and Sausage and Joey hurt him.” He spits out their names like they’re poison, and with the way they make his stomach turn, maybe they are. “You call yourself his closest ally, and you let this happen to him.”

He takes a breath, and it is silent. Lizzie, expression unreadable, takes a step, then another and another, until she’s so close to Scott that their noses could touch.

“I am not his closest ally,” she says, voice so low that he can barely hear her. “I am his sister. Now tell me, what did they do to my little brother?”

Jimmy was on the ground, bleeding and bruised and Scott didn’t even know where to start—

“They’re hurting him,” he forces out, tears gathering in his eyes. “I—they follow him places, rile him up, hold—hold him down and hurt him. He called me for help, I was too late—I carried him home—and you let it happen—”

“When?” Lizzie’s voice is frantic, her face dark with anger. She grabs Scott by the shoulders and shakes him. “When did this happen, Smajor?!”

“A week ago,” he chokes, shoving her off. He staggers to the side, careful not to fall off the palace. He runs a hand down his face, grimacing when it’s wet. He feels more tired than ever, just wants to collapse. “We’ve not been allies for even a month, and I’m—I can’t stop thinking of how to protect him. He has so many . . . so many scars. . . .” He takes a breath, then another, his focus tunneling in on just breathing and making sure he doesn't pass out. That would be embarrassing.

“He . . . never said anything,” he hears Lizzie say distantly. “He—I didn’t know. I—I can’t believe this. I—they hurt him?”

Scott nods, only now processing some of the information he’s received. First of all, Lizzie and Jimmy are siblings. It isn’t too much of a shock—now that he knows, he sees the similarities. Their eyes are the same shape, their noses and chins similarly angular. They even have the same pattern of scales surrounding their gills.

Even more shocking, however, is the fact that apparently, Lizzie and Joel had no idea that Jimmy is being abused. It’s difficult to wrap his head around, especially since he’s already decided he hates them. Now he has to completely rethink his opinion, and that sounds exhausting.

“I just—” he starts, breaking off when his voice cracks. He takes a breath and tries again. “I just wanted assistance protecting him. I’ve sealed Sausage in his castle for a month or so, but it won’t hold. Nothing can sway fWhip from a path if he’s made up his mind. Joey’s dating a demon. I can’t keep track of all three of them, and who knows if there are others. . . .” he sways slightly, grabs hold of a pillar to stay upright. Almost instantly, Joel (who had been polishing his crown on his shirt) is by his side.

“You’re exhausted, I’ll have the guest room made ready,” he says firmly, despite the immediate protests of both Scott and Lizzie. “You’ve got to rest, Scott. You can’t help anyone like this.” He wraps an arm around his back.

Scott leans into him, too heavily to keep pretending he’s fine. Joel’s right, he can’t be of any assistance until he has a clearer head.

“Haven’t slept since it happened,” he mumbles. Lizzie’s expression morphs into something akin to pity. He can’t find it in himself to be insulted. “Had . . . had nightmares about it happening without me there. He’s . . . I have to protect him. . . .”

“No, you have to sleep,” Joel says, an incredulous note in his voice. “Smajor, your eyes are barely open.”

��I’ll go check on Jimmy, all right?” Lizzie suggests suddenly. “I can make sure he’s okay and stay with him while you sleep. I can bring him here, even. Does that work?”

Scott still doesn’t trust either of them. He’s too tired, though, to focus on anything but Jimmy’s safety. And if Lizzie is his sister, she must care about keeping him safe.

He nods, then lets Joel guide him back down into the building. He doesn’t pay attention to where they’re going, only pays attention to not falling over. By the time he’s laid down on something soft, he’s gone to the world.

When Scott wakes, Jimmy is there.

He shakes off the nightmare (Jimmy alone, Jimmy hurt, Jimmy dying) and focuses on his face. Jimmy almost looks worse than he had the last time he’d seen him—what had been slowly darkening bruises last time is now ugly splotches of green and purple and black across his jaw. His right arm is in a sling, one that wraps all the way around his collarbone and secures itself to his left shoulder.

He looks relaxed, though, cod head in his lap, head leaning back in the armchair beside Scott’s bed. His eyes are closed, and he’s snoring lightly, a bit of a smile curving his lips.

Scott stares at him for far too long, eyes searching for more injuries that luckily do not appear to exist. When he eventually looks beyond Jimmy, he sees Lizzie, watching him with a smirk. He flushes. He wasn’t staring at Jimmy because of that, he was just making sure he was safe. That’s all it was.

Before he can even open his mouth to explain that, Lizzie’s shushing him, jerking her head toward Jimmy.

“He just fell asleep,” she whispers, and Scott nods his acknowledgement. His eyelids weigh heavy and he sort of just wants to fall back asleep, despite the images from his nightmares flashing through his head.

He fixes his eyes on Jimmy. Jimmy's real and here, and if he focuses on him, the broken one from his dreams fades a little bit. Jimmy shifts slightly in his sleep, mouth falling open a bit as his head tilts back farther.

“Stop looking at my brother like that,” Lizzie teases. Scott jolts back to her, shrugs helplessly.

“Had to make sure he’s safe,” he whispers by way of explaining. Lizzie’s eyes darken, her face turns stormy.

“He will be safe,” she says, a little louder than polite when someone is sleeping. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Scott reluctantly sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed as much as the pillow beckons him back. He stretches a moment, holding back the groan that wants to fall from his lips, and stands. His vision goes black and fuzzy for a few seconds, and he teeters dangerously. Just as he hears Lizzie stand, however, he rights himself and blinks away the darkness.

“Right, you need to eat something,” she says lowly, holding out her arm. Scott almost doesn’t take it, almost pushes past her. He recognizes the gesture for what it is, though—an olive branch.

He takes her arm and lets her lead him from the room, checking over his shoulder at Jimmy, who is still asleep.

Lizzie takes him down a winding corridor and into the first door the come across, which turns out to be a cozy little kitchen. Joel is there, sitting at the small round table with a cup of tea and a book. He raises his mug to Scott when he enters.

“Sleep well in my fiancée's bed?” he asks, one brow quirked. Scott feels himself turn red, looks between the two.

“Did I really—was that your bed?”

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not the one I sleep in. But it is technically mine, since it’s my house.”

Lizzie pushes him gently into the chair across from Joel, then moves to the kitchen and opens a few cabinets. Scott looks down at the table, at his hands clasped in his lap, at the little white scars that litter his knuckles. He clenches his hands tighter, sees the scars go shinier.

He doesn’t look up until Lizzie’s set a bowl of stew before him. Lizzie’s staring at him, eyes boring into his head. She sits opposite of him, beside Joel, and places her hands down flat on the table.

Scott eyes her, concerned. She gestures toward his bowl.

“Eat.”

He cautiously picks up the spoon, lifts a bite to his mouth and slowly sips it. He ignores the alarm bells going off in the back of his mind, warning him to not eat anything before testing it for poison. There’s no tactical advantage to gain by trying to do him in right now, and they would be found good as guilty if he died right in front of them. It doesn’t stop his mind from freaking out, but he can control it. Besides, he’s hungry enough that he wants to just go back to sleep.

The stew isn’t bad—he thinks it’s shrimp?—even if it isn’t what he’s used to. It’s warm, though, and warmth is what he needs. As soon as the first bite is swallowed, Lizzie speaks.

“So. You’re in the interest of protecting Jimmy. We’re in the interest of protecting Jimmy.”

After another bite, then Scott sets down the spoon. He thinks he knows where this is going.

Lizzie and Joel exchange a look, then both turn back to him. “Lord Smajor,” Lizzie says, gaze serious. “Would you like to form an alliance?”

#empires smp #empiresblr #empires fanfic #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #mas writes #empiressmp #gosh i am. dying #in more ways than one lol #anyways i gotta go eat something before i pass out #i'll post this on ao3 later tonight alr #love you guys

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wonlouvre · 4 years ago

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pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and angst word count: 3.7k WARNINGS: hospital setting, mentions of surgery/operation, blood, violence

a/n: so, this is it guys. the final part of ifliys :( i would like to extend my sincere thank yous to each and everyone who have read, liked, commented and shared this series. this is the very first fanfic i was able to finish/complete because of the support, love and motivation you all gave as i wrote this. don’t worry! there is an epilogue and i will announce what i have in store for them in the near future. in the meantime, this is part ten. thank you very much!

ten: moonlight | masterlist

The Queen is talkative. That’s one of the many quirks she has that you noticed when you were growing up. It’s not the uncomfortable or annoying kind of talkative. You really don’t know how to exactly put it, but she’s talkative in an elegant and easy-going way. One time, she decided to take a walk on a particularly busy street with only one member of the security detail assigned to tail her a few meters behind. She told you the whole story, excitedly. She was casually strolling and asking typical questions like what time is it to some vendors, passersby and the like. She even held a conversation about olive oil that lasted a good twenty minutes until the stranger she was talking to recognized who she was. You can tell that she had a blast as she laughed all through the evening.

Spending time with her gradually dwindled because of your job paired with your official duties as the Crowned Princess. But when opportunity arises, you make sure to make it worth the wait. Conversations are easy with her because she’s trustworthy and most importantly, she’s your mother. She usually asks you random, yet unexpectedly relevant questions whenever the two of you share a cup of coffee or tea or when you go shopping and even now is no different, as you’re about to choose the right fabric for your wedding dress.

“Describe the person that brings the best out of you.”

Ah, here we go. Your mother is surely not distracting you but her intent stares as she props her arm against the armrest of the white couch she’s sitting on is definitely pulling you away from the matter at hand. The look on your eyes is telling her really? and she fires back with an expecting one telling you a silent, “well? Come on. Tell me.”

You snort and shake your head, bringing your attention back to the table. You’re not denying your mother an answer because you know who to describe. It’s not that hard to figure out and you know she’s smart enough to know.

Jeon Wonwoo.

“How do you want me to describe? Personality or physical features?” You ask back and humor her as you fiddle with one lace material.

“Both,” she challenges with a mischievous grin and you’re not one to back down.

“Well, the person is quite tall and sharp in terms of physical features,” you start, doing your best to describe him implicitly. “Has a way with words, but they are all genuine and honest.”

Unbeknownst to you, your mother’s fond smile confirms your assumption that she is smart and that she knows who you’re talking about. But she presses on, loving how you describe this mysterious person.

“What about those features then? How do they help you?”

You thought for a moment and when the right words came to mind, you didn’t hesitate to say, “They inspire me to do and be better not only for myself but for everyone else. Mostly it’s their genuineness and honesty that inspires me.”

You and your mother laugh together at your last sentence.

It’s true though. After witnessing Wonwoo in the light of his Kingdom, something tugged at your heartstrings. You don’t exactly remember when, maybe it was around high school, but you remember adamantly telling your friends that you would want to be with someone that will bring the best out in you. Someone that can fuel your desire to be of service for the greater good. It sounds awfully used too often and you’re sure you’re not the only one who thinks this way, but as you have already said, it’s the truth.

Despite the circumstances, you found that someone. You found Wonwoo.

A few seconds later, Jeongyeon comes in with a knock and announces, “Your Majesty, Prince Wonwoo has arrived.”

Your eyes spring up at the name, distracted once again. And when you see the “tall” and “sharp” Prince, you’re quick to your feet and run towards him. He stumbles a little when you jump at him in a tight hug, arms clinging around his neck. Nonetheless, he smiles and welcomes your enthusiastic embrace with a soft smooch on the side of your head.

“Wait,” you abruptly pull away. “You’re not supposed to be here, though.”

Wonwoo acts dumb, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean? Her Majesty invited me to be here.”

“Calm down, Y/N,” you hear the culprit say behind your back as she stands up to greet her future son-in-law. “There’s no dress yet. It’s okay for him to be here.”

You subtly roll your eyes. You’re not one to be superficial but if there were a dress already, she’d take her words back. You return your arms back to Wonwoo’s waist and lean your chin against his chest, your lips pulling into a pout. He leans down to meet your lips with a quick peck but your mother was quicker to push you aside and to take her turn in giving him a hug.

Your jaw drops and your pout is exchanged with a scowl.

Wonwoo tries his best to hold his laughter but to no avail, fails as he formally greets the Queen. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Always good to see you, my Prince,” the Queen replies and gently pats his cheek. “And now that you’re here, I can finally take my leave.”

“Leave? We haven’t even picked a fabric yet,” you remind her and stand in between them.

“Honey, you have been going back and forth since nine in the morning,” she retaliates and walks back to the couch to pick her bag up. “Let’s schedule for another day. Unless you want Wonwoo to leave and we continue.”

Your stance immediately takes a hundred eighty degree turn. “You know what, you’re right. Let’s clear Saturday next week and we’ll take it from there.”

“I thought so.”

With a knowing wink, the Queen takes off.

That memory was from about three weeks ago after your visit and vacation at Wonwoo’s Kingdom. Wedding planning was back and the two of you went your separate ways for the time being to prepare your respective attire and accessories. Wonwoo didn’t know you had that conversation with the Queen not until she told him here at the hospital where you lie unconscious and fighting for your life.

The Royal Hospital was once again swarmed with a plethora of men in black suits because the Crowned Princess of the Kingdom has been shot twice, one on her shoulder and another on her left leg. It was a failed attempt in assassinating the King but Kim Mingyu took the opportunity to target your vulnerability and let his men shoot you instead as if it was his plan b. Kim Mingyu, whom he never desires to meet, is finally in police custody. He didn’t try to elude his impending arrest. In fact, he knew he would get arrested. He just wanted to toy with people until he couldn’t anymore.

Wonwoo has no words to spare to describe him and seeing his face and hearing his name everywhere and everytime is just making his blood boil.

The Queen has never left the hospital from the moment she arrived while you were undergoing operation up to being placed in a private room. She was calm when Wonwoo stood up from the bench to respectfully address her. She just nodded her head when he couldn’t say a word without his lips trembling and enveloped him in a warm hug as he cried on her shoulder.

She told him that the two of you haven’t spoken since your father’s arrest and it has been unbearably painful and challenging. She acknowledges how terrible and neglecting she has been as a mother when she knows how absolutely difficult this is for you. It’s even more heartbreaking because you never once complained. Instead you respected her silence and distance. She regrets her absence and seeing you lying on a bed, looking so cold and fragile is making her world completely fall apart.

“Wonwoo, I’m so sorry that this happened,” the Queen solemnly says and holds his hand tightly. “The Kingdom promises that everyone involved will be held accountable.”

Wonwoo nods. “I understand, Your Majesty. Our Kingdom will do so as well.”

“I also want you to know that Y/N never wanted to end the engagement,” she adds. “She was just afraid that someone like her doesn’t deserve to receive your love.”

Wonwoo didn’t know that you looked up to him. If anyone should be admired, it should be you because you were ready to drop everything just to uphold justice. It’s been three days after the operation and you still haven’t opened your eyes. The operation was successful. No artery nor major organs were damaged, but you did lose a lot of blood. Just like the Queen, Wonwoo has been by your side, patiently waiting. Right now despite your stable condition, he still feels like dying.

The love of his life almost died before his eyes.

Wonwoo rests his head on the small space beside your arm, similar to the first time he took care of you a few months back. He gazes at your peaceful face, silently begging for you to wake up. He wants to kiss, hear and hug you again. He wants to be with you again.

“Wonwoo.”

He sits up straight at the sound of his name and finds the Queen sadly smiling at him.

“How about you go back to your apartment for today?” She suggests, taking the seat on your other side. “Take a long shower and have some shut eye? Hmmm?”

Wonwoo bites his bottom lip, hesitant to leave and not have his eyes on you. He badly wants to stay and be here when you finally wake up. But the Queen is right. You’re safe now so he has nothing to worry about anymore.

Slowly, he stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on for who knows how long. He clasps his one hand around yours while the other sweeps the hair that’s covering your forehead and lands a gentle kiss there. You’re starting to warm up and that’s a relief.

He talks to you every single day, hoping you’d hear his voice. For now, he’ll keep it to himself.

I love you.

Later in the evening, you find your mother quietly dozing off, her head swaying from left to right and vice versa as she remains upright on the couch placed near the wall. You blink your eyes and adapt to the sudden brightness greeting your senses. You try to move your head and take in your surroundings and after a few minutes of contemplating, you recognize where you’re at and remember everything.

Dad.

Your violent gasp immediately roused your mother from her sleep and seeing you struggling to sit made her jolt up and hurry beside you.

“Darling,” she calls and holds your thrashing arms down, worried that you’d worsen your wounds. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Dad,” you voice out against the dryness of your throat. “Mom, where’s dad?”

“He’s okay too.” You can see the tears welling up on her eyes as she caresses your hair and gently pulls you in a hug. “He’s safe.”

Together, you shed the tears of anguish that you have been holding back for so long.

The King couldn’t be here because the court didn’t allow his appeal to accompany nor visit you even just for a day. He couldn’t even carry his daughter’s body to the ambulance because he was handcuffed and heavily guarded. He couldn’t even protect his daughter from the harmful consequences of his mistakes. Your mother told you that he desperately wants to be by your side and you do know that. You’re way past his inability to be here and that’s none of your concern anymore. As long as he is safe, you’re more than content.

The trial has been rescheduled for next week and your father has to be detained until then. You’ll try to visit him again once you’re discharged and together with that, you’d also find the strength to accompany him at his trial.

Your mother was firm on staying and insisting that she’s fine when you tried to urge her to go home, but you can clearly tell how tired she is from the lack of sleep so you didn’t let her win. It’s already late in the night when she finally gave in. Your mother kisses your cheek one last time after the doctor assessed your condition. Jeongyeon would stick around for the evening in her stead. Poor girl cried so much the moment she saw you widely awake.

Once it’s only the two of you left, Jeongyeon helped you sit on a wheelchair and wheeled you next to the window before she left to grab some extra bottled water. You can’t stand properly yet because of the wound on your leg so a wheelchair is necessary if you want to be mobile. You’re starting to feel the back pain after lying down for so long, you need to move. The doctor was a bit apprehensive about allowing you to leave your bed, but gave in when you promised to stay inside the room.

The moon, shining in all its glory, up in the dark sky looked so enticing, you had to take a closer look. The three days went by so fast and running through all that ensued leaves a sickening sensation down to your stomach. You shake your head, not wanting to relive the frightening memories.

Your attention goes back to the moon and one person comes to mind.

It makes you selfishly wonder if he ever visited once or asked and worried about you as you bring your hand up to your neck. When you don’t feel the lifebuoy pendant, your heart skips a beat. You then looked down to your hand, your engagement ring is also not on your finger. You frown, growing upset. They could have removed it, but it should be back to you by now. You looked around the room, hoping to find your precious gems within reach. Just in time before you could wheel yourself around to search for them, you hear the door open.

“Hey Jeongyeon, have you seen my necklace and ring?” You ask to the void as you tilt your head back to the moon.

When you don’t hear any answer other than the sound of heavy breathing, you remove your gaze from the window to see who came in if it’s not your assistant. To your surprise it’s no other than,

“Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo didn’t keep count of the exact times, but he knows how long and how much he begged just to hear your voice call his name once again. He didn’t even have the chance to change from his sweatpants and sleeveless shirt when he received the call from Soonyoung (whom Jeongyeon told to). Honestly? He didn’t bother at all because he just wanted to be right here at this moment.

To be with you.

He takes slow steps as he calms his breathing. Meanwhile, you remained seated and let him come to you. You’d run to him just like you did back then, but your leg wouldn’t appreciate that.

It felt like forever for Wonwoo to get to you. But when he finally drops on the floor and lightly rests his head on your lap, there’s no reason for him to complain anymore.

Your tears fall again for the nth time tonight. You caress his wet locks, probably from the mixture of his shower and sweat. He cries too because you can feel it seeping against the pants you’re wearing. He wraps his arms around your lap, careful from crashing his weight. You, on the other hand, bend your head down to kiss the crown of his head.

Both of your hearts are shouting, finally.

The beautiful moonlight shines on the two of you as you both silently settle down there for a moment, not giving a care in the world because this is just what you’ve been yearning for and you’re not allowing anyone nor anything to steal this away ever again.

Your long face doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo and he knows why you’re pulling it against him. But no, he is not falling for it. Instead he ignores your silent plea and continues tucking you back on the bed. You glance up at him and try to win him again with your attempt at puppy dog eyes and when he doesn’t, you give up.

“You know that this bed is too small to fit two bodies, Y/N,” he states the obvious and drags a chair to sit on. “I know you’re smart enough to see that.”

You huff and pull the covers closer to your chin. If it wasn’t for the wound on your shoulder, you’d turn your back against him.

Wonwoo just rolls his eyes at your antics and holds your hand under the warm blanket.

After your short reunion, Wonwoo decided to get you back to your bed because it was nearing one o’clock in the morning. You haven’t brought up what happened and it’s alright because you still have another chance to do so. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo,” you whisper under your breath but his ears can hear your words.

He nods and kisses the back of your hand. “I know, baby. It’s not your fault.”

Baby.

You never use pet names or terms of endearment and hearing him say it for the first time almost made you faint. It’s an exaggeration but you’re weak at the moment and anything that flusters your heart can potentially weaken your whole body.

Wonwoo then brings something out from his pockets and your eyes brighten at the sight of the necklace he gave you. He chuckles when he sees your excited expression and stands up. His fingers tenderly graze the skin of your neck when he puts it back to where it rightfully belongs.

“I thought I lost it,” you say, holding the pendant between your fingers.

He sits back down and what he mutters next makes you feel a twinge of guilt.

“I thought I lost you.”

You sigh and coax him to you, grasping the hand enclosed to yours. “Come here.”

This time you let him take the small space on your bed. You sit up as well so that you can reach his height. He helps you and once you’re comfortably situated, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest.

Wonwoo smiles at your affection and lets his hand smooth against your hair. You have always been brave when it comes to touching him and he’ll never forget how you kissed him on the lips first. He’s so glad and relieved you’re finally awake. He doesn’t think he can go on for another day without you. And now that you’re holding each other like this, he wishes for this night to never end.

“I’ll probably not inherit the throne,” you say against his shirt. “I don’t think your family would want you to marry an abolished monarch.”

Wonwoo’s hand drops and he breathes out a disappointed sigh. He is not having this conversation with you right now. Why must you ruin the moment?

When you don’t feel his hand against you anymore, you look up and steal a kiss under his chin. However, that doesn’t suffice because he’s still upset and it’s evident on the frown adorning his handsome face.

“But I realized I love you, so if it means I have to beg all the way to their Majesties for your hand then—”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you continue and shuts you up with a searing kiss. He softly squeezes your cheeks with one of his hands, almost as if commanding you to pucker your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise but when he put his other hand at the side of your neck, you surrendered.

It’s no secret that you and Wonwoo kiss. Oftentimes they’re just quick brushes, but sometimes they get a little bit more intense, deeper. You won’t get into detail though, because that’s a story to tell for some other time.

For now, you eagerly meet Wonwoo’s passion as he lays you back down on the bed, of course with caution. He doesn’t fully drop his weight on top of you, one arm carrying his upper body while the other gingerly cupping one side of your face.

His chest is firm and his shoulder broad as you grip your hands on them and continue kissing him. You should be asleep by now because you are still recovering. But Wonwoo is a doctor himself, right? So if he took the initiative to kiss you until sunrise, then it must be alright.

Okay, maybe it’s wrong to mock his profession like that. But, you’re just grateful to kiss him like this again. Because the last time you shared one, tears were streaming down your face and you two were on the verge of breaking up.

“I should really put you to sleep now,” Wonwoo whispers against your lips, breathless.

You hold your laughter, still basking in his taste. When you open your eyes, Wonwoo is already hoisting himself back up. Your lips draw into a pout again and the cause of it just rolls his eyes.

“I promise there will be more, but for now rest, okay?” He pinches your cheek lightly and sits back on the chair.

“You can take the couch,” you tell him.

“Sleep, Y/N.”

You no longer defy and close your eyes.

You remember the first time he commanded you those words and looking back, they are all fond memories of your then developing relationship. There were many questions when you and Wonwoo got along so well and so fast. There were many doubts and insecurities. The two of you shared those in silence, which could have endangered your hearts. However, even though your relationship was shaken and tested, the two of you persevered.

For you, Wonwoo persevered and words and actions are not enough to thank him. You couldn’t have overcome this without his support and patience. So from now on, against all odds, you’ll do exactly the same.

#seventeen #wonwoo #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo scenario #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scenario #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo imagine #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #wonwoo fanfic #seventin fanfic #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #fic: ifliys

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celticcrossanon · 3 years ago

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BRF Reading - 27th of September 2021

This is speculation only

Cards drawn 23rd September 2021

Question: How is Her Majesty the Queen?

Note: This reading was done before the NYC pseudo-royal 'tour'.

Interpretation: She is at the end of a cycle, reviewing her life, and stressed about current and future situations within the monarchy.

Card One: The World. This is one of two major arcana cards in the reading, and a dominant energy of the reading. The world card is about being at the end of a cycle, looking back to review the work done to reach this place, and taking time to celebrate before you step into the future. This is what Her Majesty is doing.

Her Majesty is reviewing her entire life as a monarch, with all the successes and failures, and reflecting on everything she has learnt and done that has brought her to this point in time: on the verge of celebrating her platinum jubilee. She is taking a moment to review and reflect on the past before she moves into the future, starting with the celebrations next year. She knows that she no longer has 60, 40, or even 20 years ahead of her, and she is using this time to reflect on her life as Queen and to try and distil what she has learnt into advice that she can give to her successors.

Card Two: The Six of Wands. This is card about the success of a project and celebrating that success. It can be the success of a project or achieving an important milestone. The card shows Jason holding triumphantly aloft the goal of his quest, the golden fleece.

In this reading the Six of Wands is the Jubilee celebrations for next year, a milestone celebration for Her Majesty. The Queen is looking over the Jubilee plans and giving her input for the public celebration of her years as a monarch. The energy here is of an activity that is relaxing and relatively stress free, so I think she is enjoying the planning.

Card Three: The Seven of Wands. This is a card of conflict, and the cards before and after it show what the conflict is about - the Jubilee and Harry (the Hermit card). The Seven of Wands can be about holding your ground or your position against threats to it. The picture shows Jason and his followers fighting with the supporters of his usurper uncle.

This card shows conflict, and the conflict is between HMTQ and Prince Harry. It concerns the Jubilee celebrations. Her Majesty has taken a certain position on this - most likely concerning Harry's involvement - and is fighting to hold her ground against the supporters of Prince Harry/Prince Harry himself, who most likely wants a greater involvement (like Jason's usurper uncle wanted to keep ruling the kingdom, Prince Harry wants to have his old place in these celebrations).

Card Four: The Hermit. This is the second major arcana card of the reading, so it is the second strong energy of the reading. The card shows the god Kronus, also known as Saturn, who we see today in the figure of Father Time.

This card has two energies. The first, minor energy is that of a sun-sign Virgo, as the Hermit is the card of Virgo. Prince Harry is a sun-sign Virgo. This energy of Prince Harry is tied into the previous card of conflict.

The second and stronger energy of this card is that of being alone, as the Hermit is alone, and of age and approaching death, as per the figure of Kronus/Saturn/Father Time. Her Majesty knows that she is at the end of her life, and the celebrations for next year may very well be the last major celebrations of her reign. She feels alone, bereft of support, as Prince Philip is no longer with her, and she misses him. This energy is of age, the death of loved ones, and mourning for them. I feel that her parents and her sister are also in her thoughts. Her Majesty is the last one left of her family 'group' - her parents, sister, and husband have all gone before her, and this makes her sad. She would have liked at least one of them to be with her for her jubilee celebrations (realistically Philip or Margaret), but that was not to be.

Card Five: The Nine of Pentacles. This is the card of someone who has worked hard and who is contemplating the fruit of their labour. The card shows the craftsman Daedalus standing and contemplating the result of his lifetime of work - the golden pentacles at his feet.

This is what the Queen is doing - looking over her lifetime of work and contemplating her legacy, soon to be celebrated as her Platinum Jubilee. However, the Nine of Pentacles is also a card about being single, and Her Majesty is recently widowed. The energy here is threaded through with sadness and loss. In the midst of preparing for her jubilee, HMTQ feels the loss of her husband keenly. She is reminded that she is once again alone, without the man who has been the rock of her long reign, and she feels this keenly.

Underlying Energy One: The Four of Cups. The card shows Psyche sitting between her sisters, as they gossip with her about her marriage and her husband. The gossip makes Psyche discontented with her married life, as she never sees her husband and gossip says that he is a monster.

The Four of Cups is a card of emotional dissatisfaction. It can mean being disappointed in something, or feeling disillusioned with life in general. In this deck, the suggestion is that those feelings arise from listening to gossip. It can also be a time when you are reevaluating things internally, and not taking any new opportunities because you want to be sure within yourself that they are the right thing to do before you pursue them.

This is how HMTQ is feeling underneath it all. She is aware of gossip, which here is coming across as public opinion/what people are saying, and it is bothering her. She is dissatisfied with how things are going or how they have turned out. She is rethinking or reevaluating her decisions as she is no longer sure that they are correct, and she doesn't want to proceed any further along a set path until she has worked out the right thing to do.

Underlying Energy Two: The Eight of Swords. This card shows Orestes trapped in a semi-circle of swords. On one side are the Furies, beings that torment him for murdering his mother, and on the other side is the god Apollo, who laid on Orestes the task of murdering his mother to avenge his father.

The Eight of Swords is a card of feeling very stressed and trapped, but that feeling is only in your mind. If you look at the situation carefully, there is a way out, as Orestes could walk backwards out of the semi circle of swords and run away from the Furies, but usually the person can't see the way out of the situation.

With respect to the dissatisfaction in the Four of Cups, HMTQ feels trapped and extremely stressed. She knows that the situation is causing people to feel very upset and vindictive (the Furies), and that this anger is directed at the BRF (the god Apollo). She can not see a way out of the situation, and that is the cause of her stress. The way out is likely to involve going backwards in a situation, and here the energy is of rescinding something that she has said, or taking back a gift that was made, and she does not want to do that as it is against her precepts of good behaviour, so she is blind to that solution as it is something that one just does not do in her eyes. The situation most likely involves someone or someones who HMTQ sees as trapped by their behaviour (as Orestes is trapped in the semi circle of swords), and she is unable to influence them into better behaviour (Apollo is looking very stern but Orestes is so stressed that he is not listening to Apollo), and so the anger at their actions falls on the BRF as a whole as well as on that person or persons.

Underlying Energy Three: The Three of Wands. This card shows Jason standing on the shores of a river. he has lost a sandal, and by that sign is identified as the rightful king. The usurper king, his uncle Pelias, kneels before him and offers him the crown.

The Three of Wands is a card about initial success in a venture. A project has been started and so far things have turned out well. More opportunities are available to you, and they will enable you to expand your current venture, but you have to go looking for them and that may involve venturing out of your comfort zone.

In this deck, the Three of Wands is my card for the line of succession - the passing down of the crown to the next legal inheritor - and it is this energy that is coming through here. HMTQ is worried about the line of succession. It is not an energy of confidence, but one of concern. This could just be a mother worried about how her son will cope with the responsibilities of a new position, but the energy feels like more than this. HMTQ is worried about what sort of king Charles will be, and how his reign will affect the future of the BRF. She has genuine concern about his ability to be a ruler and not second in command. I'm not getting that she thinks he is unfit to rule, but rather that she thinks his judgement is questionable at times, and that she thinks that he may make decisions that will not be in the best interests of the country and those decisions will come back and damage the monarchy, to the detriment of the future heirs, William and George.

Underlying Energy Four: The King of Cups. This is the card of a water sign person, particularly a Scorpio, and here it stands for Prince Charles, who is a sun sign Scorpio. Taken with the card before it (the Three of Wands), this tells me that Her Majesty's concern with the line of succession is focused on Prince Charles in this case, and with the future of the monarchy as represented by her heir.

Major Arcana Cards: The World and the Hermit. Her Majesty is aware that she is at the end of a cycle, and she is reviewing her life as Queen and looking at the results of her life of service. She feels very alone as she does this.

Dominant Suit: Three of the nine cards are wands, the suit of PR and of creative energy. In this reading, wands are coming across as how the actions of individuals within the line of succession are affecting the stability of the monarchy through their affect on the public perception of the monarchy, both now and in the future.

Conclusion: Her Majesty is at the end of a cycle, and she is looking back over her past in preparation for what is to come - the celebration of her Jubilee and, eventually, the end of her reign. She is enjoying planning the milestone celebration of her Jubilee, but with this comes conflicts with Prince Harry. She feels very alone and very single as she reviews her life's work and contemplates it from the perspective of being at the end of her reign. She is missing Prince Phillip very much in all of this. Underneath it all, she is dissatisfied, worried and stressed about the positions of various members of the family, and she is reviewing her actions with respect to those people. She also has concerns about Charles's judgement as future king and how that will affect the monarchy.

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punkpoemprose · 4 years ago

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A Convenient Arrangement Part 10

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating:T Length: 8805 Words A/N: Long chapter-- distance makes the heart grow fonder, fluffy date time, questions answered, and Kristoff definitely finds his wife attractive.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9]

The week was a long one. They both would agree when or if asked, but if it wasn’t related to festival plans, no one was asking either one of them anything. When they rose in the morning, they scarcely had time to greet each other in the hall or over breakfast before knocks at the door would pull them each their own way.

Kristoff spent most of his days with Kai, learning all that he could about royal manners, the history of the kingdom, peerage, and the other pertinent information and skills required of a prince consort. He’d be the first to admit it, most of it went over his head. Sometimes when Kai spoke to him he thought that he understood the words well enough individually, but when they were strung together as they were, they may as well have been in French.

He really had no real interest in knowing whether it was more appropriate to bow or be bowed to when he met other members of the aristocracy which he was now technically a part of. He was doing his best to absorb what he could for Anna’s sake. He hated the idea that his lack of knowledge would reflect poorly on her because at the end of the day, even barely seeing her for a week, he cared deeply for her. He knew that part of making their marriage work was putting the effort in to understand her world.

When the lessons ended for the day, he would sometimes, but not always, have dinner with her. It felt like a small blessing to just be in her space since the announcement of the festival celebrating their engagement. He thought that it might be prudent to spend more time with her given that they were meant to at least appear a happy and doting couple to the public, but that detail seemed to be moot to whoever had decided to plan their days apart.

He supposed that he would seem in love with her regardless because he did have a fondness for her. He was beginning to understand the meaning of “distance makes the heart grow fonder” with each passing day. Every time they managed to dine together, he could often barely calm the racing of his heart while watching her enter the dining room, watching her sit across from him, close enough to look, but not to touch.

She’d ask him about what he had done each day and would share, in return, the plans she’d been making with her sister and the staff for the festival. He’d watch her carefully as they dined, noting the exhaustion in her posture that kept them from discussing much of anything past that. It was usually his only interaction with her each day, and it was always entirely too short.

Every night since the start of their overscheduled days, he’d slept in his room alone. Anna was usually needed elsewhere after dinner, attending to decisions and meetings that had been pushed late into the night. Sometimes she was being stolen for a fitting for her festival gown, other times decoration choices, and at least once she’d been taken for a chocolate tasting. That at least seemed to be the least objectionable way for her to spend her evenings of the lot. Each night he’d waited for her to return in vain, and each night he’d eventually headed to bed alone.

It had become strangely lonely to climb into his bed at the end of each day, knowing that she would do the same on the opposite side of their shared door. He’d slept alone for his entire life, but after only a few nights with Anna in his arms, he hated the way it felt to lay in the large empty bed without her. Some nights he would stay awake a short while, expecting to hear her knock or laying there wondering if she wanted him to knock. He’d never heard her knock though, he’d just hear the opening of her door, the soft thuds of drawers and doors as she prepared for bed, and then silence.

From across the room, the small chest he stored his things in would taunt him with the memory of something she’d said just a few days before. A crystal sat amongst his belongings, untouched, waiting for him to work up the courage to remove it from its wrappings.

It would make things so much simpler.

Or infinitely more complicated.

He’d fall asleep like that, wondering whether he should knock, whether he should bring her the gem, whether he should just let things be, or whether he should just go spend the night in the stables with Sven and his worries.

At least then I’d have someone to talk to. I don’t even care that he doesn’t speak back.

He slept in his bed each night, and when he woke each morning, he’d feel like he’d barely slept. By the end of the week, he could see the bags under his eyes when he shaved. Only two weeks living in the lap of luxury and it was already exacting a price from him.

At this rate I’ll be grey in a month.

When the knock came again, he sighed, cleaned the remaining soap from his face and shouted for the knocker to enter. He assumed that Kai was arriving with another of his famously packed schedules. While Kristoff rather liked the man, he’d begun to dread his morning arrival. He’d lived his entire life unscheduled, never bothering to pay much attention to the calendar or clock, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled by the concept of time being his master instead of he being the master of it.

The door swung open behind him with only a light sound of protest from the hinges that were still getting used to the room having an occupant. It had been unoccupied for many years, and the door seemed to have enjoyed its time off as even oiling it hadn’t stopped its protest. The soft click of its closure came immediately after, and Kristoff awaited the address from Kai that didn’t come.

There was, instead, a soft clicking of heeled shoes on the wood floor behind him as he wiped the water from his face. He didn’t think much of it or course, not until he heard another familiar voice that made his heart race.

“Kristoff?”

Anna’s voice startled him. Of course, they usually had a quick morning conversation over breakfast, but she hadn’t been in his room, nor he in hers, in a week. He turned to see her, red faced and staring at his chest.

She looked tired as well and there was a sort of tearfulness to her eye that made him nervous. She clearly hadn’t been sleeping well, and he wondered if she had been upset by something. He could admit to being a little more emotional than usual when he was tired, so he could relate, but he couldn’t quite read what was going on with Anna as she stared at him.

He tossed the towel aside. His hair, which he had been about to comb, was still wet and he could feel rivulets of water dripping down his back and over his chest. Despite the warmth of the sun through his window, he felt cool, hairs standing up on his arms as he closed the space between them in long strides.

As he approached, she was still staring at him, her face flushed, and her lips parted slightly as if she were about to say something. She said nothing though, and he started to understand her expression a bit better. There was exhaustion there of course, but it was only serving to exacerbate the absolute frazzled countenance and posture she was currently performing.

It made him relax a bit. She didn’t look upset per say and he did know that his wife was not a morning person. He also had the sneaking suspicion that there was a small tinge of embarrassment in her eye and that it could explain the flush on her cheeks.

She blinked after a moment and looked up from his chest to meet his eye. He started to get the sense from as quickly as she looked away and to the floor that he understood.

Embarrassment.

It was a feeling that he had become remarkably familiar with in the last couple weeks. He’d spent years of his life half or completely naked in the woods, not knowing what it was like to worry about how he looked or sounded, but the castle was quickly making him aware of just how embarrassed he should be about, well, everything.

It was a feeling that he wasn’t particularly fond of in any way shape or form, but it was something he was getting used to. There was something at least a little bit reassuring in being comfortable with discomfort, knowing it was part of the process. Kai had been kind enough to show him that in their lessons, telling him that he was in the perfect position to always act as if he’d done nothing wrong even when he slipped up, and that if he didn’t react it didn’t give anyone else the room to do so either.

“I’m…” she started to stretch her hand out, reaching for him like she was going to press her palm into his chest.

He didn’t back away or shift from her reach, but her hand fell anyway.

“Sorry. I’m… I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you to be… well that is… I didn’t know you were still getting ready. I’ll, oh gosh. I’ll leave.”

It all clicked into place then, and Kristoff couldn’t help but feel oddly amused. He felt a smile creeping to his face, completely unbidden, for the first time in a long while. He shook his head.

“No, you’re fine. I just finished up. I just need to put a shirt on and comb my hair. Did you need something?”

She seemed to collect herself somewhat as he responded. He watched as she nodded in return, still flushing, but focusing a bit more on making eye contact with him despite it.

“I thought that we could, um, skip the meetings today? I had Kai clear your schedule. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be nice to just get out for the day.”

Her voice went soft when she added, quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

He felt like she’d just handed him the most perfect gift he’d ever received. There was nothing he could imagine ever wanting more than spending time away from the castle with her. There was no greater gift than a break from the frustrating monotony of lessons with the built-in bonus of having her at his side.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He turned from her for a moment, crossing the room back to his dressing table. It was a motion with a twofold intention, allowing her to flush again without the scrutiny of his eye, and allowing him to dress and get ready as soon as possible. He could all but feel her relax behind him once his shirt was on, and it almost made him chuckle.

He remembered her sleeping against his bare chest, her face smushed against him as she slept in the most ridiculous and endearing way possible. It was a happy and sad memory, still fresh in his thoughts from how recent it had been. He’d enjoyed feeling her against him, but still remembered what it had felt like to have her shaking, crying into his shirt just before they slept. He pondered why seeing him without a shirt in the light of day was somehow more blush-worthy but decided that he’d rather not dig too deep into it. He’d be happy if they saw a day where she wasn’t embarrassed around him at all. She had no reason to be.

“You look nice,” she said after a short time.

He’d felt her eyes on him as he’d finished readying himself for the day. He walked over to her, tying his sash around his waist as he went.

He hadn’t been convinced by Kai to change his style of dress, and he had been grateful that the man hadn’t really tried to convince him to do so at all. As a result of this, he was told that he had more clothes coming to him than he’d ever owned before, and that they would be in finer fabrics than he’d ever ben about to afford. He was grateful though that they would mostly mimic the styles he’d always worn, and that they would fit. He couldn’t ask for a better outcome to his tailoring situation than that.

He would have locked himself in the palace’s dungeon before he would have worn all the frills and layers of other men of station. He understood the need for a good suit but would never quite be on board with lace. He evidently had a set of formalwear arriving soon, and while he wasn’t particularly excited about it, he had been promised that his daily wear would not be nearly so embellished and that what he had coming was downright innocuous compared to the season’s fashions. Kai had called it “timeless” and he hoped that what he meant by that was “simple”.

Anna seemed cautious when she walked to his side after offering the compliment. Kristoff held his breath when she reached out a hand and gently smoothed a wrinkle in the front of his shirt with her palm.

Having her hands on him always felt good. There was no denying the fact that he enjoyed her attentions, and he couldn’t help but grin when her touch lingered a little longer than strictly necessary. He’d been longing to see her for days, to hold her hand, to even stand near her side.

“Thank you,” he said quietly after he allowed himself to breathe again.

He turned his attention to what she wore. It was perhaps the simplest dress he’d ever seen her wear, save of course for her nightgowns. It was dark green with some small embroidered details around the neck. It looked a bit like little flowers and birds, though he didn’t dare dip his head down towards her neck to investigate further. He didn’t think he could keep himself from pressing a kiss to her neck if he did. Even without further inspection, the fabric seemed light, like if he touched her waist while she wore it, she might be able to feel the roughness of his fingers through it.

“You look beautiful.”

She grinned at the compliment and he couldn’t help but feel grateful that she was happy to hear such a thing from him of all people.

“Thank you.”

He watched as she laced her fingers together behind her back and fidgeted a bit. Her nervousness came through when she spoke again.

“Since we’re going out I didn’t want to wear anything that would draw too much attention. I’m glad you still like it.”

He almost laughed, but held the reaction in. He wondered how she could ever be nervous about her appearance, as if she weren’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As if he wouldn’t have thought that she was gorgeous even if they weren’t married. As if every man with eyes in a mile wouldn’t notice her even if she wore rags.

“I’ve told you before Anna, you’ll still turn heads. It has nothing to do with what you wear.”

He meant it, and he was rewarded by a shy smile and the unlacing of her fingers from each other, only to slip between his. The way his heart raced from her simply holding his hand made his face red.

Does she know how easily I’d fall apart for her?

He had to chase the thought away. He had to focus on the moment they were in before he said something he shouldn’t, something they weren’t ready for yet.

“So,” he asked, “What are we doing today?”

She shrugged a bit, then started to pull him toward the door to the hallway with her. He didn’t resist, letting himself be tugged along at her mercy.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Every time she smiled, with every moment he spent holding her hand, he fell in love a bit deeper.

***

Anna’s morning had, thus far, not gone according to plan. Of course, there had barely been a plan to begin with, but blushing like a schoolgirl over seeing her husband shirtless and having her sister find out about her intentions to leave the castle weren’t exactly indicative of what it was that she’d had in mind.

As a consequence of the latter unplanned component of her day, she now found herself and her fortunately-and-unfortunately-fully-dressed husband being followed by a royal guard in full uniform. She felt like she was thirteen, being chaperoned on a date instead of being an adult woman out on a walk with her husband.

It’s not like I’m planning to snog him in the middle of the market.

Then a more judicious thought.

Of course, I didn’t plan a lot of things that have been happening lately.

She shook it off and instead focused on her recollection of her conversation with her sister.

“There’s still some unrest amongst the people Anna, what would you do if someone decided to take their anxiety out on you?”

She’d wanted to respond in several ways, most of which were incredibly sarcastic, but the forerunners had been each unique in their ability to elicit a response from her sister.

I would survive. You’ve taken your anxieties out on me twice.

From Elsa: Sadness.

I would fight them.

From Elsa: Long suffering exhaustion.

I would let my incredibly big and strong husband take care of it for me while I ogle him from the sidelines because while I love to fight my own battles, I also think it would be nice to watch him fight someone for me so I could watch those biceps flex.

Embarrassment on both of their parts.

Anna had, in the last week of barely seeing him but at meals and in passing, taken a particular interest in her husband’s physique. The morning’s events were not even close to the first time she’d looked at him and thought about what it would be like to be in his arms again, to have his large hands spanning her waist, lifting her off her feet and up closer to him.

So close that we could kiss.

She’d been longing for his touch since the first night she’d slept along. All week, once she managed to slip into a fitful sleep, she’d dreamt of him kissing her. She could still remember how real it had felt in her sleep, not that she knew what it would really feel like. They’d kissed at their wedding, her first and only “real” kiss, but the sort of deep, attentive kiss she’d received from him in her dream was something she’d never experienced.

I want to. I desperately want to.

They were in the residential district of the city. The cobbles of the path were fairly worn, but even below her feet. There were places here and there that she was already mentally noting needed improvement. A few lamps had cracked glass that likely made them unreliable on breezy evenings, some places in the road were low and held water that didn’t drain off easily. She would tell Elsa and ensure that a more formal investigation of the city and national infrastructure was eventually made. Personally, she thought that such a thing might be the better way to improve public opinion of the monarchy than a grand display of power and wealth, but she couldn’t pretend that her wedding hadn’t improved things.

Every now and then as they walked, she’d catch someone looking at her twice. Most people were away from home, working or learning at school, but a few people were home or in the area. Older people and young mothers mostly looked at her with recognition, and she did her best to give them a shy smile without giving the indication that she was available to stop and chat. It was a delicate dance. She liked to speak with her people, of course, but she truly just wanted to spend some time with her husband. One tagalong is already bad enough.

She’d wanted to go to the market. She’d thought it might be enjoyable to see the wares she’d only watched traded from above, but her unwanted guard had insisted that “her royal highness and her consort refrain from entering any highly trafficked and indefensible zones” which had, essentially made a trip to the market impossible unless she wanted a full guard detail.

That would certainly inspire confidence in the monarchy. Hello peasants, we don’t trust you to not murder our Princess, don’t mind the platoon of men you may or may not know who are, at any moment, prepared to stab you!

She’d all but felt Kristoff rolling his eyes in response to the guard’s words. It was like she sensed the expression he was making at her side before she’d even caught him actually making it.

“It’s just a little further… I think,” she said a bit nervously, squeezing Kristoff’s arm as they walked down the street together.

There were a few specialty shops that weren’t housed in the market district, and while she hadn’t visited any of them in many years, she thought that she’d recalled the location of the shop she was after. Thought, of course was the appropriate term given that nothing looked exactly as it had the last time she’d been in the area. The years had a funny way of changing things, and she hadn’t been to the shop without her mother which was indicative of the time that had passed since she’d seen it last.

Kristoff didn’t seem to mind the somewhat aimless walking they were doing. Anna suspected that if she told him the locations she desired to reach, he’d have an answer for her, but she liked keeping it a secret. It gave some small crumb of fun back to the adventure which had been intended to be more daring before their escort had been assigned.

“I bet you know these streets better than I do,” she said after a few more moments of walking, giving voice to her thoughts.

Mostly she was just endeavoring to break the silence between them. He’d seemed rather thrilled to leave the castle, but he’d been quiet since they left. She had a feeling that their unwelcome follower was making him as uncomfortable as it was making her annoyed.

“Not so much in these side streets,” he replied.

He pulled her ever so slightly right as they walked, helping her to avoid a puddle she hadn’t noticed until he was steering her around it. It was sweet, she thought, that he was saving her shoes from getting damp. She also didn’t mind how easily he’d pulled her even closer to his side with the gesture, putting her even more in his space.

“I do know the market fairly well though. When I sell ice I tend to stay over that way.”

Anna nodded and gave him an appreciative squeeze for the assistance with the puddle. He was absolutely the helpful sort, but somehow she doubted that he advertised himself that way. She got the distinct sense in his interactions with the guards, the staff, and anyone else she’d seen him forced to interact with, that he’d rather be seen as gruff and unapproachable. He wasn’t overly so with her, but she sometimes felt that he acted like a grump when in reality he just felt awkward or uncomfortable.

She tended to talk a lot when she felt the same way. It was something she knew about herself, that she dealt with anxiety with exuberance and self-deprecation. She was trying to get a better handle on it, and now with Kristoff at her side she found that it was easier to lean on him for support when she was feeling out of control. She hoped that he’d find he could do the same with her.

When she noticed the shop she was looking for nestled between two houses to their left she excitedly tugged Kristoff in return. She hadn’t been there in a great many years, but the old building still looked the way she remembered it as a child.

Oaken’s Thrifted Goods, Antiques and Consignments.

She’d traveled there every now and again with her mother who, despite being the Queen of their nation, was practical and more interested in the old than the new. They’d always looked for things there that reminded her mother of her youth, little things that were made by hand that reminded Anna that while few knew it, her mother had been common as well.

She sometimes wished that she had asked more questions of her mother, that she had learned the story of how she’d met her father and how they’d come to be wed. All Anna did know was that Iduna wasn’t born in Arendelle and that she was not royal by blood. There were some records somewhere in the archives about her being given a duchy somewhere in the direction of the hinterlands, and with the suddenness that she’d shown up in her father’s public life, she supposed that everyone must have assumed that she was born noble and had simply spent her whole life in the hills.

Maybe, she thought, Kristoff wouldn’t feel so out of place if he knew that he was not the first consort to Arendelle royalty to have been born common. She wondered if he would take comfort in the fact that the nation’s Queen hadn’t had an ounce of royal blood and that it had been purposeful. Marrying for love was not common for aristocracy, but her parents had done it.

“Oaken’s?”

Kristoff seemed confused, staring at the sign for a moment as if in disbelief.

“Yes?”

Anna stopped short of the door, feeling as confused as he was, her confusion having everything to do with his confusion and nothing to do with the shop before them. She didn’t think that the shop had ever moved. It might have changed hands in the years since she’d been there last, the owner had been an older man so she supposed it was possible that the shop was now run by someone who was not an Oaken. She wondered if that was the point of confusion for him, maybe he thought that the business had been renamed or something.

“There’s an Oaken who owns a trading post up in the mountains. It couldn’t be the same guy, right?”

Anna shrugged; she really couldn’t say for sure. She was glad to understand why he was confused, and she couldn’t help but try to recall whether or not the last name was terribly common.

“Because uh…” he looked back toward the guard, and then back at Anna seeming a little sheepish.

He ducked down and whispered in her ear, “The Oaken I know, he and I occasionally get into arguments over pricing. We’ve mostly worked it out, but I thought you should know in case we walk in and I get the stink eye.”

Anna tried to hold back her laugh, but to no avail.

He gave her an exasperated look when she walked them through the door, turning back to tell the guard he wasn’t needed indoors.

“Yet.”

***

Kristoff was grateful to know that the Oaken inside the shop was not the Oaken he’d recently had some “pricing debates” with. They rarely really argued, but he’d felt on one or two occasions that his arguments with Oaken brought the usually even-tempered man to the point of anger. They’d always sorted it out of course, but he was still waiting for the day that the man would throw him out on his rear over a debate.

No, this Oaken was much older, possibly the father of the man he knew, or some other elderly relative given the similarity of their faces and builds. He seemed similarly even tempered thus far, but perhaps a bit less enthusiastic. He’d been pleasant with Anna of course, recognizing her as the crown Princess and evidently a former customer, but he’d also told them in no unspecific terms that he was too old to help them and that if they had any questions, they should come to him because he was not going to them.

“Isn’t it so neat in here?”

Kristoff couldn’t help but smile as he saw Anna taking in the many items packed into the small building. They were arranged neatly, everything from old steamer trunks and hand-crafted furniture to piles of old keys and shelves of dusty books.

Anna grinned at all of it, openly gazing about the space like it was full of gold instead of second and third hand items. He thought that it was charming in a way, that the practical used items of the people who lived in her kingdom were of interest to her.

“My mother and I used to spend hours here when I was a little girl. She taught me how to sew using old tablecloths we bought here… not that I’m particularly good at it, but I can put a button back on if I need to.”

He couldn’t help but find her excitement at least a little bit contagious as he gazed upon the shelves and tables of items with her. There was something about the well-worn tools and broken in chairs in the space that spoke to him in a way that the fancy spotless trappings of the castle just couldn’t. He’d always been practical, and the items here were nothing if not sensible.

“It’s strange for me to try to imagine a Queen here,” he said, hoping that she took no offense to his saying so.

He was happy when he noticed Anna smiling fondly.

“My mom wasn’t really the royal type… not that she didn’t act like a Queen, because she did. She just never saw the point in waste, and she liked simple things. I have a shawl of hers that she had since she was a girl, a pretty handmade thing that she mended herself. That’s how I usually remember her; warm and pragmatic.”

“I’d probably describe my mom the same way,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet yours.”

Anna looked sad for a moment, but Kristoff could tell that it wasn’t his fault. The space brought it out of her as much as it brought her joy. He knew it was her first time here without her, and he was glad that they were talking about it. He was glad that she’d brought him somewhere so important to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she said before taking a deep breath and adding, “she would have liked you.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave her what he hoped came off as an appreciative smile and squeezed her hand.

When she squeezed back and leaned into this side, for the first time in a week, he felt like he could truly relax.

“I thought we’d look for some things for your room?”

There was a bit of trepidation in her voice that he registered as nerves coming through. He wondered how long they would be nervous when they spoke to each other, how often they’d be walking on glass with one another. He already trusted her, and he desperately wanted to show himself to be worthy of her trust in return. Testing the already tenuous bonds of their fledgling relationship was understandably nerve wracking.

“I don’t really need much… I brought most of my things with me.”

He didn’t want to shut her down. He didn’t want to say no when she clearly wanted to do something with him. He just was unused to the idea of buying things for himself. He usually only bought what he couldn’t make or find himself

She’s trying.

“I… I know, it’s just… I know the room isn’t probably the way you want it to be. I remember your cabin being a lot cozier and I thought that maybe we could find some things here to make it a little more like that. Elsa suggested we get a decorator for you to consult with, but I kind of thought you’d hate that so…”

She let out a sort of nervous laugh and he felt his heart racing in his chest.

She’s been thinking about this. She’s been thinking about you.

“I… I’m not used to buying things… or having things bought for me. It just feels strange I suppose.”

Anna’s fingers slipped from his then, and the loss of contact was immediately distressing until she felt them tentatively shifting up his arm and wrapping around his bicep. She stepped in front of him and gave him a soft smile before pulling him in the direction of the nearby bookshelves that separated the front and back of the shop, forming an archway between them.

Once they had slipped past the shelves, she pulled him into a smaller alcove in the shop filled from floor to ceiling in small, labeled drawers. According to their labels they held everything from furniture hardware to saltshakers and children’s toys. She leaned into him once they were in the space, hiding them away in the already empty shop save for its owner.

“Please,” she said softly.

She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him. He thought that she looked a bit determined despite the hesitancy she’d shown a few minutes before.

“I know this is all new and strange to you, but I really just… I want to do something for you. Please? I wasn’t even able to get you a wedding gift, and frankly if you’re worried about money… I guess no one told you about my dowry?”

He blinked for a moment, trying to focus on what she was saying when all he could think about was that she was hugging him. A week away from her touch, and only being somewhat familiar with the feeling of having her wrapped around him was taking its toll on his mind. He was already frazzled, just by the way it felt to have her against him again.

He wrapped his arms around her in return and noticed the way she melted into him a little more as he did so. He did his best to catalogue all the ways in which she was making him feel, and he flushed a bit when he realized that the embrace, combined with the doe eyed gaze she was giving him, was causing a very specific sort of reaction in him that he’d thus far been managing in her presence.

His wife was beautiful, he was getting a very good view of her freckled decolletage, and he was very much a man. He could feel his face going red again.

“I’m sorry,” he said a bit nervously realizing he hadn’t really heard what she’d said, “What?”

“I want to get you some things as a wedding gift, but if you’d prefer… I guess no one told you about the dowry, but there’s…” she cleared her throat, seeming embarrassed to be discussing money with him, “there’s a lot there. I think you have an account with the treasury, maybe Kai was going to tell you later, but anyway… you can afford to purchase things on your own if you want… I just, I really wanted to do something for you today. I wanted to do something with you.”

He almost asked about the dowry, the heart attack that revelation gave him being enough to distract him from the line his thoughts had been running in, but he could tell the discussion was making Anna uncomfortable. He didn’t exactly feel like telling her in this fraught moment that he wanted no bride price from her, and that certainly didn’t need the sort of exorbitant amount of money she was implying.

“If you would enjoy it,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat when the words came out a bit muddled, “I’m sure we could find something. You’re right, the room isn’t exactly cozy.”

I can’t tell her that I prefer her room over mine.

She smiled then and leaned her head into his chest. He felt the tension leaving both of their bodies when he pulled her closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss into her hair and reveled in the soft sound she made in return. He longed for the day he’d kiss her properly.

***

Anna had almost felt bad relegating their guard to purchase handling duty.

Almost.

Of course, it hadn’t been his fault that he’d been sent to mettle in her day plans, but she was still a little miffed that he’d prevented her from taking Kristoff into the market to pick out some new things for his room. She knew that it was because Elsa had been the one to insist upon his guarding, but Anna wished that sometimes people were more amenable to bending her sister’s rules. She certainly was herself.

It didn’t matter now though, not when she felt Kristoff’s hand at her back, supporting her on the ladder they’d requested be brought up to his room so that Anna could hang the sage green curtains they’d managed to find at the shop.

He’d laughed at her glee over finding them, and she’d felt genuinely happy to be laughed at. She liked that her enthusiasm brought him joy, and truly she hadn’t felt like she was being laughed at by him. The better term would be that he was laughing with her, and she thought that if it was something that they could do together every day, their marriage would be exactly what she’d always wanted.

All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to love me.

She saw it in his eye when he helped her off the ladder. The joy of sharing the domesticity of the day with her, the spark of something that she might dare call like if not love. She held the joy it brought her in her heart, locked it up tight so that nothing that might occur in the next week leading up to the festival might steal it from her.

“You’re right,” he said warmly, “They do make it feel less…”

“Formal,” she finished.

The curtains were simple, a plain sage green with some small vines at the very top and bottom embroidered in white thread. Had she been any good at it, or had she had the patience for it, she liked to think that it would have been the sort of thing she would have made for him.

He nodded, and she felt his hands linger at her waist even when she was standing back on solid ground.

They’d shared lunch when they’d returned, eating it at the table in his room that was now decorated with a small candle holder she’d found that reminded them both of Sven’s antlers.

“When they bring the high back chairs up from storage, I think that’ll help too. We can have them put by the fireplace.”

She’d insisted that since he hadn’t allowed her to purchase any furniture for him, even used, that he select some furniture from the castle storage to improve the comfort of the space. He had selected a few items from a list she’d sent for while they were dining and she was rather pleased by his choices.

Making his room more comfortable for him was something that she was taking great enjoyment from.

That I’m also making it more comfortable for me is just a bonus.

She couldn’t really lie to herself. It was, in part, by design that she had insisted on two chairs instead of one, and that she’d encouraged him to pick a lovely quilt from the shop that made her think of the one they’d been wrapped in at his cabin. She couldn’t deny that she was thinking ahead to a time where perhaps she’d spend more time in his space, though she could hardly dare to think about a time beyond that, a time where his things would blend together with hers and where they would spend every night together. A time where the door between their rooms wouldn’t be needed.

Her heart raced every time the thought crossed her mind.

He lifted up the last remaining item they had to find a home for, a small wooden trinket box that he’d taken an interest in early on in their search. It had been amongst a pile of tools but had not been large enough to hold any of them. It was simple, smaller than her jewelry boxes, but roomy enough to fit a few small objects. The top had a line of trees burned into it but was the only decoration on the piece.

“I think I know what belongs in here,” he said after a few moments of looking it over.

I think I do too.

Her heart raced when he crossed the room to his chest and kneeled to the floor to open it. She’d been hoping, quietly, almost secretively to even herself, that he would want to show her the crystals again.

What did it mean? Why did he nearly kiss me after I told him about the glow?

***

The crystals were wrapped loosely in scraps of fabric, protecting their rough natural edges from chipping and breaking. He could feel the soft hum of magic inside each of them, even through the cloth. His parents had taught him how to feel it, encouraging him to focus on it and to guide the magic into his hands. He would never be able to control it as they did. Magic didn’t run in his blood like it did theirs, but as Anna approached behind him, he made the choice to show her, at least as much as he could, the importance of the gems.

He patted the floor beside him and was grateful when she didn’t hesitate to sit at his side in front of the box. He watched as she quickly settled herself to his side, her knees bumping into his gently as she sat.

“I think they deserve a special home,” he said, gesturing to the box he’d already set on his other side.

One deserves a very special home. It belongs with you.

The thought didn’t exactly catch him off guard as much as it slipped through the cracks of the wall he’d been holding it behind. He couldn’t admit to himself that he had a great deal of hope about what Anna had said before about the crystal, because to admit that would be to invite disappointment when the outcome was decidedly not what he was hoping for.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I love her. If it’s not by fate it’s at least by choice.

He took some small comfort in it as he unwrapped the gems and lifted out the yellow one first.

“This one,” he said, focusing on the way it felt warm in his palm, encouraging it to give off a light glow, “is a fire crystal. They come in a few shades of red and orange and yellow. The trolls can actually start fires with them, but I can get it to warm up a little if I really focus on it.”

After a moment of quiet between them he heard her gasp as the crystal began to glow a pale yellow. He couldn’t help but grin when he handed it to her and let her watch the glow fade. He noticed the way she hovered a hand above the stone feeling the slight warmth radiate off of it from above as she felt it in her palm. She seemed thoroughly impressed and he couldn’t help but feel a bit proud to have been able to show it to her.

He handed her the small box and watched as she carefully set the stone inside. Once she was finished, he pulled out the next crystal, the blue one. He’d never had quite as much luck getting an effect with it, but he could make it glow.

“This one is a water crystal. The trolls can get them to make rain, but I’ve only ever been able to get a little condensation on the outside and I’m not convinced it wasn’t just sweat from my hand.”

When she laughed he felt light.

It’s easy to feel hopeful when everything she does makes my heart race.

The gem let off a light glow, but little more. She seemed impressed nevertheless and when he handed it to her, she focused on it in her palm for a short while before setting it too into the box with great care.

He had to remind himself to breathe watching her look from the box to him. When her eye met his, a strange knowingness there, he felt fear leave him. They were so close that he could easily kiss her, just by leaning in. He let the cloth fall away from the last crystal and forced himself to inhale deeply, breaking their eye contact to turn his attention to the pale pink gem.

She’s my wife. I love her.

“This one,” he began, lifting it from the fabric with his other hand to show her better, “This one is special. Every man in my family receives one when they reach adulthood, and they guard it closely. Its magic is special because it’s tied to the heart. I never really listened to everything my father told me about it because I never thought I’d have a reason to show it to anyone, but…”

She was looking at him intently, her eyes meeting his and then glancing to his lips. He felt his heart racing.

“Why doesn’t it glow when you hold it?” she asked, breaking the long silence where he’d let his speech drop off.

He gave her a soft, almost rueful smile. She felt like there was a joke there that she didn’t understand.

“Because it’s mine,” he started, then after a moment’s thought, continued, “It’s confusing and hard to explain if you weren’t raised knowing about it, but essentially the trolls think that everyone has a fated partner, a second half. You know they believe in fate, we discussed it when you met them, but this is the ultimate show of that belief. The only person that is supposed to make your gem glow is your soulmate.”

She flushed and he longed to give her a better reason to do so than a crystal. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and tell her that it didn’t matter whether or not it glowed when she touched it. He wanted to kiss her and show her how little it mattered to him, but it would be a lie.

It does matter. I love her. I want her to see that I will only ever love her.

He knew she’d be crushed if it didn’t.

He watched as she extended her hand to him slowly. There was a shine to her eye that he understood as nerves. She’d told him before that the gem had glowed when she’d touched it, but he had thought about all the things it could have been, and was sure that she was worried about it as well.

A trick of the light, a fluke, a misremembrance from a day where she’d been given shock after shock.

“You don’t have to.”

She gave him a soft smile in return.

“I think we both know that I do.”

There was a finality in the way she cautiously uncurled her fingers, insisting that he deposit the gem in her hand. He wondered if she truly believed what she had seen before, or if the nerves he had seen in her were from the concern that it wouldn’t react to her touch.

He dropped it into her palm and felt the racing of his heart reach a crescendo.

Pink.

***

Anna felt her heart racing as he handed her the gem. She could see in his eyes that this meant even more than he was saying.

Soulmates. The glowing means we’re soulmates.

She’d spent her whole life wanting to be wanted, wanting to be someone’s everything. She tried to shake off her concerns that she’d been seeing things before when she’d made the gem glow in his cabin, but it was hard to believe that she had always been meant for someone, that she and Kristoff had been fated to be together.

She saw the shakiness of his normally steady hand as he held the gem over her palm, and she had to remind herself to breathe in the moments before he released it into her hand.

She gasped when the cold gem hit her skin and immediately sent a bright pink glow across her palm.

Fate.

Soulmates.

She’d already known. Something inside her had known since their wedding night, even before the trolls, that with Kristoff was where she was meant to be. The confirmation had her joyous.

He wrapped his hand over hers when he recognized the light, squeezing the gem between their palms and doing nothing to dampen the glow. If anything, Anna thought that it might be glowing even more under the combined touch of their skin. She didn’t have long to notice whether it was true or not though, because her view was quickly blocked by Kristoff entering her space.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her to him enthusiastically. She let an appreciative, borderline needy, sound slip from her mouth and was rewarded by the press of his lips to hers.

It was a remarkably different kiss to the one they’d shared at their wedding. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t chaste, and it wasn’t required.

She took the hand that was not entwined with his and let it slip up to his hair naturally. She’d wanted to slide her fingers through his hair for well over a week, and now it felt instinctive to do so. Her hand squeezed a bit tighter against his as she deepened the kiss, feeling the way he drew her in even closer as she did so.

She didn’t try to tame the soft sounds of pleasure that slipped from her mouth and into his, she didn’t fight it when he kissed her breathless. She simply forged ahead, feeling safe and loved in her husband’s arms, kissing him with love and appreciation.

My husband. My soulmate. How could I ever have doubted it for even a moment?

***

He hated to be the one to break the kiss, especially after being the one to initiate it. Unfortunately, what he could remember of his family’s tradition dictated that he stop kissing her at some point. He had work to do now, and there was only one place he could do it.

He let his free hand slide up from where he’d been holding her, to her cheek, cradling it. Her eyes were still half lidded and showed pleasure in their darkness as she looked from his lips to his eyes. She was glowing as much as the gem was, and he couldn’t help but to take a moment to just stare at how beautiful his wife was.

She leaned her head into his palm lovingly, almost nuzzling him. He thought that someday if she allowed him to, they’d sit just like this again and he’d count each and every freckle on her nose and cheeks. It was a scene that played out nicely in his thoughts, giving him the strength through promises of the future, to pull away.

“I’m sorry Anna, but I have to leave for tonight. I have to go do something… I have to tell…”

“You have to tell your family,” she said matter of factly, understanding in the face of his uncertain apologetics.

“It’s okay,” she added after a moment, “I’ll still be here when you come home.”

What she didn’t say, but what he heard in her tone was the “I love you”.

He leaned in again and when she kissed him, he felt the words in the act. He tried his best to give it to her in return.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Anna, my wife, my soulmate, I love you.

Someday soon he’d say it out loud.

#kristanna #frozen fanfiction #A Convenient Arrangement #Arranged Marriage AU

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reinerispretty · 5 years ago

Text

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt22

hello!!! thank you all for your very kind words i super appreciate you :) happy reading! (u ask i deliver)

pt1

pt21

pt23

A lot of her time was spent enduring criticism from generals, noblemen, and other advisors on how to run the country. Each idea she had was continuously shot down. She knew they were only taking advantage of Zuko’s absence, but their blind defiance of her made her angry. She was only trying to help! Why couldn’t they see that?

The exciting things always seemed to happen while (Y/N) was asleep. She woke to a commotion happening outside of her door. Blinking the sleepiness from her eyes, she slipped on her robe and slippers and peered her head outside of her room. She watched Azula dart past and Zuko running closely after her. (Y/N) blinked, rubbing her eyes once more to confirm that was what she saw. Sure enough, Azula was running down the halls of the palace, laughing hysterically as she did so.

Her presence made no sense to (Y/N). Azula was supposed to be in prison, locked away so tightly that she couldn’t bring harm to anyone. So why was she running around the palace?

The event had surprised (Y/N) enough to wake her up. She ran down the hall after the two siblings, following them out of the palace, down through the gardens, and into a side building whose purpose she had never been sure of. She reached the two just in time to see Azula shut herself behind a door that could only be opened using firebending. Silently, she and Zuko used their bending to open the doors.

The heavy wood parted, revealing a secret study that obviously belonged to Ozai, if the portrait of him above the fireplace was any indication. Azula was at the back of the room, rifling through a chest before popping back up with an, “Aha!” She clutched thin pieces of paper in her pale hands. Turning around, she flashed a smile at (Y/N).

“Oh, Zuzu, you didn’t tell me (Y/N) was going to be here! I’ve been looking forward to catching up with her.”

“What are you doing, Azula?” (Y/N) demanded. Azula ignored her, instead focusing on Zuko.

“Father and I have been getting along very nicely since we’ve been in prison. He even told me about these letters,” She fanned herself with the pages. “That Mother wrote before she was banished. They might be the key to you finding her.”

“Give them to me.” Zuko stretched out his hand, practically begging his sister. “Azula, please.” The girl stared at him for a moment before the letters went up in blue flames. She laughed as she saw the horrified expression on their faces.

“Relax, I know everything that was in these letters. Which is why if you want to find our mother, you’ll have to do it on my terms.”

“No,” (Y/N) said immediately. Zuko stared at her, his face contorted in confusion. “All she wants is to play games, Zuko, don’t let her. We can find your mother another way.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be able to,” Azula drawled, leaning against the large wooden desk of the study. “Not from what Father told me.”

“Azula always lies!” (Y/N) hissed at Zuko. He looked from (Y/N) to Azula, then back to (Y/N).

“I have to trust her,” Zuko said quietly. “Just this once.”

“You won’t regret this, Zuzu,” Azula smiled. “Now, my stipulations. I must accompany you, of course, unbound. No restraints whatsoever.”

Zuko ground his teeth. “Fine.”

(Y/N) flung her hands into the air and let out an exasperated sigh before leaving the room. She passed Suki and Ty Lee, who were no doubt on their way to restrain Azula for the time being. Zuko quickly chased after her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked once he had caught up with her, grabbing her by her forearm.

“She’s playing you, Zuko!” She exclaimed. “She doesn’t really care about you, or finding your mother.”

“I have to give her another chance.”

“Why? It’s not like she deserves it! She almost killed the both of us the last time we saw her!”

“Azula’s my family, (Y/N). You gave me another chance. I have to give her one, too.”

(Y/N) stared up at him. His amber eyes glimmered in the moonlight. He had shown her that everyone was capable of great change. But she couldn’t bring herself to award the same sympathy to Azula. The last time they had seen each other, Azula had nearly killed Zuko. If Katara hadn’t been there to heal him, he would have died. She wasn’t sure if that was something she could forgive.

“Come with me to find her,” Zuko pleaded. (Y/N) looked past him to see Suki and Ty Lee leading Azula back into the palace. She remembered Zuko hitting the ground and Azula’s wicked laugh. She shook her head.

“I understand and support you finding your mother, but I can’t be around her. It wouldn’t end well and I don’t want to ruin the reunion.”

“I get it.” She could see the disappointment lingering on his features. It made her feel incredibly guilty, but she new she had to protect herself. It wasn’t a good idea to put her and Azula together after everything that had happened.

She gave Zuko a half smile before returning to bed.

---

Zuko left a few days later, accompanied with Azula and their friends. (Y/N) was saddened that she might miss out on another adventure, but she knew it was for the best. After all, someone had to run the Fire Nation in Zuko’s absence.

After a particularly grueling argument with another general on the state of the world, (Y/N) had decided that she would like to spend the rest of her day sitting by the turtle duck pond. She brought a book and read under the big tree while eating an apple. Perhaps it was the physical and emotional distance between them, but (Y/N) missed Zuko when he was gone. Meetings flew by easier with him at her side. She had more patience for the old men that tried to argue with her.

A shadow appeared, blocking the sunlight from shining on (Y/N’s) book. She squinted up at the figure and recognized it as Ren, the son of one of the Earth Kingdom noblemen that had been particularly difficult with her today. Diplomats tended to bring their children along with them on important meetings so that they would better understand how they went when it came time for them to attend on their own. “Can I help you?” She asked.

“I’m Ren,” He said, extending his hand to her. She shook it slowly. “I just wanted to introduce myself to you and apologize for the way my father behaved today.”

“It’s alright,” She said with a shrug, taking another bite of her apple. “He wasn’t the first to be mean to me and he certainly won’t be the last.”

“May I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the grass beside her. She gave a noncommittal shrug, which he took as a yes. “I really liked your idea about holding a festival to promote unity in the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom.”

(Y/N) tilted her head. “How’d you get into the palace?”

“I’ve been here since the meeting. You left too quickly for me to talk to you, so I asked the servants where you were until one of them led me to you.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I promise I’m not trying to be weird, I just really wanted to let you know that you have someone rooting for you from the other side.”

She let out a small smile. “Well thank you, Ren, I appreciate that.” He smiled brightly at her before standing.

“I should probably get going, but I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow if you’ll be there?”

“When the Fire Lord’s out of town, I’m at every meeting.” He gave a quick nod before bowing and walking off of the palace grounds. She watched him as his figure retreated into a small blip on the horizon. What a weird guy.

As weeks progressed without Zuko’s return, Ren found more and more ways to worm his way into (Y/N’s) time. He would talk to her after every meeting and reassure her that the points she had made were smart and discussed very eloquently. He seemed genuine in his compliments, which made (Y/N) feel nice on the inside. She felt her confidence in meetings improve, as long as Ren was there to give her a big smile and thumbs up when no one was looking.

She liked to think that she helped him out, too. When they weren’t in meetings, they discussed ways to make their nations better. She let him know what might be well received by the other diplomats, which allowed him to come out of his shell a bit more during meetings. Some days, when they weren’t supposed to meet, she would invite Ren to sit under the big tree with her and feed the turtle ducks.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve never really hung out with anyone from the Fire Nation before,” Ren admitted one day as he tossed a slice of bread into the pond. The turtle ducks and their babies all swam toward it, instantly devouring it.

“I’ve never really hung out with anyone from the Earth Kingdom before, other than Toph. But she’s her own special brand of person.”

“Really? Not even when you were sent there?” She shrugged.

“My parents never wanted me to go outside of our house. I had to sneak out to see what the city was really like. But I never got to hang out with anyone and just be myself.”

“So they just kept you locked in all day?” She nodded. “Man, I didn’t think being engaged to the Fire Lord would stink that bad, but I guess so.”

(Y/N) stared at him, her brows furrowed. “I’m not engaged to the Fire Lord.” Ren stared back, confused.

“Really? You’re always in all of our meetings, I just assumed that you were preparing to be queen.” (Y/N) scoffed.

“I guess you’re not too far off. Zuko and I used to be betrothed or whatever, but that all got thrown out the window when he was banished. I’m just his friend that helps him handle all of his Fire Lord duties.”

“Oh,” Ren said, tossing another piece of bread into the pond. “Just to confirm, you and Fire Lord Zuko aren’t together?” She shook her head. “Then it wouldn’t be a problem if I asked to take you out on a date this weekend?”

(Y/N) analyzed him for a moment. Her heart had told her for the longest time that it belonged to Zuko, but maybe she just needed to find someone who could change that. And here was a cute, funny guy that she enjoyed spending her time with. She should take a chance.

“I don’t think that’d be a problem at all.”

---

Tag List!

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#atla #avatar #the last airbender #zuko x reader #sokka x reader #aang x reader #katara #toph #iroh #zuko #sokka #aang #momo #appa #azula #suki #writing #fanfiction

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years ago

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Terra Week Day 4 (Success/New Friends/Hang outs)

Word Count: 2,812

Summary: They find less answers and more questions. They bring the monster out.

Read on AO3

A/N: This is for Terra Week 2022!! You can find the event on Twitter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Scar Tissue, Ch. 4

Terra wakes in the middle of a busy street. Children bat balls and collide into each other when they don’t pay attention. Someone—a woman—nearly runs into Terra with a paper bag of groceries. Couples are ordering sweets from street vendors, and the air is permeated by the smell of steak and spices. Golden light drapes the cobblestone. The street lamps have been lit. The sun is already setting even though it’s morning (in Twilight Town, it always sets).

Behind him comes a flurry of heavy footsteps and gruff pants like that of a bull’s. Isa shoves his shoulder.

“You’ve left my front door open,” Isa barks, his jacket halfway on his shoulders as though he was in the middle of slipping his arms through the sleeves when he ran out of the apartment. He zips it up.

Terra groans, hiding his face behind his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Isa sighs. “I wasn’t sure what to think when I found you missing.”

Terra pats his pants and digs into his pockets. Relief sweeps over his shoulders when he touches his munny pouch—he didn’t leave it at the apartment. It’s as if his other self is at least the tiniest bit considerate. “Where can you buy cake around here?”

“After a stunt like the one you pulled, that’s the first question you ask me?” Isa rolls his eyes. He points to a bakery. Confections from Tiana’s Place. Imports from another world.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“We got a new hang-out?” Terra dips the box of cake bites away from reaching tree branches. They’re hiking through the woods behind Twilight Town, far from the direction of the ocean.

“An abandoned manor deep in the forest. It’s private.” Isa steps over an overstretched root. “There are Heartless lingering here, so beware.”

The warning doesn’t come soon enough when they’re suddenly surrounded by Shadows. Most Heartless are weaker these days, as though their connection to Kingdom Hearts has been frayed. There’s always the occasional one that proves more resilient to attacks, hearts wanting and yearning too much to be dissuaded by weapons and magic. Unlike Unversed, Heartless have needs.

Terra slams the last Shadow on the head before it could slip its dirty paws into the cake. He opens the box—none of the frosting has been disturbed.

“We’re lucky,” Isa says, dispelling his Claymore. “There is a particularly nasty one haunting these woods.” After looking at Terra’s expression, Isa assures him. “We’re almost there.”

The mansion in question is in disrepair. Some of the windows are cracked, the curtains ripped or missing. One of the door handles to the entrance is loose, its door never closing all the way. Terra tries it—on the floor is a thick sheet of dust. The furniture inside is draped in fabric. The chandelier in chunks on the floor. It’s not dark inside the house, just a lot of shadows that the light has a hard time eliminating.

“It feels awful in here.” Terra shuts the door. It bounces back slightly.

“I cannot sense anything.”

“I don’t want to go in.”

“We can stay outside,” says a small voice. Naminé approaches them from behind, her notebook wrapped in her arms. She smiles. She’s always smiling.

Terra pats her head and lifts the box of cakes. “Look what I got you.”

Naminé sits on a stump of plaster, leftover from a broken column. She brings the box to her lap. Terra likes to get her gifts—she’s new to life, open to trying things. There’s so much for her to taste: saltwater from the ocean splashing into her face; coffee, bitter and sweet; burgers; plain steak, for protein; Aqua’s brownies. Today, Terra has brought her samples of cake: fudge, vanilla, strawberry, orange, sugar, lemon, and—

“What’s this one?”

“Turmeric.”

Her face scrunches up. “Okay… I don’t know what that is, but I’ll try it.”

“It’s the only cake I enjoy.”

“You don’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t like sweets.”

Naminé blinks at him, rolling her mouth as she takes a piece of turmeric.

“Dark is decent,” he clarifies. “Nut brittles, pistachios, pecan pie...”

“Inhuman, isn’t he?” Isa snatches half a piece of fudge. He smirks to himself.

Naminé wipes her hands. “I don’t like this one,” she says of the turmeric.

It doesn’t come as a surprise to Terra. The only other person he’s ever met who enjoys it is Aqua.

Naminé claps her hands. “There’s so much I’ve done in the last few days.”

She talks of making flower crowns with Xion, of scaling mountains and visiting beaches (yes, she’s swallowed ocean water—she never expected the waves to push against her that strongly).

“Will you learn how to swim?” Isa asks her.

She wants to.

She continues her little tales of adventures with the joy of a six-year-old. Much of what she appreciates would be taken for granted by anyone else. Sunsets and sunrises. Rainy and blustery days. Silk feels better than cotton. Rainwater doesn’t taste so bad. Rainbows are rare—why? Nobodies don’t feel much. She’s never felt so much. Terra will need to bring her to the Land of Departure one day so she can see what a real sky looks like.

“What’s wrong?” she asks Terra.

Terra blinks. His heart pounds. Usually, he’d be drifting off somewhere else, but he remembers everything she’s said. He’s not sure why, but thank goodness.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Like the door?”

Terra holds his breath. He shouldn’t be surprised. Naminé always had a way with the mind.

“I don’t know where it comes from,” he says quietly.

“From yourself,” Isa says. He leans on a completed column, save for chipped pieces at the top. He crosses his arms. “Am I right?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I will not pretend to understand much of Keyblade magic. But from what I know, I imagine that anything connected to your heart—in this case, a door that appears in your dreams, from the deepest, most sacred place of your entire being—must be a piece of yourself.”

“You’re saying that Darkness is a piece of the pie.”

“Isn’t it so for us all?” Isa waves his arms. “Don’t we all have a black door?”

“I don’t know.”

Naminé opens her notepad and gathers several crayons: orange, yellow, black. “Did you see a black door when Xehanort took control?”

“Never.” Terra never even had a chance to visit his Station of Awakening. He was asleep. Sometimes, he’d see a star or two or three in the distance. Only when he was fortunate.

“Then I agree with Isa. The door does not come from Xehanort.”

Terra sighs—it stutters, shakes and tightens. He’s relieved, he’s not.

Naminé begins drawing in circular motions. The eyes. It never feels like anything, when she works with you. Not the sense of a prong in the mind or a brush on the skin. If anything, she’s a friend who listens. A girl in a white dress. A bystander. Quiet. Sensitive. She wrinkles her nose. “Why are you concerned with mirrors?”

Terra leans back, sitting on the grass. “Am I the only one who finds them weird?”

Isa purses his lips.

Naminé slows down.

“When I look into the mirror—” Naminé flips to a blank page—“I only see myself. Even if there are other people in the background, or standing there with me, I’m always alone.” She smiles, and it looks so sad. “Mirrors are weird.”

She draws with the black crayon.

Isa steps off his column, and hovers over shoulder. “What can we do to bring out the Darkness haunting Terra?”

She looks up at him. “You think we should bring it out?”

“How else would we vanquish it?”

Naminé giggles. “You can hit him.”

“How nice.” Terra pushes her head.

“He’s right.” She pauses. “Terra, there is something you’re not expressing.”

Terra imagines Aqua’s face. And Ven’s. His Gummiphone pings, and he ignores it. Words sound hollow relative to what he’s done.

“Does it hurt?” she asks Terra.

Her questions are usually unspecific, as though they all must read her mind, too, and instinctively know the right answer. “What does?”

“The scar on your chest.”

“Not at all.” Terra places a hand to his heart. “Did you know: Scar tissue heals stronger than what you originally had.”

“Really?”

“That’s why they’re ugly sometimes. They grow too fast, but it leaves the skin thicker. Bones are stronger after you break them.”

Naminé thinks. “They’re also in your mind.”

Terra rubs the crown of her head. “Sometimes. Yes.”

“How do you stop them from growing?”

“You don’t.” He second-guesses his answer when she frowns. “You have to

outgrow

them.”

“Outlast them,” Isa adds. “We fortify after we hurt. We become more resilient.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “We might not otherwise stare down a ghost.”

Naminé looks at Isa’s X-shaped scar on his face. “May I?”

Isa nods his approval, and she traces her finger across his nose.

“See?” Terra asks.

Naminé brings her hand to her chest, over her heart. “You didn’t mention anything about the heart.“

Isa glances at Terra. I leave this to you.

Terra rips a grass blade off the ground. “Yes, they’re affected.”

“They hurt the most.”

He crumples blade into a ball. “Yes.”

“That’s sad.” She stares at her half-finished drawing. “I work with memories, which are tied to both your mind and your heart. Your mind is what organizes them. Your heart...” She holds the end of a crayon to her mouth. “When it turns to stone, your chains become brittle and rust away. So I always want to keep the heart soft. When I draw around scars, I usually have to un-knot them,” she says as though it’s as simple as spreading butter on bread.

Naminé loses her concentration in Terra’s eyes. She gasps. “I know where the eyes go,” she whispers. She draws lines, rushed and inspired. She stops. “It’s them.”

“Who?”

“Aqua and Ventus. They bring it out.”

His Gummiphone pings—another text. He pulls it out of his pocket.

Ven

I wake up and you aren’t here.

What gives?

Terra doesn’t know what to say back.

“I think we should try your idea,” he hears Naminé say softly to Isa.

“A duel?” Isa says back.

Naminé pauses. “I’m not sure. He needs to make peace with it.”

Terra stares at the text message. Words don’t come to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When he was a child, Terra once slipped on the terrace and fractured his skull at the base of a concrete step. He was practicing form and balance, and he wanted to impress. That day, he learned his body wasn’t invincible. He’s since carried a bump. He’s since had multiple appointments. Hair now won’t grow on the lining of the scar, the follicles gone and knotted over. It hurt for several months, then he forgot it was there.

When he was fifteen, Terra had his first kiss. He would never, ever, speak about it, five plus twelve years later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Naminé has been drawing a figure with two horns, black and blue and purple, like veins for bruises, and a gnawing frown, eyes gold, an empty shape in the middle of the chest. She draws while she talks, she draws even though she’s not paying attention.

Isa pulls out his Gummiphone. “I will call for Master Aqua.”

Terra doesn’t say anything.

Hearts have threads—their sinew a pathway, empty at birth, braided as they grow identities, like bridges between one person and the next. The closer the loved one, the bigger and stronger the bridge, the more open their doors. Chains, heavy and strong, tight and slack, depending on the dynamic, bonding memories together that forge keys into each other’s hearts. Naminé draws the creature like a weave of yarn, pieces that connect together. A lot of rage, exhaled from Terra’s armor the day she awakened it and now formed into this.

In Terra’s heart are three faces: Eraqus, desaturated. Aqua, Ventus, vibrant. In Terra’s heart, a Darkness, cold and warm.

From her page, the Guardian wants to burst. She only needs to find out how.

“I think we should contact Riku first,” she says.

“As you wish,” Isa says.

Terra doesn’t say anything.

She lifts her eyes from her work. “Terra?”

He says nothing. He’s staring at his phone.

“Can you hear me?”

Isa bends to his knees, and shakes Terra’s shoulder. “He is somewhere else.”

“Be care—”

Terra stands up. His expression is blank, frozen like a statue of a clay model. He digs his Gummiphone into his pocket, and without acknowledging Isa’s touch, he walks away.

“Where are you going?” Isa calls.

Naminé drops her notebook and runs to Terra, pulling his arm back. It doesn’t stop him. “Don’t go.”

Isa faces Terra and pushes him back, at the chest. With the strength of a machine, Terra yanks his arm from Naminé and shoves Isa harder. Isa stumbles back with a groan. Not a moment passes when Terra continues on. He can’t hear them. He doesn’t see them.

Isa growls from annoyance. “You will answer us.” He summons his Claymore, a menacing weight that sharpens its talons and engorges as soon as his hand clasps its hilt.

“What are you going to do with that?” Naminé says.

“I want to see what will make him respond.”

Isa charges for an attack, and swings his Claymore in an attempt to bash Terra’s head. Terra grabs the shaft as if it’s as light as a stick of bamboo. He twist’s Isa’s arm. Isa yells and his Claymore dispels. Terra lifts Isa up by the neck, dragging him off the ground.

“Don’t hurt him!” Naminé pleads.

And that does it.

Terra pays attention, staring at her without seeing her.

Naminé cups her mouth with her hand as if to block a scream, but it comes too late.

Terra’s eyes are glowing yellow.

Isa kicks Terra in the stomach but it barely leaves a blow. “Hide!”

It takes a moment before Naminé turns and runs to the manor. One of the doors is stuck, so she pulls on the other one. It doesn’t close behind her. She crawls across the floor, no time to be concerned about the dust collecting on her knees. Outside, she hears grunts and blows, Isa cursing and Terra silent. She peeks out the window. Isa is sprawled on the ground, knocked out. Terra is coming, but Terra stops, and Terra shakes his head.

He finally sees her, and yells, “It’s not safe there!”

The monster appears. First, in the glow to his eyes that come back as fast as the flick of a light switch. A cloud of darkness wraps itself around Terra’s body. Out from the chest, comes the horns.

Naminé doesn’t have the time to squeak. She crouches and shields her head. Glass shatters above her and falls around her like iridescent confetti. The Guardian grabs her by the waist. She gasps.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Terra finally wakes up, he’s hurting, slumped on the ground. And he can’t move.

Jabbing into his back are the knuckles of bark. His arms are sore, pulled tightly behind him, twisting him in a way that the slightest movement sends a shock through his tendons. His head is throbbing as if he’s been dealt a blow. The sun is still setting, light broken up by the shadows of leaves that pepper across the ground.

He’s tied to a tree.

“He’s awake,” he hears. Riku’s voice.

Isa limps into view, clutching his right arm—his fighting arm.

Riku crouches in front of Terra. His Keyblade is drawn. “How’re you doing?”

Someone is missing. “Where is Naminé?” Terra’s voice is coarse.

“I was going to ask you the same question.”

The heat, the headache melts from Terra’s face, leaving it as cold as an empty room. “What—?”

“It took her,” Isa says, scowling. “Where would it take her?”

Terra stammers. His tongue is too thick. Even his eyes hurt, as though he’s kept them open under the ocean. He jerks—he wants to wipe his eyes—but the restraints won’t let him.

Naminé running into the manor is the last image he remembers.

I wanted her to be safe.

“Let’s get him loose,” Riku says softly, and Isa crouches behind the tree. The rope binding Terra sounds dry and flaky.

“I know it’s not your fault,” Riku continues to say, though it sounds very much the opposite.

The rope slackens. He rubs his arms, his biceps, which took the brunt of the hold.

“Come on. Let’s try again,” Riku says, and it sounds like it’s coming from a teacher, from a mentor, from a judge. Not from a friend, not from a child. There is a knowing to Riku’s eyes, a skepticism. Terra’s prodigy, eclipsing him, now reading him down. “Where is she?”

Terra licks his lips. His tongue is too dry. “I don’t know.”

#wayfinder trio #kh terra #kingdom hearts fanfiction #terra week #isa #namine #my fic

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raviotherabbit · 3 years ago

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royal pain in the ass - chapter 7

Chapter 7: Era of Force Princess Zelda heads to the forge.

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!

△ ▲△

“Is the peppermint tea alright?” Zelda asked her companion sitting across from her on the picnic blanket. “I thought we’d try something a bit more herbal this time.”

“It’s lovely, thank you,” Hyrule smiled at her past his cup. “In fact, I’m tempted to start growing peppermint myself.”

Ever since she found out the Hero of Hyrule liked tea, Zelda had begun setting aside certain flavors for him to taste whenever he visited. Though he was older than the two of them, he reminded her a bit of Link just a year or so ago. A bit brash, always buzzing back and forth… they both needed to be reminded when to relax.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Zelda responded. She sips at her own tea, deeply sighing as its warmth settles in her stomach.

What a beautiful day…

“Excuse me, Princess Zelda?”

Looking up from her drink, Zelda was a bit surprised to see the Hero of Warriors. He stood above the two picnickers, ignoring how Hyrule’s gaze narrowed on him.

“Why, hello hero!” Zelda happily lifted her teapot to show to the captain. “Would you like to join us? Today’s choice is peppermint.”

“Maybe some other time,” Warriors waved the pot away. “I had some questions about the castle’s security.”

Subtly, Zelda met eyes with Hyrule. His lips were pressed together tightly, and his grip on his teacup seemed almost desperate. But the moment he saw her, she swore he forced himself to act natural.

“Go ahead, Princess,” he hesitantly nodded. He brushed himself off before he started to head towards the castle gate. “I need to stock up on potions in town, anyway. We can talk more later.”

“If you’re sure,” Zelda stood, taking Warriors’ nervous hand into her own. “Come with me, brave knight.”

Wordlessly, Warriors allowed himself to be guided into the castle. Zelda looked back towards the gate one last time. Despite his words, Hyrule was still there, leaning against the stone.

Then the door closed.

One step at a time, Zelda walked Warriors through the castle’s defenses. The armory, the barracks, even the throne room. But wherever they went, it seemed the hero grew even more nervous. He eyed the knights with suspicion as they passed by, and every time Zelda looked at him, he was even more fidgety than before.

But there was no reason to suspect Warriors of any ill intent. He’d been nice on all of the Links’ previous visits. Better than nice, really. Always courteous, opening doors ahead of her, even joining in with ribbing Four a bit. So if he was a bit nervous about her safety, Zelda would do anything to assuage those fears.

“You’re kind for your concern,” Zelda told Warriors, leading him into one of the empty banquet halls. “But we’re safe here. With Vaati sealed, there’s no longer any threat to Hyrule.”

“What about threats from within Hyrule?” Warriors asked the second they were alone.

Zelda couldn’t but gasp at the accusation. “Are you speaking of traitors?”

“Soldiers can be… easily manipulated,” Warriors explained warily. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, we… we did have an issue with mind control,” Zelda admitted with a frown. “But again, Vaati is gone for good. None of our soldiers will harm us.”

“What if… what if it wasn’t just any soldier?” There was a paranoid gleam to his eyes. “What if it was someone you know?”

Warriors was taller than Zelda, that was true. But the wrath of a princess is not feared just for her height. Zelda’s hands tightened into fists, and Warriors almost seemed to cower from her rage. “Just what are you suggesting, hero?”

His shock wore off, and Warriors righted himself again with the rigid composure of a knight. “If Four turned his blade against you, what would you do?”

“Stop!” Zelda commanded, silencing him with a single pointed finger. “Don’t speak of my four that way. He… none of them would ever do that!”

“But what if he did?!” Warriors suddenly grabbed onto her arm with a vice-like grip. “Can you honestly say that you would fight against him?!”

Zelda yanked against his hand. “Let go! Let go of me!”

“Stop it!”

There, silhouetted by the hallway’s light, was Hyrule. He rushed past the doorway, shoving Warriors away from the princess.

“Wars, you need to control yourself!” Hyrule shouted. “What’s wrong with you?! Why are you all acting like this!?!”

Warriors blinked is confusion, as if waking up from a dream. He spotted Zelda, helplessly clutching to her aching arm behind Hyrule.

“I didn’t mean…” he started, but his words drifted away.

“Just go,” Hyrule sighed as he dropped his head into his hands.

Stunned into silence, Warriors left before Zelda could stop him, scattering as quickly as he could and leaving the door open.

“I’m so sorry, Princess,” Hyrule turned to her. “I knew he was acting off, but I didn’t think… Anyway, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. The light spilling in from the door only twisted her stomach further. “I’m fine.”

△ ▲△

With her head held high and her steps confident, Princess Zelda Lucille Hyrule passes through the town gates.

“Princess!” one of the guards shouts after her. “It’s dangerous to go alone! Let us come with you!”

“I’m just going to visit Smith!” Zelda calls back, keeping up her quick pace. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

The soldier says something, probably about her father or the minister. But to be honest, Zelda couldn’t care less. A little time out of the city could never hurt, after all, and someone has to check in on the old man.

Once she’s out of hearing range of the guards, Zelda takes in a deep breath. The morning air is still fresh, a bit of a chill hanging onto it. It’s the perfect day to spend out in the world, not cooped up in the castle.

The walk to Link and Smith’s house is rather short. Zelda lightly knocks on the door, pushing it open as she does so.

“Smith? Are you home?”

But when she peeks inside, Zelda’s surprised to find she’s not Smith’s only visitor today. There are five girls seated around the room, Smith delicately balancing glasses of water as he delivers them to his guests.

“Princess!” Smith grins when he sees her at the door. All eyes turn towards Zelda, embarrassingly enough. “Come in! You’re right on time.”

“Uh, who are all these people?” Zelda asks, slowly stepping into the humble home.

“Friends of Link! They just stopped by asking about him, so I thought I’d offer the poor things some hospitality,” Smith moves behind her, guiding her to one of the chairs by her shoulders. “How’s your arm feeling, by the way?”

“I’m fine, not even sore anymore!” Zelda waves her arm up and down to demonstrate. She eyes the two ladies across from her, one in a simple pink dress and the other in a long black cloak. “So, you all know Link.”

“Well, we know the Links!” one of the girls sitting against the wall, wearing bright blue, amends, putting emphasis on the ‘s’.

“Plural,” her short friend with the bandana clarifies.

“And you,” the cloaked one leans forward, folding her hands on the table. “You’re Princess Zelda.”

“Yes, I am,” Zelda’s eyes narrow at the strangers around her. This has got to be the most suspicious way she’s ever been approached by potential crooks, that’s for sure.

“Well then,” the tallest one, wearing light pink, pushes herself up from the floor. “Welcome to the club.”

△ ▲△

Of course, once they explain the situation to Dot, she sweetens right up. Her suspicious glares and crossed arms melt away, and by the time they’ve stayed their welcome at Smith’s home, she’s walking in tandem with Tetra along that path back to town, all while Flora takes notes in her journal.

“So, you and your Link have known each other for quite a while,” Flora remarks as Dot finishes a story about the time Four lost his first tooth. He’d cried so hard that day, the whole town was complaining. But in hindsight, it’s incredibly funny.

“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” Dot explains, a fond smile on her face. “His grandfather is friends with my father, and his dad is one of the kingdom’s best knight’s. We’ve always known each other.”

“That must be nice,” Flora comments, speaking as she writes. “I didn’t meet Wild until we were twelve, and it was a bit of a rough start.”

“Yeah, well, Wind I met two years ago,” Tetra chimes in. “But unlike Four, I don’t think he grew up out of his crybaby phase.” She snickers to herself. “Still my best friend, though.”

“Oh, same here,” Flora twirls her pen.

Dot giggles. “Ditto.”

“When was the last time you saw them?” Dusk suddenly asks from the back of the group.

When Dot turns back, Dusk has stopped in her tracks. There’s something about the way she looks at her, desperation mixed with something else. Regret? Guilt?

“It’s been about two months,” Dot reveals. She looks to the one of them standing next to Dusk, Artemis, concern clear on her face. “Your hero is Warriors, right?”

Artemis startles, perhaps a bit shocked by the shift of conversation. “Y-yes,” she confirms.

“Well, he was-” Dot suddenly glances down, fidgeting with her hands. “He- Did you see him after me? Because he seemed very upset, so I was wondering if-”

“Woah, hold on,” Artemis interrupts. “He was upset?”

“Paranoid, more like,” she amends. “He wanted to know about the castle’s security, he was convinced that… that Four would turn on me.”

Artemis gasps, covering her mouth with a hand. “His paranoia came back?”

Flora gently closes her book, moving to place a hand on her fellow queen’s shoulder. “Artemis, are you alright?”

But before Artemis can respond, someone else speaks.

“Sky was also acting strange, when I saw him,” Tetra says.

Suddenly, all of the group’s attention is focused squarely on the pirate, particularly Sun, whose eyes are wide.

“What?” Sun questions. “Something’s wrong with my Link?”

Tetra snaps suddenly. “Oh, he’s yours! I’m not the best at keeping track of all these guys.”

“Tetra, now isn’t the time,” Flora reminds her.

“Right, right,” Tetra leans back on her left foot. “Well, I found him all alone, and he asked me about the flooding… About who died when it happened.” She sighs. “Called it the legacy he’d left the world, shamed the faith the people had in the Goddesses.”

“He… what?” Sun brings a hand to her forehead. “He said that?”

“Twilight was also angry, when I last saw him,” Dusk reveals abruptly. “He… he snapped at me, said that protecting Hyrule had always fallen to him when I should have… But we-we’ve talked about it before, I don’t know why he…”

A deafening silence hangs over all of them. After so long, so much work to get close to normal again, Warriors was somehow convinced once again that there was a traitor around every corner. Sky, always so brave, so dedicated, now believed that faith in the Goddesses could only bring sorrow. And Twilight, the loyal farmer, who’d always listened to his friends, used words spoken in confidence against Dusk.

What had happened to their boys?

△ ▲△

After so long on the road, being welcomed to Hyrule Castle feels like a dream. Nice soft beds, clean clothes, and the first bath Flora’s had in a week at this point. The grime of seawater and city filth washed away like nothing. Afterwards, she sat on her bed in one of the castle’s guest rooms. It’s much smaller than she expected, in fact, she and Artemis would be sharing a room. It reminds her a bit of their first night together, back in the Era of the Sky.

Idly, Flora doodles in her journal. Silent Princesses have always been her favorite, and their curled leaves and five petals are practically engrained in her mind with how much she draws them. One hundred years ago, whenever she was stressed, it was always these small sketches that helped calm her.

Flora’s stomach twists, the deep dread from before their arrival to the castle returning. So far, none of them had mentioned Wild, but if something had happened to her dear hero again…

So she writes it in her journal. Everything she knows, from what Dusk, Tetra, and Dot have shared. She may not know what’s wrong, but for Hylia’s sake, she’s a researcher. If anyone’s equipped for putting mysteries together, it’s her.

Luckily, just as she finishes her writing, the door creaks open. Artemis steps in, her hair damp from her own bath. She’s wearing a robe the castle staff so nicely provided.

“Artemis,” Flora smiles. “Thank goodness you’re here. I’m going to figure this out.”

“Oh, are you?” Artemis quips, though she’s missing some of her spark.

“I’ve just finished writing my own account of the last time I saw the Links,” she taps her journal. “And we know that you saw them next. So-” she pats the spot on the bed next to her. “Tell me everything that happened. Leave out no details.”

Artemis’s smile is weak, maybe even a bit forced. But she sits down by Flora’s side anyway.

“Alright,” she says. “Their portal appeared in the courtyard, early in the morning…”

△ ▲△

By dinnertime, Flora has managed to collect a statement from everyone she has available.

Flora (me) -Last saw the Links 3 months ago. -The Links spent an afternoon at Hyrule Castle. -Four and Legend were allowed to investigate the library, but to be careful. -Wild and Wind took a trip into town. -Twilight was concerned Wild would get into trouble, but I told him they’d be fine. I got some drinks for us, and I asked him about his time period (refer to prior notes). Same questions were asked of Warriors later. -I’m not sure where Time, Sky, and Hyrule were. -Everyone left before the evening. Wild said goodbye, promised to let me know as soon as he returned.

Artemis (Era of Warriors) -Last saw the Links 2.5 months ago. -Heroes went through a portal right into the castle courtyard. Artemis let them know they were welcome to explore Hyrule Castle and the town. -Wild wandered off with Sky and Legend, though Artemis noted he was leading that pack. -Warriors brought Wind to visit some of his fellow soldiers he hadn’t seen in a while. -Time came to her with concerns about group morale, so she suggested spending time with some of their loved ones (including the Zeldas! This bodes well for future statements). -They left the next morning. Other than Time, nothing seemed off. -Artemis wants it known that their army has had troubles with traitors in the past. This caused much paranoia for Warriors for quite some time, but she was sure he’d worked past it by the time he began travelling with the heroes.

Sun (Era of the Skies) -Last saw the Links a little more than 2 months ago. -Arrived at the Sealed Temple late in the day. Sun and others helped make them feel comfortable (classic Skyloft hospitality), they let most of them sleep in the temple that night. Sky slept in Sun’s tent. -They were all very tired from traveling, so she didn’t see a lot of them. -Sun found Legend staring up at the Goddess Statue. He was wondering what the point was of defeating evil if it always rose again. Sun told him a story about the First Hero (reminder: ask for THAT later), which seemed to calm his nerves. (Is this strange for him?)

Dusk (Era of Twilight) -Last saw the Links less than 2 months ago. -Four told her at some point before arriving, Legend said something rude and Twilight had to tackle Wild to stop him from pouncing on his fellow hero. -At the castle, Four made a comment about the armaments available to the guards. Something about this made Twilight explode, saying how they couldn’t even protect the castle. He turned on Dusk, asking why she couldn’t have stopped the Twili invasion on her own. She tried to reason with him, but he stormed off. -Dusk took Four to the armory to try and calm him down. He noted that all of them seemed to be tense. -The next day, Time went to Ordon Village (Twilight’s hometown) to look for him. The rest of the Links followed in the afternoon.

Tetra (Era of the Great Sea) -Last saw the Links 1.5 months ago. -They were staying on Outset Island (Wind’s hometown), so Tetra decided to drop anchor and spend some time with Wind. They were there for several days. -Wind was excited to see Tetra. He babbled on and on about his adventures with the heroes. She asked if he’s done any exploring, and he said he had in Wild’s time. Got very quiet. -One the second morning, she found Sky alone in the woods of the island. He asked her about the flooding that created the Great Sea and wanted to know how many lives were lost. He was dismayed by the “legacy [he] left the world”, wondering what faith brought the people.

Dot (Era of Force) -Last saw the Links about a month ago. -They were only passing through the area. Four and some of the others had stayed back at his house to talk to Smith. -Over time, Dot has made friends with Hyrule. Apparently they both like tea a lot. -While she and Hyrule were having a picnic, Warriors approached with questions about the castle’s security. Hyrule said he’d go get supplies and catch up with her later. -After Dot showed how secure the castle was, Warriors began questioning the procedures for traitors (see Artemis’s statement). He then asked what she would do if Four betrayed her. -This part, Dot has asked me not to share with Artemis: Warriors grabbed onto her arm with enough force to hurt her. The bruise lasted for quite some time. -Hyrule suddenly appeared and stopped Warriors, asking what was wrong with him. Dot thinks he implied there was something wrong with the others, too. Warriors left, seeming confused. -Four came to visit with Wind, later, to say goodbye. She didn’t mention the incident to him.

Several red flags stand out to Flora. The first being Time noticing tension amongst the group. If their issues started small and built their way up, then perhaps what he saw were the beginnings of whatever happened to him. He’s not specific, though, about where their problems were originating from, much to Flora’s dismay, but whatever happened must have been not long after they left her castle.

Sky was definitely acting strangely, but truthfully, Flora has no idea if Legend’s actions were out of character. She can only hope they’ll make it to his time soon, so she can ask his Zelda herself.

By the time they visited Dusk, though, there was clearly something wrong. Wild apparently almost physically attacked Legend at some point, which Flora can barely believe. Wild would never hurt his fellow Hylian, let alone another hero. And Twilight’s respect for his queen apparently going out the window? What was up with that?

If what Artemis says is to be believed, though, Warriors has regressed. He’s lost a lot of the progress he made towards himself after the War Across the Ages. If he’s so out of line, Flora can only imagine what’s happening to the rest of them.

Flora’s stomach grumbles loudly. Right, dinner is soon. A full stomach will definitely help her thinking, and Dot already made the rounds to let everyone know her father will be attending. Whether he knows anything or not, she has about a million questions to ask him anyway.

Closing her book, Flora carries it with her to the dining hall.

△ ▲△

The whole world, all of it, is coated in shadows. They hang from the sky like drapes, and never before has Zelda felt more alone.

“Link?” she calls out to the darkness, raising her torch just a bit higher. “Link, are you there?”

WIth her limited light, she almost runs right into a small statue. It comes up to Zelda’s hip, depicting a bird with its wings outstretched. But the top of its head is caved in, revealing a pile of kindling.

Right, it’s a torch.

Zelda lights the bird torch, which does nothing but provide a little more light. Perhaps on a whim, she decides to follow its directions, walking where its beak points.

“Link?” she shouts again. “Please, answer me!”

Again, Zelda comes upon another bird torch. And another, and another. Each time she finds one, she lights it, and she changes her path to follow its point. In the back of her mind, she remembers an old fairytale about finding your way back home.

As she travels more and more through this darkness, Zelda can see other things as well. Just on the edges of her torchlight, there are ruins. Buildings, torn apart or decayed, suffocated by the pervasive shadows. But she can’t stray from her path, not now.

Then, her light finds someone.

“Link?” Zelda asks. “Link, is that you?”

When he turns to her, Zelda is relieved. It’s Link, it really is! They can go home now, together, and-

The torch’s light gleams against the Master Sword. Blood drips from its hilt.

“Link, what did you do?” Zelda demands.

He says nothing, just takes a step closer. In fear and betrayal, Zelda steps back.

“Stop it,” Zelda says shakily. “Link, I’m warning you.”

Link still doesn’t respond. He darts towards her, raising the sword in a swift motion, and Zelda-

And Artemis wakes up in bed, gasping for air.

△ ▲△

There’s one last thing Dot wants to do before she leaves with her fellow queens and princesses. A job that’s all hers, as Princess of Hyrule, and one she wants to make sure is done before she’s away for who knows how long.

“You’ve all met my Link,” Dot explains to the group as they make their way through the woods. Her pack is already full, “And you’ve seen his sword, the Four Sword.”

“It’s a remarkable blade,” Dusk comments. “From the legends I’ve heard, it could give the Master Sword a run for its money.”

Sun humphs at that, crossing her arms and sticking her chin up.

“Not as you’ve seen it,” Dot reveals. Just then, they come across an old stone sanctuary, with pillars standing proud. Everything is covered in moss and vines, except for one item. At the center of it all is a sword, its hilt gleaming a pure white.

“The Four Sword that my Four carries is a fake,” Dot continues. “A recreation, with the power Four needed after his journey. This is the real Four Sword.”

“Oh, wow!” Flora marvels at the blade. “I can’t believe it! To see such a historical artifact up close like this…”

Dot tugs on her cloak, stopping her from running. “I’m only here to check on the seal,” she states with exasperation. “We don’t want to disturb Vaati, now, do we?”

“Oh, don’t we?”

As the Zeldas were distracted, none of them noticed the shadows behind the Four Sword twisting and gaining shape. The being behind the sword was a perfect facsimile of Link, but with pure red eyes and darkness all over his body.

“Shadow?” Dot can’t help herself but reach out. “Is that-?”

Tetra suddenly grabs onto her shoulder, pulling her back. “Whoever you think that is, Princess, you’re mistaken. He’s no friend.”

Of course, Tetra’s right. Shadow never had such malice in his eyes, and he would certainly never hover over Vaati’s seal like that.

“I’m hurt, Princess,” Dark Link fakes a pout. “I’ve always been a friend to her grace.”

He turns to Sun, a wicked grin suddenly on his face.

“Isn’t that right, Hylia?”

All eyes turn to Sun. The progenitor of their bloodline, the founder of their kingdom. The first Queen of Hyrule.

The… Goddess Hylia?

Flora is finally the first one to speak. “What?”

#linked universe #lu dot #lu flora #lu artemis #lu dusk #lu sun #lu tetra #rpita #fanfic #rav's writing

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laequiem · 4 years ago

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Mal d’amour - Part 5

/5 times the High King of Elfhame missed his exiled wife + 1 time she had enough.

The package is there, on the front porch, but it clearly was not delivered by the postal service. There is no address, just a name: her name in elegant cursive letters. The same handwriting that is on the note she keeps on her nightstand.

Cardan’s.

read on ao3 • masterlist • part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4 • last part

Cardan

It was already dark when I woke up from my dream and gave the package to Liliver. Due to mortals’ strange habit of living during the day, we have to wait the entire night before one of the spies can deliver the package.

Needless to say, I do not pay much attention to the various meetings and meals I attend during the night. I doubt courtiers notice, given my usual blasé attitude.

My participation in today’s revel consists mostly of drinking wine and asking the servants for more wine. Whenever someone approaches me for requests or conversation, I reply so shortly that they leave quickly. Nearing sunrise, the Ghost approaches and tells me the package is on its way.

I try to look like I am at least enjoying the revel in front of me. My tail is curled around my calf to prevent it from lashing wildly and betraying my nervousness. My fingers drum absentmindedly on the armrests of the throne as I stare distantly at nothing.

I only last half an hour after the Ghost’s appearance before I retreat from the throne room.

The Bomb

The air of Portland, Maine stinks of iron and gasoline. Nothing like the mossy and flowery scent of Elfhame. Liliver lifts her scarf over her glamoured face, hoping the fabric will filter some of the iron out. It doesn't work, not really, but at least she will not be staying here for long.

High King Cardan has assigned her the task of delivering a package, as if her talents weren't better used elsewhere. She had agreed, or course—money is money. Plus, she hopes to sneak a glimpse of Jude and assess how her friend is doing.

Ever since she left, she has been fighting the urge to peek at the contents of the package. It is about the size and weight of a dinner plate and is delicately wrapped in dark green fabric. Seeing how the King hid the thing, it must be quite valuable.

From the rooftop of the building opposite Vivienne Duarte’s apartment, Liliver can see Jude. She is sprawled on an old couch, numbly looking at some square box with moving images. She seems to be the only person in the small house right now—the perfect moment to deliver the package. The High King has made it clear that Jude has to be seen receiving it. Liliver cannot blame him for being careful.

She makes her way across the street, climbing the stairs as quietly as she can. After placing the box on the floor, she presses the button next to the door and knocks twice. She then jumps to the roof of the adjacent building, making sure she has a good view of the door.

And then she waits.

Jude

Jude groans as she gets up from her spot on the couch for the first time since waking up this morning. Vivi left for work hours ago. Usually, she tells Jude when she is expecting a delivery. Maybe the person rang the wrong doorbell. Still, Jude makes her way to the front door. A peek through the peephole reveals that nobody is on the other side.

It’s been 30 seconds, they better not have put one of those “sorry we missed you!” notices or else she swears—

Cardan’s.

Her chest tightens and she takes a deep breath. Is this hope or fear? It is her first time hearing from Cardan in more than six months. Part of her hopes that he will revoke her banishment and ask her to come back, but why would he? He is finally free to rule the kingdom by himself and be as cruel and unhinged as he wants to be.

The package looks out of place here, everything from the dried flowers used to decorate it to its delicate grassy smell scream Faerieland.

Jude closes the door behind her as she brings the package inside, certain that someone is out there watching her. She won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. She shoves the clutter off the coffee table and puts the package on it as she sits on the couch once again.

For a few minutes, she just stares at it, wondering if it isn’t better to just throw it out.

Like he threw me out, she hears the intrusive thought over the roaring in her head, loud and unwelcome.

She clenches her jaw, then undoes the strings tying the fabric together. Inside is a nicely carved wooden box topped by a folded piece of paper. She picks up the piece of paper and unfolds it. Her hands are shaking slightly, with fear or rage she does not know.

When she reads it, however, the rage takes over.

I miss you.

Your devoted servant,

Cardan

Jude crumples the piece of paper in her hand and lets it fall to the floor. She opens the box and immediately sees red.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she screams to herself as she picks up the crown, its jewels sparkling in the artificial light of Vivienne’s apartment.

She has never seen it before. Cardan either found it deep in the vault or he had it made only to send it to her as a sick joke. In a fit of rage, she throws the crown against the wall and storms to her room.

Her clothes are scattered everywhere, some of them lying on her air mattress for what might have been weeks. She picks out the darkest, most flexible clothes, then reaches under her mattress for Nightfell.

If it’s trouble he’s after, he’ll find her.

Cardan

“I almost feel bad, Your Majesty,” the Roach says, “pay up.”

I knew trying to sleep was useless, so I headed for the Court of Shadow headquarters instead, where I have been playing cards with the Roach and the Ghost for hours now.

“I hope you’re not cheating,” the Ghost replies, “the punishment could be deadly.”

I lost every single game.

I am not paying enough attention to win.

The cards in my hands are blurry, their numbers and designs utterly meaningless.

All I can think about is Jude.

Jude, opening my package and packing her things to come back here.

Jude, opening my package and immediately throwing it out.

Jude, immediately throwing the package out without looking inside.

This woman has occupied my every thought for years, and I still cannot predict her moves. She is a puzzle, a challenge I want to lose myself in solving. All I can hope for is that she opened it, at least.

My last letter. My last gift. My last chance.

If this is all the time I had with her, I royally (urgh) fucked up.

The Roach gathers the jewels from the middle of the table and brings them to his side.

I discard my hand and reach out to shuffle the deck when his attention snaps to the door, to the small form who just entered.

Immediately, I get up and walk to meet the Bomb.

“Did you find her?” I ask

“Yes,” she says, “She picked it up. I could not confirm that she opened it, but she brought it inside.”

“How is she?” I cannot stop the questions from pouring out of me.

“She looks… different,” she frowns.

I understand she is trying to find a way to phrase it without upsetting me. I do not even know what would upset me more, her being happy in the Mortal Realm, or her being miserable.

“I see,” I sigh, “Thank you.”

The words feel wrong coming from me—yet they seem right in the moment. I do not know if I have ever thanked someone before. But these people, Jude’s spies, have been dealing with me for the last half-year. They have seen me at my lowest. I cannot go much lower than crying after a particularly gruesome nightmare.

I did not tell them this was my last time reaching out to Jude. From the look of pity in the Bomb’s eyes, she knows. I can’t stand it. I walk past her and leave the Court of Shadows.

The hallways are almost empty as I make my way to the cellars. The guards stand straighter as I pass the various rooms, but none of them stop me or try to talk to me.

When I get to the cellars, I grab the worst bottle I can find. I wish the royal cellars had some really low quality alcohol—a budding brewer’s first try, anything that would taste as bad as I feel—but even the worst of the collection is still good. I drink the whole bottle.

Then another.

I drink until I forget.

Forget the responsibilities, the kingdom resting on my unworthy shoulders.

I try to forget about Jude, but I black out before I can.

#the folk of the air #tfota #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #judecardan #holly black #the cruel prince #the wicked king #fanfiction #angst #fanfic #cardan

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hlizr50 · 4 years ago

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Revelations Chapter 2: The Rise

Hawke tells Kieran that plans have changed. To what? Well, he still has to figure that out. But an attack on the Rise bring even more realizations to light about the Maiden, and Hawke isn't sure whether he should be astounded by her bravery or appalled by her recklessness.

Read on AO3

Hawke eyed the amber liquid in the short crystal glass as he turned it in his fingers. Two candles flickered on the mantle, casting the slightest glow into the shadows of the room. But the dimness mattered not: he could see every woodgrain and knot in the walls as well as if it were midday. He didn’t look up when the door opened, mind spinning with his new revelations and shoulders heavy with the burdens of leadership he had to bear.

How the fuck was he going to figure this out?

“Godsdammit, Hawke. Not that look again.”

He knew if he looked up his amber gaze would be met with ice blue, hallmark of the wolven. He imagined Kieran was running a large palm down his face, exasperated with his prince’s ever-evolving scheme. So he kept his eyes fixed on the stiff drink in his hands, but couldn’t help but tip up a corner of his mouth.

“And what look is that, Kieran?”

“That broody one. Where you purse your lips and narrow your eyes and think loud enough for all of Solis to hear the damned gears working,” Kieran growled, stalking over to join Hawke at the small table. The Atlantian only then looked up through a loose mess of dark waves, finding his brother spinning the chair to sit with the backrest to his front and resting his forearms lazily across the top. “So tell me what your idiotic new plan is so I can then tell you how idiotic it is, and then you can proceed to not listen at all and insist that it is not idiotic and that it is, in fact, the only reasonable course of action.”

Silence permeated the space, blanketing the room in tension – the same room in the Red Pearl where he had first met the Maiden. Penellaphe.

Poppy.

Poppy, who carried that dagger of bloodstone and wolven bone and had managed to stab Jericho during his ill-fated kidnapping attempt. Poppy, who was quick-witted and kind and beautiful.

Poppy, who was beaten on what seemed like a regular basis. Poppy, who had said that the Duke had touched her. Poppy, whose punishment seemed to warrant the presence of the lord whose reputation was so vile that it was common knowledge around the castle that one did not want to catch his attention, good or bad.

He was staring at his glass again. A harsh laugh escaped his lips as he realized the absolute madness of the words that rose to his tongue.

“We can’t give Poppy back to the Ascended.”

Hawke could feel his brother bristle at that, and he couldn’t really blame his bonded wolven for the reaction. It was absolute, utter insanity.

“Poppy. Poppy? We’re on a nickname basis now, Hawke?” Kieran spat his own nickname at him before pushing himself out of the chair. Hawke’s eyes followed his pacing, gaze trained on his dark features, made darker by the night’s shadows and his own frustration. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can already assure you it’s a bad idea. She’s not like the other ladies. You can’t just seduce the Maiden for a particularly impressive notch on your bedpost –“

“That is not what I am doing.” Red rage sang through his blood at the implication, knowing the suffering that Poppy had experienced. But Hawke reminded himself that Kieran didn’t know – had no way of knowing that the Maiden may have been as much a prisoner as he had been. He felt eyes on him and turned his head to meet that ice-blue stare. Kieran’s gaze was shrewd, questioning. He could likely feel the ire billowing off of the prince, thick black smoke from a fire stoked with malice.

“Then what is it, Cas?”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped at the use of his name, his true name. The two of them rarely used it, the need for his absolute dedication to the role of royal guard Hawke Flynn overriding all else. But the name and the quiet desperation in his brother’s voice… he felt the resolution solidify in his chest. He didn’t know what they would do, but the Maiden was leaving this place and she would not come back. Freedom from her current torment was paramount, but the implications were far-reaching. What about Malik? How could they barter for his freedom? And how could he guarantee her safety, in Solis or Atlantia? If she were found in Solis she would be immediately returned into the abusive custody of the Ascended, but if she were found in Atlantia…

She would be killed, without question, and probably not quickly and painlessly.

He hadn’t realized that his stare had grown distant and cloudy until the warm brown of Kieran’s skin entered his periphery. Blinking, he refocused and saw that there were hands – his brother’s battle-worn hands pressing into the ashy wood to his left. Amber eyes traced up his arms and met that pleading gaze. Kieran knew – he always knew – that he was unsettled. Hawke just hoped that he would understand and accept why things had to change.

“Today I had to deliver the Maiden to a summons from Duke Teerman.” He gestured for Kieran to return to his chair, not wanting to explain this whole mess with the wolven hovering menacingly. “When I approached her and her lady’s maid to fetch her, they both seemed to be seized with distress. I could see that her maid was alarmed, but of course I could not see the Maiden’s face.

“I dismissed it as we walked. She didn’t say anything and, looking back, that should have been the second indication that something was wrong. But when we got to the door she stopped and just… she seemed to stare at it, as if she were frozen. She waved me off when I asked about it and then she went inside.”

Hawke pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, leaning back. He caught Kieran’s eyes flickering with impatience. “I know, I know, I’m getting to the point.”

“I didn’t say anything,” the wolven shrugged with a grimace, winning a dramatic eye-roll.

“Anyway. I stayed outside the door and when I listened it seemed like an ordinary lecture, and over ridiculous things. I assumed the Duke just liked to listen to himself talk and flex his authority. But then…” Hawke sucked in a breath. Heat coiled inside of him, a burning weight of anger and disbelief. And the pressure looming over him – the promise to free his brother, to raise Atlantia from the ashes – grew ever heavier, more confounding. But still he knew he could not abandon her to this fate, no matter what Kieran or the rest of his men or his country might argue. “He beat her, Kieran. And not a violence born of frustration in the moment. This was calculated and sadistic. With a cane. And he has been doing it for years.” Eyes trained on the fluttering candlelight, Hawke took two calming breaths. His companion had not moved or spoken – barely reacted at all.

“All I could think about was Carsadonia.” That got Kieran’s attention.

Kieran: friend, bonded wolven, brother. Hawke had suffered greatly during his time in captivity, but the wolven had also lived five decades of sickness and uncertainty. Those piercing light blue eyes flared and a muscle in his jaw twitched, and the Atlantian knew that his brother hadn’t expected this.

And then Kieran surprised him.

“So what do we need to do?”

~~~

Hawke scowled, leaning against the wall across from the heavy wood of the Maiden’s chamber doors.

Poppy. Poppy’s chambers.

She hadn’t left in two days. And even though she had warned him that it would likely take that kind of time to… recover… the time still ate away at him. The rage at such injustice ignited something in his chest that he wasn’t sure he understood. The fierce jolt of protectiveness was completely unexpected, and not something he truly needed right now. But he’d be damned if he was going to deny it.

At the very least Poppy was the Maiden – outwardly a symbol of the Ascended, their dominion, their twisted version of history and tradition. At the very least she was a girl who was put on a pedestal for the kingdom but was kept in a pretty gilded cage, forbidden to participate in life and forced to endure whatever torments and violations the royals deemed necessary to ‘ensure her dedication’. He had yet to discover the depths of those depravities, but he would. At the very least she was an innocent girl who only knew what she’d been taught and still had the courage to question it, even with the threat of harm ever-looming. Who she was, at the very least, would have earned his respect.

But she was more than that. Hawke knew. She was so much more, and he had known that since that first night. She was beautiful, with luscious red lips and soft supple curves. Her wit was quick, and those eyes and lips so expressive that he couldn’t help but try to frustrate her. She was just so… adorable when he had been able to push her buttons just so. And now… Gods, now? Now that he knew the stakes she was facing every time she even thought to move even her little toe out of line he couldn’t decide if he was in awe of her bravery or if he was frustrated by her recklessness. If he had wanted to save the Maiden, a girl who was only a victim of her upbringing, then his urge – his need – to rescue Poppy eclipsed that want. Tenfold.

All of his plans had exploded in his face and now lay in ashes.

And so Hawke stood there, on guard, staring at her door.

Two days. She hadn’t come out in two days. He should be thankful, as it gave him time to try to figure out a way to save both Poppy and his brother. He was working on that, but he found his mind coming back to the ‘lesson’ he had witnessed. The evil that had been thrust upon her. And while he’d gotten the answers about the Duke, about the cane, about how long it had been happening and how it had affected her, there was one looming problem that he had yet to completely understand.

Lord Brandole Mazeen.

There was a part of him that didn’t want to know his role in Poppy’s abuse, knowing the reputation that followed in his wake. Why had he been in the office with Duke Teerman? Hawke hadn’t heard anything other than the Duke’s drawling condescension and the sound of the cane cutting the air and striking flesh. But he had no idea what happened in that room – things that he wouldn’t be able to hear. Poppy had said that the Duke looked at her, touched her. Obviously, the Duke’s proclivities matched Mazeen’s sadistic streak. Maybe it was just a pastime they enjoyed sharing. Maybe it was a power dynamic they delighted in, knowing that Poppy would be unable to deny them their entertainment.

Fucking disgusting.

Growling, Hawke pulled a dagger from his boot. He needed to figure this out. Currently his strategy was to push Poppy’s curious, intelligent mind as far as he could and simply hope that she realized that things weren’t the way she had been raised to believe. He’d probably never had a more ridiculous, faulty strategy in his life, but there was something in him that whispered that she might just be willing to leave. She might even be looking for a way out. That would make their exit from Masadonia much easier than he would have initially anticipated.

He scowled down at his dagger, using it to pick under his fingernails. Getting out of the city and to New Haven was the easy part. But what if she did agree? What if she understood the wrongs of the Ascended and chose to come with him. What would happen when she found out who he was? Surely she wouldn’t just accept that and move on. And what of Malik? He couldn’t give Poppy back to the Ascended, but that also meant his bargaining chip for his brother was no more. Years of planning – ruined. Was it worth it? Was Poppy worth it? Something nagged at his hardened heart, telling him that she was. But how could he be sure? He barely knew her, could hardly know enough to care –

Horns blared and he jerked his head up. He returned the dagger to his boot and pushed away from the wall. The air shifted and, if the horns hadn’t been indication, the tingle of awareness that crept down his spine told him all that he needed to know.

The Rise.

He was already running when the horns called a second time and he barely noticed the tremor that ran under his feet. The entrances to the castle would be sealed within minutes. Hawke’s pace slowed slightly as he wondered for a moment if his priority was supposed to be the Maiden or the Rise. But he kept moving toward the exit. Poppy hadn’t left her room for two days, and the horns would signal to her and her lady’s maid to stay put. He was of more use on the front lines, making sure the invasion never even made it to the castle gates.

Some of his men would question his actions, his choice to assist in the defense of the Rise. But none of the men on the battlements were Ascended – of course they never chose to trouble themselves with the effort it may take to defend their cities, even if their strength and speed could account for that of ten mortal men – and he would not leave the mortals and potential ‘Descenters’ to die in the wake of their leaders’ indifference. And so he drew his short sword as he emerged into the chill of the night, stepping into mist-filled air. So it was craven. The clanging of steel, screams of men, demented howls of the hollow creatures that used to be men – they filled the night, wafting like the mist into the star-flecked sky.

Dispatching the craven outside the Rise was relatively quick work, the mist allowing for him to be much more lax about keeping his strength and quickness in check. Adding that to the fact that many had tried to scale the wall, he found himself with few of the ravenous, soulless creatures left. They had to have been newly turned, lacking their usual hollowness. Hawke took a moment to breathe, offering a brief prayer to the gods for even more souls lost to the Ascended. Perhaps one day he would learn their names and carve them in the wall – the only monument to the lost since the fall of Atlantia. He carried those names with him, carved into his very soul. He had known too many of them, and too well. The loss of each was like a brand, burning inside him.

Hawke stalked back within the protection of the wall, scanning the battlements for wayward craven that had not been taken care of. He caught sight of a cloaked and hooded figure, launching bloodstone arrows into the night – into craven. With impressive accuracy. Narrowing his eyes he studied the archer, spying pale fingers and unprotected arms. Whoever it was, they weren’t wearing the armor of a guard. They weren’t wearing armor of any kind. Hawke swiftly made his way – sword still in hand – to the short ladder that led to the parapet and marveled at what he saw.

It was no guard.

The fingers and arms of alabaster had not prepared him for the well-muscled leg that stretched out from under the cloak, balancing the woman who had crouched to a knee for the benefit of stable aim. Hawke didn’t need his enhanced Atlantian eyesight to appreciate the sheer… perfection of what was before him, from the top of that delicious, milky thigh down to those lovely delicate…

Slippers?

“You must be the goddess Bele, or Lailah, given mortal form.” He was absolutely reverent, and absolutely confounded. The figure before him spun on her knee, arrow trained straight at his head. He couldn’t see inside her hood, but gods did he want to. The arrow aimed at his face was a small bit concerning, however. “You are,” he breathed, sheathing his sword. “You are absolutely magnificent. Beautiful.”

He grinned wolfishly when he saw her body twitch, as if she was not expecting to be worshipped. But how could he not? With that spectacular leg and that spectacular aim. “The last thing I expected was to find a hooded lady with a talent for archery manning one of the battlements.” Hawke extended his hand to the warrior goddess. “May I be of assistance?”

The woman didn’t speak, but she did lower her bow and shift it to one hand. A relief. She gave him a motion, signaling him to back up. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed, still curiously awed by this mystery goddess. She climbed down the ladder but never turned her back to him. He was impressed at her vigilance, knowing not to give her back to a potential foe. When she reached the bottom of the ladder she slung the bow over her back. She flinched, almost imperceptibly, at the contact.

Hawke narrowed his eyes. “You’re… aahh…”

Staring into the darkness under the hood he could make out the swell of red lips, the gleam of emerald eyes. And the peek of shimmering white under the cloak – combined with that tiny twinge when the bow hit her back – drew all the puzzle pieces together. He knew that nightdress. He had touched it. He’d had his mouth on it.

This warrior, mystery archer manning the battlements, was Poppy. What in the name of all the gods…

She moved to make a swift exit and he blocked her path.

“What are you doing up here?” he demanded, cursing himself. She hadn’t left her room in two days. Two days. And the horns signaling a craven attack had acted not as a warning as he had hoped, but as a fucking invitation. Poppy tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm. He still had the upper hand. She had no idea that he knew who she was. He was bristling at her recklessness, but he wasn’t so frustrated to deny himself the fun of seeing this situation play out. “I think-“

Poppy spun in his grasp, twisting under his arm. Then she kicked her leg out low and swept his legs out from under him. He had to let go of her to catch himself before hitting the stone face-first.

That was… unexpected.

Hawke bent and retrieved the dagger from his boot. The Maiden… warrior? Poppy was running on the inner ledge of the Rise. He gripped the blade of the dagger and let it fly, catching the corner of her cloak. He felt a smirk forming as she was jerked back, and he stepped purposefully toward her.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he scolded. His eyebrows rose as she wrenched the dagger out of the wall and then flipped it in her hand, cocking back to send it flying back at him. “Don’t.” He warned, but she would not be swayed. The dagger flew at him – at his face. He turned sharply and caught it by the handle, giving her a condescending ‘tsk’. Spinning, she made her run toward the stairs, but Hawke was… not mortal. He jumped up to the narrow ledge at the top of the wall and used his stealth and quickness to sprint ahead of her, dropping down in her path. Poppy skidded to a stop, arms flailing, before landing on her hip with a painful-sounding thud. He inwardly winced, knowing that her back was still sore and that fall likely hadn’t done much to make it better. He would have to apologize for that later. And be more careful.

“Now that really wasn’t nice at all.” He grinned again, noticing how Poppy looked up to the ledge he’d toed and then back to him. Disbelief glowed in those eyes, shining under that hood. “I’m aware that my hair is in need of a trim, but your aim is off. You should really work on that since I’m quite partial to my face.”

Poppy kicked at him again, in his lower leg. She was quite the fighter, wasn’t she? She got to her feet, spinning to her right, but he blocked her, so she tried to sweep to the left. When she couldn’t get past him she kicked out again. He caught her ankle, getting another good, long, hard look up and down that delectable leg.

“Scandalous,” Hawke teased, but his voice was sensuous and dark. The warrior maiden growled and he couldn’t help but laugh. She was particularly enticing when she was frustrated. “And such dainty little slippers. Satin? And silk? They’re as finely tailored as your leg. The kind of slipper no guard of the Rise would wear. Unless they’re being outfitted differently than I am.”

He dropped her leg, but before she could react he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. She took a ragged breath against his chest. Gods he could feel her against him. “You know what I think?”

Only then did he feel the blade at his neck. How had she managed that? Still, he didn’t let go of her, and was rewarded with her pushing the tip further into his flesh and drawing blood.

“Correction.” His laugh was breathy, ragged, but amused. She was absolutely the most intriguing, distracting, brave, reckless woman he’d ever encountered. “You are an absolutely stunning, murderous little creature.” Hawke glanced down, peeking the weapon that had nicked his flesh. His grin turned feral, knowing that she had revealed her hand without realizing.

“Nice weapon. Bloodstone and wolven bone. Very interesting…” He returned his gaze to those shimmering orbs under that infernal hood. “Princess.”

Poppy’s hand jerked back, pulling the blade from his neck. Perfect. He caught that wrist in his free hand. “You and I have so much to talk about.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“She speaks!” Hawke widened his eyes, feigning shock. “I thought you liked to talk, Princess. Or is that only when you’re at the Red Pearl. You’re not going to pretend that you have no idea what I’m talking about, are you? That you’re not her?”

“Let me go,” Poppy commanded, tugging on her arms.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Hawke turned them and pushed the Maiden against the Rise, trying not to agitate her healing back, and pinning her wrists against the stone. “After all we shared? You throw a dagger at my face?”

“All we shared?” she scoffed. “It was a handful of minutes and a few kisses.” Oh, no, she was not going to brush it off like that. He could have written off that evening in that manner, but not her. Not the Maiden, who had snuck out and let him touch her, taste her… who had asked him to help her live.

He lowered his voice a register. “It was more than a few kisses. If you’ve forgotten I’m more than willing to remind you.”

“There was nothing worth remembering.” Her retort was scathing, and he had half a mind to rip that hood off and kiss her until she took it back.

“Now you insult me after throwing a dagger at my face. You’ve wounded my tender feelings.” But the Atlantian smirked. She may be quick-witted, but he had over a hundred years on her. He could banter and quip for hours on end, but he would enjoy watching her grow more and more infuriated. He loved the way her chest was growing rosy with heat in the peeks of skin he could see behind that stupid cloak.

“Tender feelings? Don’t be overdramatic.” But… she did play the game well.

“Hard not to be when you threw a dagger at my head and then cut my neck.”

“I knew you’d move out of the way,” Poppy argued, but there was a hint of sheepishness in her response. She had hoped he would move out of the way.

“Did you? Is that why you tried to slice open my throat?” he countered.

“I nicked your skin. Because you had ahold of me and wouldn’t let go. Obviously, you haven’t learned anything from it.” Poppy’s answer was matter-of-fact, and he wondered how she could be so obstinate. He wanted to take the time to appreciate her skill with a weapon, to admire her bravery, but she was so damn stubborn – trying to keep a secret that he had known since that night in the Red Pearl.

Trying to keep a secret that, if it got back to the Duke… Gods, he didn’t even want to imagine. If seven lashes with the cane was an appropriate punishment for not doing her embroidery and looking at him wrong, what would the punishment be for sneaking to a brothel and, furthermore, participating in pleasures of the flesh?

“I’ve actually learned a lot, Princess. That’s why your hands and your dagger aren’t getting anywhere near my neck.” Hawke slid a thumb over the velvety skin inside her wrist. “But, if you let go of the dagger, there’s a whole lot of me I’ll let your hands get close to.” She had already slipped once, and he was determined to make her slip again. He knew he could wield innuendo to get under her skin.

Poppy seemed to choke on air. “How generous of you.”

“Once you get to know me you’ll find that I can be quite benevolent,” he purred.

“I have no intention of getting to know you.”

Oh, he knew that wasn’t true.

“So you just make a habit of sneaking into the rooms of young men and seducing them before running off,” Hawke scoffed.

“What? Seducing men?” Poppy sputtered. That had taken her by surprise. He gave her a glance. This close he could definitely see that pale skin inside the hood and the feral gleam of her beautiful eyes.

“Isn’t that what you did to me, Princess?” His voice had softened as he stoked a thumb across the inside of her wrist again. How he wished the gloves weren’t between his fingers and her skin.

“You’re ridiculous.” Her arguments were sounding more and more desperate, and he felt a spark of desire burning deep within him. She had surely taken him by complete surprise.

“What I am,” Hawke breathed, “is intrigued.” Poppy pulled against his arms, groaning. Her strength was surprising, and had he not had the benefit of enhanced strength she might have been able to move him. Not enough to free herself, but perhaps enough to catch him off guard. He snickered at that. He liked that.

“Why do you insist on holding me like this?” the Maiden demanded.

“Well, besides what we went over already, which is the whole being partial to my face and neck thing,” the Atlantian paused, feigning a thought, “you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. I’m doing my job by detaining and questioning you.”

Poppy huffed a bitter laugh. “Do you typically question those on the Rise who you don’t recognize like this? What an odd method of interrogation.”

“Only pretty ladies with shapely bare legs,” he teased. He would definitely bring up those legs as much as he could. He wanted to trace his fingers down the length of them, feel them wrapped around him, dip his tongue in between them. He leaned in against her, feeling the rise of her breaths against his chest. “What are you doing up here? During a craven attack?”

What are you doing up here, putting yourself in danger when you didn’t have the strength to leave your room for two days? Putting yourself in danger not just from the craven, but from the Duke’s wrath should you be caught?

“Enjoying a relaxing evening stroll,” she spat. He felt his lip curl up, a sardonic grin. Gods, she could be insufferable.

“What were you doing up here Princess?” Hawke demanded.

“What did it look like I was doing?”

“It looked like you were being incredibly foolish and reckless.” And that was the gods-honest truth, regardless of the little game that was currently playing out between them. She was being incredibly brash.

The flame of challenge in her eyes wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but he found himself surprised by the ire in her voice. “Excuse me? How reckless was I being when I killed craven and-“

“Am I unaware of a new recruitment policy where half-dressed ladies in cloaks are now needed on the rise? Are we that desperately in need of protection?” And it wasn’t that she hadn’t put on an incredible show. He had compared her to goddesses, after all. But she was also in a nightgown and slippers, and while seeing her in that nightgown – again – was also quite magnificent the protective instinct within him flared at how ludicrously unsafe it was.

“Desperate? Why would my presence on the Rise signal desperation when as you’ve seen I know how to use a bow? Oh, wait. Is it because I happen to have breasts?”

Oh. Oh, far from it.

“I’ve known women with far less beautiful breasts that could cut a man down without so much as blinking an eye. But none of those women are here in Masadonia,” Hawke’s voice seemed to grind out, and he knew his body was reacting to his thoughts. Those legs, the fighting, those lovely breasts. “And you are incredibly skilled, not just with an arrow. Who taught you to fight and use a dagger?”

Poppy didn’t answer, but knowing who she was and the company she kept he figured it could only be one person. She had only two royal guards, and he had certainly not been training her. Her aptitude came from years of practice, and only Vikter had been by her side that long. “I’m willing to bet it was the same person who gave you that blade.” He paused again. “Too bad whoever they are didn’t teach you how to evade capture. Well, too bad for you, that is.”

Vikter would not be happy to learn that she’d been caught. But he shuddered to think what would have happened if any one of the other dozens of guards had been able to corner her.

Smart and brave and unexpected and, apparently, without even the slightest sense of self-preservation.

And that stubborn girl brought her knee up, hoping to wound a very important and very sensitive part of him. He shifted his legs, blocking her with his thigh, and he had to fight hard not to let his grin grow wide enough to reveal his fangs.

“You’re so incredibly violent.” He murmured. “I think I like it.” Gods, he didn’t think. He knew.

“Let me go!” Poppy growled at him.

“And be kicked? Or stabbed?” He shifted his leg between hers, further pinning her and preventing her to take any more shots at the area where the leather of his breeches had grown significantly tighter. “We’ve already covered that, Princess. More than once.”

Poppy bucked her hips off the wall in an attempt to push the guard off of her and oh that did not go the way she expected. He smirked inwardly, feeling how her breath caught and the friction of his thigh between her legs, and he wondered if the top of her thigh had grazed the ever-hardening bulge in his pants – if she knew what she was doing to him. His body was tense, their chests colliding with their sawing, uneven breaths. Hawke let the silence drag, let her feel the intimacy of this moment while fixing amber eyes on that luscious pink mouth.

“I came back for you that night.” Her eyes closed at his confession and he could feel her shudder beneath him. “Just like I told you I would I came back for you, and you weren’t there. You promised me, Princess.”

“I… I couldn’t.” Could he hear a tinge of regret in her answer? Had she wanted to stay? He’d known she would probably run as soon as he left the room – was honestly glad that she had now that the Duke’s violent discipline was known. But still… he had wanted her.

“Couldn’t?” He lowered his voice, a whispered purr he rarely used outside of the bedroom… or wherever. “I have a feeling that if there’s something you want badly enough, nothing will stop you.” Like learning to fight, and using those skills to help protect the Rise. He would have to ask her why. Women in Solis were never trained to fight, were not valued for much more than their appearance and their progeny.

Hawke frowned at the bitter laugh that she spat out. “You know nothing.”

“Maybe.” He released one of her arms and reached inside the hood, finally giving in to the urge to touch her. He stroked his thumb along her cheek, earning a gasp. Poppy tried to draw back, but there was nowhere to go. He gazed into the hood, features dark but still clear for him to see – surprise and uncertainty and… fear? “Maybe I know more than you realize.”

Hawke bent his head down, his cheek grazing the soft leather of the hood, until his mouth was where he figured her ear would be. “You really think I had no idea who you are?” he murmured, and felt the Maiden grow impossibly more tense against him. “You have nothing to say to that?”

He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, finally putting an end to their game.

“Penellaphe.”

He had expected a reaction – perhaps something more subdued and anxiety-riddled. But her response was one of anger and frustration, and she tried to lash out with that sharp tongue. “Are you just now figuring that out? If so, I’m concerned about you being one of my personal guards.”

Hawke chuckled. Give her another century and he had not doubt that smart mouth might actually knock him off-kilter. “I knew the moment you removed the veil.”

“Why… why didn’t you say something then?” she asked softly, and it was like the fight had gone out of her in that moment. She had expected him to address this with some level with authority. Maybe she still expected that.

“To you? Or to the Duke?”

“Either.” He had to strain to hear it, her voice no louder than a breath. And where her fire had cooled, his reared and writhed to the surface.

“Gods, I’m fucking glad I didn’t tell the Duke after what happened the other day,” Hawke growled. Fuck, he couldn’t describe how relieved he was that nobody had found her out. “I wanted to see if you’d bring it up. Apparently you were just going to pretend that you’re not the same girl who frequents the Red Pearl.”

“I don’t frequent the Red Pearl,” Poppy retorted, that simmering annoyance boiling up to the survace once again. “But I hear you do.” Ah yes, he much preferred feisty Poppy to the demure maiden.

“Have you been asking about me? I’m flattered.” He shot her a winning grin.

“I haven’t.” She insisted. His lips tugged downward.

“I’m not sure if I can believe you. You tell a lot of lies, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I like it better than what I’m supposed to call you. Maiden,” Hawke scowled. He hated the title, the veil, all of it. “You have a name. It’s not that.”

“I didn’t ask for what you liked.” It was like she couldn’t let him get the last word, even though she was fighting a losing battle.

“But you did ask why I didn’t tell the Duke about your little explorations – and Gods, knowing what I know now I’m even more thankful that I didn’t. But I didn’t because I’m your guard. If I were to betray you, then you wouldn’t trust me, and that would definitely make my job of keeping you safe much harder.” And that was all true. But that didn’t account for the new situation – something that her other guards had never saw fit to address. “Although… it would seem that the Duke is also someone that I need to protect you from.”

“As you can see, I can keep myself safe,” Poppy sighed, the tautness easing from her muscles. “At least out here.” It was obvious, with her skill, she could take care of herself. But inside that castle using that skill was an impossibility.

“Yes, outside the castle walls, I see that you can.”

Hawke furrowed his brow, hearing the booted footsteps of someone approaching. He pulled away from the cloaked Maiden, one hand still keeping a firm grasp on her wrist, and the chill night against his chest made him ache for her.

“Hawke?” A voice called from below, although he couldn’t place his name. “Everything okay up there?” He peered into the hood, found those glimmering green eyes shining back at him, wondering what she was thinking he would do.

He looked over his shoulder and called, “Everything is fine.”

“You need to let me go. Someone is bound to come up here.” Poppy tugged on her arm, still caught in his hand. He raised a brow.

“And catch you? Force you to reveal your identity?” he asked wryly. “These are the things you should have thought about before you stepped a slippered foot outside your room tonight, Princess.”

She sucked in a breath, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the small shimmer of panic that flickered under the cloak. “You know what he would do. It… It would be worse than the last time.”

She didn’t have to tell him who he was.

“How can you be so reckless? Knowing what he does to you? Over nothing?!” Hawke hissed. “I never would have imagined I’d have to worry about you sneaking out to fight the craven, or to meet random men in places like the Red Pearl. And who knows what else you do when all believe you are safely ensconced in your chambers. Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

He was only met with the sound of her breathing, heavier with that hint of fear of what might happen if the Duke ever learned of this escapade. She was right. He had to let her go, to get back to her room before someone came calling for her. Although, he supposed, that someone would probably end up being him.

This conversation was definitely not over.

He looked down at her and then released her, taking another step back. “You better hurry back to your chambers, Princess. We’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

He watched the realization dawn over her features, that he wouldn’t keep her here or report her. His chest lurched a bit at the thought that she might think that he could do that to her – could send her to that monster for more torture. He had promised her that the Duke wouldn’t hurt her again, and he’d be damned if he went back on that.

Poppy turned and fled toward the stairs.

And Hawke stood and stared after her until long after she disappeared from his sight.

#fbaa #fbaa fanfic #poppycas #poppy x casteel #fanfic #fanfiction

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oumaheroes · 4 years ago

Text

WIP Extract- Breathe

This comes from my fic Reset, which is long and large and something that is most certainly impossible to read in a day.

The fic itself mainly focuses on England and France with FrUK as the relationship, but I enjoyed writing this interaction between Scotland and England and wanted to share. Context wise, England has been shot in the shoulder and has got himself into a bit of a political pickle- Scotland was called in to help dig him out of the very self-inflicted hole.

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Scotland did most of the talking. England was far too tired to argue or to properly conceptualise any next steps that were needed and the only emotion he found distinguishable from bone aching tiredness was deep gratitude. Now that everything was being handled by someone else, and someone else who England trusted to be competent, there was no panic or worry to keep him alert and he was finding it increasingly difficult to stay conscious, let alone remain focused on conversations enough to be able to provide intelligent input.

France was very much the same. He hadn't spoken much more since the motorhome, not even when North had laughed at him for his ridiculously baggy stolen clothes. The location of France's own things was a mystery- perhaps they had been abandoned at the care home or chucked out of the window as they'd driven here- who knew. Technically they were England's clothes anyway, so France wasn't too bothered.

The most France had done was rummage through Scotland's luggage before they set off and triumphantly pull one of Wales’ jumpers out from his suitcase to take for his own.

'If I ever insult the lovely Wales' fashion choices again, please remind me of this moment.'

It was a horribly garish thing, mottled with splashes of bright red and blue. It was entirely the sort of thing Scotland would also eye up and steal. Terrible looking though they may be, Wales' jumpers were, somehow, always the most comfortable and he was frequently annoyed with his siblings for taking them if he left them anywhere for too long, which he often did.

'We all know that as soon as you get back to your own clothes you will conveniently forget this conversation.'

France ignored England in favour of pulling the jumper over his head and giving a long sigh of contentment.

'Go on, hurry up,' Scotland pushed past him to the driver's door, causing him to stumble forwards, 'chuck England something to cover the blood and get in the car already. I'm leaving with or without you in five minutes.'

Although they now had the backing of the embassy to explain any erratic and untoward behaviour concerning the general public, England did look particularly horrific and it probably wouldn't end well if they waltzed in looking as they did. There was a high chance someone would panic and phone an ambulance which was the last thing anyone wanted- hospitals were always risky for their kind and drawing more attention to themselves at the moment wouldn't be wise.

Because of this, England before too long thankfully found himself in a hotel lobby wearing an extremely large green monstrosity he was most certainly not going to give back later.

Someone, probably not Scotland because the place was far too comfortable looking and Scotland was always the most careful (England preferred the word stingy) with money out of all of them, had arranged a hotel for them in Le Mans. It wasn't anywhere too extravagant or fancy but it was a bed each and that was honestly all England wanted right now. It wasn’t even that late in the evening but all he could think about was going to sleep somewhere and being left very much alone.

Sadly, he wasn't given that luxury. As soon as they'd checked in and avoided the suspicious eyes of the hotel staff, Scotland had bullied him into his room and through to the bathroom. He'd requested that the embassy bring additional medical supplies when they arrived for their nations to use and whilst England was pulling off the top most layers of clothing he unpacked them on his bed, picking out what he thought they'd need.

'It's not too bad,' England called out to him from the bathroom, giving up on his top completely and cackhandedly cutting his way free with a pair of medical scissors. In the room next door, he could hear the sound of a shower turning on- France must have jumped straight in, 'it'll be fine with a wash.'

Scotland returned with some bandages and antiseptic solution and placed them down on the counter, 'Sure.'

'Honestly.'

'Okay.'

'There's no point fussing, I can do it myself.'

England made a grab for the antiseptic but Scotland moved it back and away, out of easy reach, 'Christ, would you stop?'

'Just give it here, you go check on France or North.'

'No, England sit.'

There was a wooden chair in the bathroom and Scotland pulled it over and tried to push England into it. Too tired to properly fight him England sat, but reached over to the counter to grab for the gauze.

Scotland slapped his hand away and stood in front of them, blocking him.

'Scotland. Let me-'

'Bollocks to that, look,'

Scotland crouched down in front of him and England bristled immediately at the offense, 'Don't treat me like a child.' He wasn’t dying.

'I'm not, just,' Scotland made an exasperated noise, 'calm the fuck down.'

'I am calm, you are what is currently stressing me out.' England grit his teeth and forced himself to sound level-headed and somewhat close to polite. He really couldn't be arsed to deal with any more grief today and his tolerance for his brothers' particular flavour of annoyance was always low.

'No, hear me out for a minute,' Scotland put a large hand on England's good shoulder and let it rest there, heavy, and England tensed at the contact, 'breathe, for just one bloody second. Even before France came back you weren't feeling great and you've had a shit few days. Just breathe, and stop trying to take control of every damn thing.'

Scotland's eyes looked far too serious and, dare he say, concerned and England tried to shrug him off, 'I'm fine, I only got caught in the shoulder- it's nothing any of us haven't had before. There's no need for all of this,' England gestured with his head to the neat rolls of bandages and the bottle of antiseptic. They were modern luxuries to them; effective and modern medical supplies were only things that were easily to hand in the last century. England had received far worse injuries before, hell, had received far worse injuries from Scotland before- this truly was nothing worthy of any particular extra care or attention.

What he wanted was for Scotland to leave him alone and go and check on North, to make sure he was okay and let England pick at his shoulder how he wanted. Scotland wasn't usually one to provide any form of tender affection or coddling, whilst England had been growing up Scotland's method of child rearing at been a firm, rough bluntness that he now found oddly comforting and expected. This sort of behaviour usually came from Wales, so to see it from Scotland was incredibly unnerving.

'I'm not talking about the shoulder,' Scotland only tightened his hold and England tipped his head back against the wall in frustration, 'I can feel you better now that I'm close and you're putting me on edge.'

There were benefits to being in a political union. The UK was made up of four separate countries, four independent states with long, messy histories that intertwined yes, but were still very separate beings. However, under the United Kingdom they formed one nation, one political entity and that caused a strange blurring of self, sometimes. It gave them all a sort of fuzzy idea as to how the other members of the union were doing- how the English banks were faring, how the Welsh harvest was coming along, how much the tourism in Northern Ireland had swelled and boosted the local economy and how much the fishing industry was suffering in Scotland.

It was handy; it was extremely useful when it came to planning and understanding how to best move forward as one nation of 4 people, and it was also a pain.

It was a pain because England couldn't hide himself as much as he wanted to around his brothers these days, couldn't put on an entirely impenetrable mask of indifference as he would like because if there was something wrong then the other members of the United Kingdom would know about it, regardless of how much he tried to cover it up. He was used to this feeling of intimacy with Wales, who had been bound to him since 1301, but Scotland still felt somewhat new. They hadn't always had a peaceful relationship, their people had often been at very bloody war with each other, and at times it still felt odd for Scotland to read him so well, even after three hundred odd years together. Especially in moments when England wanted to come across differently to how he really felt.

It sometimes felt even stranger for Scotland to act upon England's vulnerability with kindness rather than take advantage, although England knew that he was being unfair to think that. He hadn't always given his eldest brother the opportunity to demonstrate anything other than what England had come to expect and a lot of that he knew in hindsight was self-inflicted.

As for right now...

England forced himself to meet Scotland’s eye, 'I'll be fine. I just need to sleep and eat something and get home.'

'Aye, I know,' Scotland gave his shoulder a brief pat before letting go, standing up to pick up the supplies on the counter, 'but you feel like you're gonna have a heart attack so until then, let someone else do something for a change. You don't have to do it all on your own.'

England closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the tap as Scotland washed his hands. Scotland was calm and healthy, his banks were strong, his people were happy and he felt steady and familiar- an old ancient lullaby and a well-trodden path to home.

Despite what he said, and even though he wouldn't never admit this even to himself, having Scotland nearby felt good and England had to concede that maybe his brother was right. He took a deep breath in and held it for a moment before letting it go, feeling the tension that he hadn't realised was there lift from his shoulders and jaw.

Scotland made a noise of approval and stepped closer, a calloused hand on England's arm to warn him about the incoming stinging sensation, 'everything is being handled. After this I'll go grab us something to eat, drag North in the shower, and you can go to bed.'

Belatedly, England realised that their entire conversation was being held in Brythonic and although a small part of himself was unamused that Scotland could trick and lull him into passivity so easily, he was mostly grateful for it. A shared history, a collective notion of stability, peace and default comfort wasn't something to take for granted. England couldn't quite bring himself to express this in words, but he hoped that his appreciation for it came across well enough by keeping his eyes shut and doing as he was told.

#My writing #Hetalia Fanfiction #hws #hws england #hws scotland #aph england #aph scotland #aph #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fic #i'm on a writing bananza at the moment and i can't stop #i will ride this wave and enjoy it as much as i can #because i know before too long it will vanish #weep #reset my beloved #hws uk bros #hws brit bros #aph brit bros

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