#I LOVE THIS AU SO DEARLY..its like my child who i gave birth too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lady-literature · 4 years ago

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what a lion cannot manage

i have no excuse for this except that it is apparently my Brand™ now to write very niche AU’s that take one look at canon and then punch it in the face for being such a fucking nerd.

enjoy.

Ao3 | chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4

Midoriya Izumi is born wailing.

A crying waif of a girl with eyes like copper-sulfate flames and magic bubbling hot and bright beneath her skin.

Inko stares, exhausted and flushed with the glow of new motherhood, down at her beautiful baby girl cradled in her arms. Her family gathers in close, yelling and jostling for a glimpse at their newest addition.

She runs her pinkie finger down her daughter’s short stub of a nose, sweeps it under her fragile eye and over the bright apple of her chubby cheek all in one smooth motion. Izumi quiets almost immediately, and her big, green eyes stare up at Inko with far too much intelligence for a freshly born babe to have.

But, well, Izumi is no normal infant.

"Welcome to the world," Inko whispers over the shouts around her. Such a joyous occasion this is, she can’t fault them for yipping and barking in celebration. "It will shake beneath your feet, my sha’alabbin."

***

The family celebrates for three days following Izumi’s birth, as tradition dictates.

One day for love, one day for health, and one day for magic.

The celebration on the third day is very large indeed, for they have much to celebrate for.

***

Izumi is bundled into a cosy nursery nestled in the center of a large manor at the edge of a small, sleepy town. She sleeps in the nexus of the house, carefully chosen for her over the many months the family waited for her arrival.

Her room is decorated in forest greens and honey soft golds, filled with books and toys and many, many chairs for the steady stream of visitors she sees every day. There’s not a moment in her life where Izumi wonders if she is loved because it is painted in every crack and seam of her world.

Even she, still tender with infancy and still so ignorant to the world and how it works—but learning, oh, how quickly she learns—Izumi knows this. She knows because it’s obvious.

That doesn't stop her from crying when she thinks she’s alone, of course.

Object permanence takes longer to grasp than the love of her skulk.

***

No one in town can agree on exactly how many Midoriyas there are.

The family has lived there for generations, they’re as woven into the land and town as the roads and fields and rivers are. Everyone knows the Midoriyas.

But only as a group. A whole. Because knowing individual Midoriyas is infinitely trickier.

The family is friendly, and active enough in the town, but they’re so private. Living off at the very edge of town and half-hidden in the forest. And there always seems to be some strange relative visiting from one place or another, or family friends staying for this reason or that.

The number of Midoriays always seems to be changing.

But the townspeople, whenever asked, always seem to agree that there can’t be more than twelve at the house full time.

(There’s more than double that living within the manor. And none of them are ever ‘just visiting’.

None of the family ever corrects them.)

***

Izumi’s first word is momma.

Her second is why?

Her third is how?

Such a curious child, with questions spinning and whirling behind her eyes too fast to keep up with. She babbles non-stop, not quite words falling from her lips quicker than anyone can keep up with, including herself.

She cries when the skulk can’t understand her. Cries when her thoughts move too quickly for her to keep up with. Cries when she’s frustrated, hungry, sad, happy—cries and cries and cries.

All children cry when they’re young, but Midoriya Izumi never gets the memo to stop.

It becomes her most favored form of communication. And when you live in a house half bursting with foxes who can smell the different chemicals in your tears and hear the stuttering of your heartbeat, it’s a terribly valid way to do things.

So she does just fine, all things considered.

***

For the first few years, foxes are normal for the most part. Human, except for perhaps the ears and tail.

It’s not until they’re older that the strength comes in, or the strange affinity for words and Promises. It’s not until they’re older that magic begins pressing down on them with a suffocatingly affectionate weight, possessive in all things it deems to own.

At least, it shouldn’t. But as with so many things, the fledgling curse the Midoriyas are under complicates everything it touches.

It’s a good thing Inko had already been planning to be a stay at home mother, because Izumi is barely a year old and dances with magic like they are old friends. It clings to her in a way it hasn’t touched any of the skulk in years. Not since the curse that was meant to kill them bound them all to their own land instead.

Izumi is the first child born to the Midoriya skulk in over twenty years, is the first child born as Shual Nephesh in even longer. She is the first of the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter—a legacy of batsheva. Perhaps she would have been strange and different no matter what. Would have had this unusual relationship with the world even without the curse twisting everything.

But they will never know, and it does not help to think of what-ifs.

Inko worries, because her daughter is bright and clever and beloved even for a fox. Magic clings to her daughter’s soul and fate waits in her shadow and Inko worries because it doesn’t matter how much They may love Their avatars. So many great heroes of myth and legend—demi-gods by name and not—have been dearly loved and still shattered under the weight of their destiny.

One day, Izumi will burn for that life, and Inko will be helpless to stop her.

But for now, Izumi is allowed to just be small, is allowed to be a child and there is nowhere else Inko would rather be. So Inko stays at the family home even when the skulk could take care of her daughter as she worked, and she watches with pride and affection as her little Izumi grows and grows and grows.

***

Sat on Auntie Umi’s lap, Izumi hums without a care in the world.

Her Auntie’s long riot of black curls is pulled up on top of her head, safely out of reach of Izumi’s curious hands. She twists them into the strings of beads hanging around her Auntie’s neck instead. There are dozens of them carefully beaded onto the strings, each one unique in size and shape and color.

As Izumi touches them she knows—not sure how or why, but she knows—that they are not normal beads. Her fingers jolt at their touch and if she looks close, she can see they shine with a light that no normal glass bead has.

Everyone in the family has some. Prettily coloured not-beads hanging from necks and wrists and ears.

Nona has the most of them all. Her arms jangle and clink with all the jewelry she carries, but her neck stays bare save for a simple choker twined around her throat.

She asks then, because she’s never been good at keeping her words or questions to herself. Never quite grasped the talent of being silent. All her ideas and thoughts are too big and too many to keep neatly tucked away inside her head.

Uncle Kyo says that’s going to get her into trouble someday. He says that a silent fox is a clever fox, but Izumi doesn’t think that sounds quite right. Her thoughts are all too loud to keep them all inside. Isn’t it cleverer to get them out?

But then, she thinks, maybe she’s just a bad fox.

“They’re Promises, little kit.” Auntie Umi carefully untangles her fingers from the strings before playfully nipping at them and making her laugh. “Favors and debts and prizes I’ve won fair and square.”

“Like in a game?”

“Yes. I suppose,” Auntie Umi smiles in that way Izumi knows means she only got it kind of right. “It is quite like a game.”

***

Once she’s old enough to walk around town, Izumi captures the townspeople's hearts with startling ease. They quickly grow used to having her underfoot, always running about and asking questions and seemingly unintentionally causing mischief wherever she turns.

She’s such a curious and bright child. Spends hours upon hours reading any book she can get her hands on. Her eyes are a constant flicker of green, taking in everything around her with a sharpness no toddler should have.

Watching, learning, remembering—gorging herself on knowledge of any kind.

The librarians start to recognize and dote on her, so ardent in her pursuit of knowledge. They regularly give her treats and gifts, things Izumi takes and then repays as quickly as possible by helping to reshelve books or run errands or speak to the pixies living in the shelves to give back what they took when someone loses something valuable.

(“You are not fae,” her Nona says, “so your actions and words do not bind you. But debts are power just the same. You’ll do well to remember to never let another hold power over you, sha’alabbin.”)

She’s the town darling and Inko gets many offers for babysitting if she ever needs it and play-dates with the few other kids around his age.

Izumi always comes back home with more beads on her arms when she plays with the other kids.

Inko watches as she puts every one on her left wrist, never looking at them again, and finds herself smiling for no reason she can discern.

***

Izumi has two names: the one she's allowed to tell people and the real one.

Well, they’re both real, she supposes. Just in distinctly different ways.

The secret one though—the one she’s never told anyone because it’s the one written on her soul—that one has power.

All names have power, of course. It’s why foxes have two and why The Good Neighbors are so careful to never speak their own and why demons have none, angelic names burned and lost in the Fall.

But the secret name Izumi holds close to her heart, always so careful to protect, that one has power all on its own. Only her mother and Nona know it. Her mother, because she gave it to her, and Nona because she is Matriarch, leader and protector of them all. It’s her right to know it, just as it is Izumi’s to do with as she pleases.

It’s an Olde Name. One that is written only in the hearts of storytellers and hidden quietly in the wishes of victims yet to be saved.

Anyone can understand what it means. Somewhere in the back of their minds where instinct and history live, they know this name. The translation, should one know the path they must walk for this truth, would be easy.

Savior.

***

Izumi is three and the weight of names, so ignorantly given, press behind her teeth like bile. Bitter and making her ache with holding them all in. She has dozens of beads on her left wrist, pretty and light and jangling with names she doesn’t want. Promises she didn’t earn.

Her mother tells her the humans don’t know what it is they give away, that they cannot begin to understand the Promises they make. She tells her that humans can’t feel the weight of Magic on their skin like she can.

Izumi thinks that’s very sad. Poor mortals, deaf even to the magic floating around them when they are already clueless to so much.

It makes her want to protect them. Keep them safe from those that would use their ignorance without thought. Those who would play malicious tricks and spit cruel taunts of their superiority.

She tells her mother this childish wish and watches her smile, even as it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How tiny you are for such large ambitions,” she tells her and playfully taps her nose, causing it to wrinkle.

“I’ll grow!” Izumi insists, chest puffing out and tail fluffing to twice its normal size. “I’ll grow big and strong and I’ll be able to save everyone.”

“Yes,” her mom says, with that same sad smile. “Just like All Might, right?”

Izumi giggles and cheers at being compared to her hero, her idol, and in her chest, Inko’s heart remains steady. Because Inko has known this since Izumi was born. From that first moment her beautiful daughter had drawn breath, Inko had known. For all that Izumi seems too fragile and small now, one day…

One day Midoriya Izumi will be mighty.

***

There’s something strange about Izumi’s family.

She’s always known they aren’t quite normal, of course. Not by any human standard at least.

Half her family walks around with ears and tails most of the time and as brightly colored foxes for the rest. Lessons on illusions and glamours replace her bedtime stories and family time is always a mess of riddles and puzzles and languages that have never touched mortal lips.

So, no. Not normal, but there’s something else. Something no one ever speaks to her about.

She asks why she can’t go outside without hiding her tail and ears under the heady magics of a glamour, asks why she can’t speak about Nona and the outings they all have in the forest. Asks and asks and asks about why they must keep so many secrets. Why she always has to lie.

The only answer she ever really gets is: “So we can stay safe, sha’alabbin.”

Nobody ever tells her what they’re supposed to be staying safe from.

***

Tricksters—masters of illusion and rule-bending—are rarely ever held in place by bindings. Their magic is too slippery to be easily confined, unlike the proud dragons who hold magic in their throats or the rigid Nephilim, so solid in their convictions.

The magic of Shaalim Nephashoth twists and reshapes like smoke on the wind. Harmful magic passes through it, a natural defence for creatures who so often play pranks and tricks on important people.

It takes a powerful magic user to bind a fox. And even then, they don’t stay bound for long, too often wiggling out of their enchantments.

To subdue an entire skulk of foxes, well…

The Takanashi clan may have been powerful hunters in their own rights, backed by sheer numbers if not skill, but they were no Grand Coven. The Midoriya Skulk, once so powerful and great, may have been weakened and bound to their land, but they were far from dying husks the hunters aimed for.

Their forest did not become their tomb, and they did not run scared.

The Midoriya Skulk survived their attack and that was the last mistake the Takanashi Clan ever made.

You do not wrong the Yōkai. Not if you’re smart, not if you wish to live happily.

(Not if you wish to live.)

***

It happens like this.

Izumi is born quirkless.

Izumi is born quirkless and it’s not a surprise. It’s almost expected when there is too much other in her veins to leave room for something so distinctly human.

This does not, of course, mean she is powerless.

Izumi, as a child, is more acquainted with power than most adults. It winds around her greedily and floats at her shoulders. It is her birthright, is her to command and call upon and do with as she pleases in spite of the Hunters’ irritating magical barrier she only vaguely knows exists.

(She is Shual Nephesh. She is a Midoriya. She is a batsheva legacy.

There is little she will be unable to do if she wishes it.)

But quirks and the power she wields are not the same, and they do not easily pass for one another. The skulk still waits in the shadows and the few remaining Takanashis still lurk at the edges, waiting for them to make a mistake.

A too powerful child will draw attention they cannot afford. But a powerless child is just as noticeable in this age of petty beliefs and false demi-gods.

So they lie.

A month after Izumi turns four, Inko tells anyone who asks that her daughter has enhanced senses, a common ‘quirk’ in their family. “Her newly sensitive nose gave her away,” Inko says with an amused chuckle.

It’s all perfectly ordinary and perfect for hiding in plain sight.

It’s not perfect for being a hero.

Before, when Izumi babbled happily about saving everyone in Japan (because Inko hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t yet dared to explain this unbearable truth), she got pats on the head and hearty encouragement.

Now, when she tells anyone who’ll listen about her dream of being the best hero ever, she’s met with only pity.

“Oh,” they whisper behind their hands, “ that poor girl will never make it. That poor girl with the world in her heart will get herself killed because she’s not strong enough, not big enough, not powerful enough.”

Izumi hears them, because no one ever realizes how much she hears or how much she pays attention.

She hears their heartbeats stutter too. When they tell her they believe in her, that she can do it, that they’ll be cheering her on the whole way.

And Izumi doesn’t understand.

She is clever and smart and powerful but she’s still so young. She hears all of this and doesn’t understand. She wants to yell at them, wants to scream that she can. That she’s enough.

The truth burns on her tongue and Izumi wants to tell them everything so they’ll just stop.

She doesn’t. Instead, she swallows her words and bears the weight of it all. Every lie and pitiful look and useless piece of advice.

Izumi will be a hero. Whether anybody believes in her or not.

***

The townspeople aren’t mean and they aren’t cruel.

In fact, they’re very kind and Izumi loves them all in that way she adores all the best bits of humanity.

They aren’t cruel, but she thinks it might’ve been easier if they were. She thinks it would be easier to bear the disappointment of their lack of belief if they were hard-hearted and terrible.

But they aren’t.

And Izumi’s not sure how to feel about it.

***

She starts kindergarten with the ten other kids her age and finds she learns much faster than anybody else in her grade. Her small-town school can’t keep up with her hurricane mind.

They don’t let her skip kindergarten, because she’s meant to learn to socialize, but when she’s supposed to be starting first grade, they put her in a second-grade classroom instead. A spinning dervish of thoughts and ideas and questions half everyone’s size.

The second graders all call her Imouto-san and Izumi grins as she swings her feet beneath her too-big desk. No one else can see it, but Izumi’s tail wags fast enough to cause the wind to knock all of Hiro-san’s papers off his desk.

She apologizes, but can’t quite stop herself from doing it again.

***

Time moves on, and Izumi grows, but doesn’t change. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.

Magic still sings in her blood and sometimes, if she asks nicely and pays its price, it will do things for her. Not just glamours and charms but strange, impossible things that not even her Nona can do anymore.

(She is Shual Nephesh, is a Midoriya, is batsheva legacy, is fit to bursting with power. Sometimes, her Skulk wonders what she’d be like if not for the cage she’d been born into. Other times, they wonder if she's like that because of it, not in spite of.)

She’s still the town darling, sweet and kind enough to soften even Old Man Watanabe’s heart. She still cries and laughs often, and is still a bleeding heart.

It’s after school one day, when Izumi is walking home that she passes by the park. Normally, she cuts through the forest to get home instead of taking the main roads. That way she can run as fast as she likes without anyone asking questions.

But today was sunny and she wanted to enjoy it a little more. And, perhaps, she wanted to visit the Odd Shop on Main. Mrs Lily is always so nice and gives her new American sweets for free if she tells a joke—even if they're bad.

She's skipping passed the park gate when she notices it: harsh voices and the sound of someone being pushed over.

Her ears swivel automatically and her head follows a second later. When the scene registers, Izumi is already jumping over the tall fence, uncaring of who will see.

“Hey!” she yells, running full-tilt at the pair of third graders standing above Yashiro, one of her classmates. He was a soft-spoken kind of boy. Shy, but always nice to her even though she’s small and cries a lot.

The two older kids—twins she thinks, though she doesn’t know their names—turn to look at her. Their matching, glimmering insect wings buzz behind them in shock at her sudden arrival as she plants herself in front of Yashiro.

She puts her hands on her hips and tries to make the same face Nana Naoki makes when she’s particularly cross. “It’s not nice to push people,” she says scoldingly. “You should apologize.”

The twins look hesitant now that she’s standing there. It doesn't matter that she’s half their size and weighs about thirty-eight pounds soaking wet.

Everyone in town knows who she is.

And if, by some strange circumstance, they don’t, they know her family. The green hair and eyes can only mean one thing after all and, while no one is quite sure why, everyone knows better than to cross the Midoriyas.

(There’s just something about them, the air they carry, that makes one very careful to not provoke them.)

When neither twin makes any move to either leave or do as she says, Izumi hums meaningfully, the air around her turning stifling.

The girl grumbles, and glares over Izumi’s shoulder. “He should’ve stayed out of our way,” is all she says before grabbing her brother and stalking out of the park.

Izumi’s mouth twists, because that was not an apology, but she decides against going after them.

Yashiro has pulled himself to his knees and is gathering the things that fell from his book bag. Izumi kneels to help.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t smell any blood and his heartbeat sounds normal, but it’s probably polite to ask anyway.

Yashiro looks at her, cheeks pink and shoulders hunched to his ears. “Yes, I- Thank you, Midoriya.”

She grins, handing him his pencil bag, newly refilled with all his pencils. “Anytime!”

***

It becomes a Thing.

The whole, ‘Izumi stepping in between schoolyard squabbles’ Thing.

It gets to the point that the other kids, older and younger, begin to expect her to step in. Because of course Izumi will help. She always does.

(Sometimes, she can even hear kids using the threat of her name to ward off bullies rather than saying they’ll tell a teacher. It makes something warm bloom in her chest every time.)

The arguments are never anything serious, and cases of bullying like with Yashiro and the twins are few and far between. The townspeople are good and so are all the kids, but they’re all still children. They get rowdy or into stupid fights over toys or someone accidentally fires off their quirk.

It doesn't quite matter how or why a situation pops up, because, for no real discernible reason, Izumi always finds herself stepping in the middle of it to play mediator.

Which is okay. She wouldn’t do it if she minded or anything—and it’s not like she can really stop herself either. She just… moves when she hears voices raised, like some strange sort of pavlovian response.

It’s not a problem. In fact, it’s great because Izumi is saving people, even if it’s only in small ways (but that's okay for now, she’ll work her way up to bigger ones) and the other townspeople have started to stop looking at her so pitifully.

And, well. It’s not quite what she wanted, and it’s not the reason she’s doing any of this anyway, but it feels… nice. Like a weight lifted from her shoulders she didn’t know was there.

***

Four months after it all becomes a Thing, Izumi gets into a fight.

Not on purpose, because she never seems to do these kinds of things on purpose, but she steps in the middle of an argument she probably shouldn’t have. It was bound to happen eventually.

The bigger boy, Daiki, has some impressive anger issues and a quirk that makes people around him just as angry as he is. She’s interrupted many altercations between him and some poor kid who accidentally set off his quirk. Normally, it takes only a few soothing words to calm them down.

Daiki is quick to anger, but equally quick to calm, if you know how.

And now, it seems, her luck has run out. The moment her mouth opens, Daiki is already screaming at her and the anger is just there. It burns, acidic and hot at the base of her throat.

She swallows it back and refuses to shout back. This is not the first time she’s been on the wrong end of his quirk, she knows how it works and she knows how to handle it.

That is, until he throws a punch at her.

Her head snaps to the side, cheek stinging with pain. She slowly turns back to Daiki, and for the first time in Izumi’s young life, she is furious.

Her eyes burn with unfamiliar rage. The taste of copper and iron sit heavy on her tongue. She bares her teeth in a ferocious snarl and Daiki steps back, suddenly afraid.

Later, she’ll feel unbearably sorry and embarrassed enough to spend an entire day making cookies with her mom to give to Daiki as an apology. But right now?

Right now, Izumi looks over this boy and finds him lacking. She looks at him through the haze of red and hears the rabbit-quick beating of his heart over the whispers of magic twinning at her fingertips and she leaps.

***

She gets in trouble, obviously.

But everyone knows her and they know Daiki’s quirk. They aren’t really mad at her for fighting, but they are mad at her for biting and scratching Daiki enough to draw blood and send him to the nurse.

(She fought dirty. Fought the only way she knew how, with her teeth and claws and wicked sharp mind. All Daiki had was his fists and anger.

He never stood a chance.)

Izumi cries after the haze of Daiki’s quirk falls away. Babbles apology after apology through the hot burn and hiccups of her tears. She didn’t want that to happen, didn’t want to hurt anyone like that.

When her mom comes to pick her up from the principal's office she looks disapproving. When they get home, Nona calls to see her and looks disappointed.

Izumi wants to burrow into the ground and never come back up.

When Nona asks why she had gotten into a fight like that, Izumi has to explain it all. Daiki’s quirk and the interrupting situations and stopping big kids from picking on little ones. She can’t tell what Nona’s thinking when she finishes and she doesn’t ask.

“A good fox,” her Nona says after a long moment, “is a smart fox.”

Nona doesn’t continue, but Izumi knows what she means anyway. She’s heard it her entire life.

A smart fox avoids fights.

A smart fox does not seek them out.

A smart fox does not fight for everyone.

A smart fox, when they absolutely must, only fights for themselves and what is theirs and nothing else.

Izumi, for all that she tries to be, is not a good fox.

But she knew that already. The whole skulk knew that.

She’s too loyal, too stubborn, cares too much and speaks too loud. She wants to be a hero. Wants to save everyone she meets and even the people she hasn’t.

There is a want, a need, that burns in her chest even know. It grows hotter each passing year as she watches all her favorite Heroes swoop in to save the day on the news.

In her heart of hearts, she knows one day she’ll be on that screen too. No matter how un-fox-like it is.

When Nona tells her only to fight for what is hers, Izumi does not argue and she does not barter.

She knows it will not get her anywhere.

Instead, Izumi says okay and takes every innocent person and helpless victim and tucks them in her heart as hers. She Promises to fight for them, Promises to win for them, Promises everything she has to strangers she has never and will never meet.

Izumi Promises herself to the world and, at the tender age of seven, a shackle twines itself around her right wrist. All the vicious intensity of her vow boiled into iron. Her impossible affection for the world made physical for everyone to see.

Her Nona sets her mouth in a firm line, but behind her, Izumi sees her mom smile. And for Izumi…

For Izumi that is enough.

***

She’s eight when she meets a boy with fireflies in his palms and caramel in his skin.

He moves into the house next door, almost half a mile down the road, and Izumi can hear him and his mother scream at each other for an hour before it suddenly stops, the sound of a door slamming echoing into the air.

The next day, the mom and boy show up on their porch.

Izumi answers the door.

***

Katsuki stares up at the looming, old house and glares.

He didn’t want to be here in this stupid, nowhere town with a bunch of useless nobodies.

He wanted to be back at his old school, where everyone told him how great he was and always did what he said. Here, in this stupid small town, there were barely even any kids to order around.

It made Katsuki angry.

But the Old Hag and his Pops didn’t seem to care. He yelled and cried and demanded to stay and they still just packed him up and moved out to this stupid house that’s apparently been in his mom’s family for generations.

It looked old and smelled like mothballs.

Katsuki hated it.

He hated it and his stupid weirdo grandfather for dying and telling them in his will that they had to live here. What did it matter to his grandfather? He was dead!

Katsuki is alive and almost nine years old and it’s the end of the world.

“Oh,” the Old Hag says in surprise when the door opens. “Hello there, cutie.”

Standing at the open door is, instead of some adult, a fluffy green-haired girl almost an entire head shorter than himself and absolutely covered in freckles. She’s half-hidden behind the door and keeps looking between him and his mom rapidly.

Katsuki glares at her, baring his teeth in the hopes she’ll run away scared like all the other girls from his school did.

Instead, she just blinks at him and beams, sunshine bright and delighted.

It doesn’t get better from there.

***

Izumi stares at the boy with fireflies in his palms and can’t help but think this. This is what she's been waiting for. This boy with power bursting from skin too small to hold it all and Fate clinging at his heels.

This boy who’s like me in all the ways no one else has ever been.

The boy, Bakugou Katsuki, does not think so. In fact, he doesn’t seem to like Izumi at all.

Izumi tries not to take the yelling and insults personally. Katsuki is upset and sad and on unfamiliar land with people he doesn’t know. Izumi would be scared too.

When she says that to Katsuki, she only gets shoved to the ground by blisteringly hot palms.

“I’m not scared, idiot!” His heartbeat stutters in his chest. “Stay away from me!”

So Izumi does. For a little while, at least.

She gives him a week.

***

For all his screamed insults and crude personality, Izumi finds there’s much more hiding beneath the surface of one volatile Bakugou Katsuki.

Her first glimpse is when he walks into her fourth-grade classroom despite him being her age. Izumi grins at him when he enters, eyes bright as he takes the seat in front of her. He’s smart, apparently. Smart enough to skip a grade like her, or perhaps just hard-working enough to overcompensate.

Izumi watches him throughout class, sees the way he takes notes and asks questions, and thinks that, perhaps, it’s a combination of the two.

***

He wants to be a Hero like her.

Wants to fight and win and beat back the darkness with his fists and teeth and sheer tenacity.

It’s different from what she thought a Hero should be. And different still from the kind of Hero she wants to be.

Battle versus rescue.

An image of unyielding victory versus the quiet surety of hope Izumi wants to spread.

This new side of heroics fascinates her and she can’t help asking about it. She wants to know everything and asks question after question, barely pausing to breathe.

“Holy fuck,” he exclaims, causing Izumi’s eyes to go wide. “Do you ever shut up?”

She opens her mouth and closes it. Then, “No. Not really.”

His scowl is the kind that curdles milk and perhaps Izumi should be offended or scared or any type of normal reaction, but instead, she just grins and offers to share some of her sour gummies. He takes them all, snapping his teeth at her like he expects her to protest but she only laughs.

Katsuki is sharp and feral like the cats in the forest and Izumi thinks perhaps it’s just that he’s never been shown the right kind of kindness. She knows better than anyone how an environment shapes a person.

There’s a whisper in the air when Izumi looks at him, a voice just at the edge of her hearing. It tells her to pay attention. Pay attention to this half molded boy standing at the crossroads of destiny. Pay attention to him because he’s going to be important.

And, well. If that's true then Izumi is hardly going to let his bad mood chase her away.

***

Katsuki holds out for an entire month before Izumi’s constant giggling laughs and habit of following him around town wears him down. The other kids are stupid and don’t like how he yells. They don’t do as he says and that pisses him off so he yells more and the cycle starts all over again.

So, Katsuki decides that even practically useless, annoying, Izumi is better than no friends at all.

***

“Why do you do that?” he asks her angrily one day, a few weeks into their friendship—not that Katsuki will call it that.

She’s climbing down from a tree, kitten held in her arms and she stares at him in confusion, head tilted to the side.

“Do what?”

“That!” he says as she happily passes the kitten to the preschooler he belonged to. She waves the toddler off with a grin while Katsuki fumes at her side. “You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, doing stupid things for everybody and running around town like a chicken with its damn head cut off. Why?”

She’s always running off. Always so busy because she’s agreed to help this person or do that thing. Doesn’t she ever just stop?

Izumi blinks, before thinking over the question carefully.

“Why do you want to be a Hero?”

Katsuki glares, mouth already opening to demand a real answer, not a stupid question to his question, but Izumi speaks over him. “No. Really think, Katsuki. You say you want to win and be the best, but you could do that in any job. If you like fighting, you could be an MMA fighter, or a bounty hunter, or even join the military. Become a colonel or something, the youngest ever. But you don’t want to do that. You wanna be a Pro Hero. Why?”

She- He doesn’t- That isn’t-

Katsuki glares at her when he can’t come up with an answer. Saying he wants to be better than All Might sounds childish, and… it’s not really what Izumi’s asking anyway. He’ll look stupid if that’s what he says.

But, he doesn’t know the answer to the question she asked either. He’s just… always known that’s what he’d do, from the very first moment he’d learned what a Hero was. He never bothered with anything else, never bothered to question why.

Izumi just stares at him, her gaze digging into him with burning intensity like none of his secrets or thoughts are safe from her.

“The answer isn’t in your head or your fists, you know,” she says, looking away to pick up her bright yellow bag covered in Hero stickers and pins. When she turns back, her eyes are filled with a secretive light. She pokes his chest lightly. “It’s in there.”

***

Katsuki’s unusually quiet for the next three days.

She worries that she messed up, that she may have pushed Katsuki too far too fast.

But then she sees him climb a tree, just to pick the brightest apple to give to a little girl. And hold the door for the people behind him instead of slamming it shut. And immediately move to pick up the rest of Old Man Watanabe’s groceries that she can’t carry herself.

It’s such small acts of kindness, but it’s all things he hadn’t been doing before. He grumbles and shouts and rages the entire time he does them, but he wouldn’t be Katsuki if he wasn’t acting like he was angry.

Izumi can tell he’s pleased though when Old Man Watanabe thanks them. Hears his heart trip over the lie when he says he doesn’t give a damn what the old man thinks, causing the two temperamental blonds to begin squabbling like a couple of old fishwives.

(Izumi tried hiding her giggles behind her hand, but she doesn’t think she succeeded since Katsuki started yelling at her too.)

***

It isn’t long before Katsuki becomes Kacchan and Izumi becomes Izu or nerd or crybaby or a thousand other throw away, half-insulting nicknames.

Katsuki bears his nickname with as much elegance he can muster—which isn’t a lot—while Izumi always seems so delighted by hers. Even the insulting ones.

Katsuki never quite understands her obsession with nicknames, with being so very careful about introducing herself. The third time Izumi tries explaining the power of names without giving away magic and skulks and the world hidden in the stars that she’ll never get to share with her best friend—and the fourth time she’s cried over it—she gets a determined look in her eye.

The next moment, both her hands are on Katsuki’s chest, right above that soft place where your ribs begin to fall away, vulnerable and warm. The pressure she applies is firm and ungentle.

There is nothing gentle about what she plans to do next.

Katsuki doesn’t have a second name, not like Izumi does. He wears his soul on his sleeve and that terrifies Izumi so she’s going to fix it.

***

The thing about a name, is that it’s not just what someone calls you.

A name is a brand upon your soul. A name is the story that your entire being is dedicated to writing. A name is the culmination of everything that you were, that you are, that you will ever be.

It is the key that unlocks you, that most easily makes you vulnerable.

Izumi places her hand over that key, tenderly grabs that thing inside Katsuki that makes him all that he is, was, will ever be, and then she rips it from its lock. She takes her first true friend and reforges him into something else, something better, something he was always meant to be.

Katsuki screams for only a moment. And then…

The fireflies in his palms turn to stars.

***

Bakugou Katsuki has two names.

The first one, is the one he was born with, the one he’s told everyone his entire life was his name.

The other is the one his strange, otherworldly best friend burns into him at the tender age of eight years old.

It’s an Olde Name. One that is painted across cave walls in human blood and tucked neatly behind the teeth of every battlefield corpse.

Anyone can understand what it means. Somewhere in the back of their minds where instinct and history live, they know this name. The translation, if one was willing to sacrifice for such knowledge, would be easy.

Warrior.

***

After, Izumi whispers her own name in his ear.

Her other name, the one she should never tell unless she’s absolutely sure she can trust them.

(Because it is an Olde name. Because she is batsheva legacy. Because she is the youngest Midoriya. Because there is too much power in her chest to be so careless with her name even if it’s her right to do with as she pleases.)

But Izumi knows she can trust Kacchan because he’s Kacchan. If she could’ve, she might’ve waited longer to tell him. Until her birthday maybe or after she convinced him to stop handing his name out to anyone who asks.

But things changed and she grew impatient. She knows his name—chose his name. It’s only fair he knows hers too.

Katsuki doesn’t quite know what it means to be given this gift, just like he doesn't quite know what it is Izumi did to him, but he promises to guard it all the same.

***

The pair are practically attached at the hip after that.

It’s something no one in town ever saw coming. In fact, they all half-believed the two would end up killing each other—or, more likely, that Katsuki would eventually kill Izumi.

It’s practically a miracle. By all accounts, the two should have crumbled under the weight of their volatile differences. Two opposites that never should have mixed coming together and working in a way no one can quite explain.

Where Izumi—strange, selfless, little Izumi—prefers to use her mind and heart to solve the problems she’s always running at without a second thought, Katsuki, her ever-present shadow, uses his fists and sharp tongue as his opening move. A bleeding heart shoved in the center of a human explosion.

For every insult Katsuki sees fit to fling, Izumi is right behind him with an apology and kind words as if she was created to temper the blond.

For all the times Izumi is too caught up in her own mind, thoughts too loud and emotions too high and all the variables too much, Katsuki is there to snap her out of it with easy decisions and barked orders.

They ebb and flow around one another. An ever-present push and pull between the two that sparks up into stubborn drive and exuberant competition. For all their differences, there are some places where they're just too similar. But it’s those that allow them to function as a unit at all.

A yin and yang, balanced and opposing and complimentary all rolled into one relationship.

Izumi becomes the filter through which Katsuki can interact with the world. She understands him in a way few can, can read him and speaks his language and know when he’s just posturing to save face. And in turn, Katsuki becomes the flame and gasoline made to keep Izumi running, keep moving forward, keep reaching and growing and building.

The townspeople grow used to the two of them running around and causing havoc. Rarely a day goes by without hearing of a new situation the pair have somehow roped themselves into.

But if asked, they can all agree. One day…

One day those kids will be extraordinary.

***

Time passes. Katsuki turns nine with little fanfare while the whole town pitches in for Izumi’s celebration.

When they both turn ten, Izumi ignores the months between their birthdays and celebrates them together so Katsuki can have a big party too. (She still gets another one on her actual birthday, but it was the thought that counted.)

At ten years old, Katsuki refuses to admit that Izumi is the best friend he’s ever had. Everyone can see it, but he never says it out loud.

At ten years old, Izumi knows it anyway so it doesn't really matter. His heart tells her it every time it stutters around the words ‘I hate you.’

At ten years old, both Izumi and Katsuki are looking towards the stars, eager and excited for what the future has in store.

At ten years old, All Might disappears from the public eye, and Izumi feels something hollow settle in her stomach.

***

I used a lot of Hebrew words to describe the foxes and endearments. I did this because it's a pretty language and is honestly not used enough. I do not speak Hebrew but tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

TRANSLATIONS: sha’alabbin: sly fox batsheva: "bat" is daughter, "sheva" is the number 7, so it literally means "7th daughter." Shual Nephesh: "shual" is fox, "nephesh" is literally translated as a soul but is also referenced as living beings/sentient creations. kinda like spirits. Shaalim Nephashoth: plural form of the above

#bnha #fem!izuku #bakudeku #mha #my typewriter #wlcm #my hero academia

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kimjongdaely · 5 years ago

Text

Eternal [Chapter 4]

Vampire!AU

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, sexual situations, abortion/miscarriage

Summary: You’re not sure how to deal with your current situation. Your owner, Byun Baekhyun, isn’t helping with the stress. But what happens when you find a risky solution that might just solve all your problems?

Prologue [M]│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5 │Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11 │Chapter 12│Chapter 13

You feel sick. The world spinning and your vision blurring as you try to see—or unsee—the sight before you.

His name falls from your lips involuntarily, heavy and pained. “Baekhyun?”

Your voice makes him turn, lips releasing the girls’ and twisting into a confused frown. The Tainted girl still has her arms around him, tight and possessive and you feel a crush of envy.

“Thorn?” His voice is thick with surprise and anger. His eyes glance up at Sehun, darkening. “What are you doing here? Who gave you permission?”

“Sorry, she wanted to find you—” Sehun starts, but Baekhyun cuts him off sharply, though you can’t hear what he said. Your head is spinning and you wobble on your legs, shaking your head vigorously to rid of the sight burned into your mind.

“I-I need to go.” You tell Sehun urgently, turning away and trying to push past the crowd. “Please.”

A hand grabs your wrist, squeezing painfully and you recognize the icy burn. You tug, trying to pull away as your eyes begin to well up with tears. “Thorn, listen to me—”

“No!” You scream at the top of your lungs, flailing your arms to get rid of him. His touch burns, burns so much you begin to sob. You don’t want him to touch you, not after he touched someone else. “Let go of me! Let go—”

Nausea hits you, as well as a sharp, stabbing pain. You gasp, clutching at your stomach as the pain grows worse, making you double over.

“Thorn?” Baekhyun’s tone has changed to worry, gripping your elbows to keep you from collapsing. “What’s wrong?”

You find it hard to speak as the pain cripples you, your sight flashing white. “B-Baek—”

You lose your strength, and the world fades away.

Baekhyun’s figure is the first thing you see when you wake up. He leans against the wall beside your bed.

And he does not look happy.

You groan as you shift, your mind a blur and your body still feeling limp. For several moments you don’t recall what had happened, or why Baekhyun looks so pissed.

Then he speaks, his tone harsh and cold. “How long have you known?”

You freeze, eyes widening in horror as realization hits you like a train, knocking the air out of your lungs as you struggle to answer. “O-Only a few weeks.”

“A few weeks.” He repeats, voice low. You can feel the anger rolling off of him, potent and stifling and it makes you shrink back. “And when were you planning on telling me?”

You purse your lips, not answering. He chuckles darkly, already knowing the answer.

Clutching your stomach, a wave of panic hits you as you remember. “I-Is it alright? It didn’t—”

“It’s still alive.” He spits out, venomous as if just simply referring to it makes him sick. “But not for long.”

Your blood runs cold, a bigger wave of panic choking you as your eyes sting with tears at the thought.

“Baekhyun please.” You beg, hugging your stomach so dearly. “Please don’t hurt it. Please let me keep it.”

“No.” His reply is curt, no hesitation whatsoever. His eyes are hard. “You will abort it.”

“No!” You scream, crawling towards him to grab onto his shirt tightly. “Please, please!” You’re sobbing now, wailing. “I can’t lose this child! It’s the only family I have. Please don’t take it away from me.”

“I don’t care!” He thunders out, making you flinch at the ferocity of his voice. “I don’t care what you want! It can’t be born, period.”

“Baekhyun.” You shake your head, weeping so terribly. “I beg you. I won’t do anything on my own again. I’ll obey you completely. I’ll come to your every beck and call. Please, please let me keep it.”

His eyes flash, and he grips your throat, pushing you back and making you choke. “You should be doing those things regardless.” He lets go, clenching his jaw tightly. “My word is final. Abort. It.”

He leaves, and you lay crying your heart out for your unborn child.

“What did you say to her?” Yixing asks Baekhyun pointedly, eyes narrowing on him.

Baekhyun glances as his brother, holding in the urge to hiss at him. “I told her to abort the thing, what else?”

“She hasn’t stopped crying.” Yixing says, tone taut. “Or rather, she has, but she looks like she’s dead. She won’t eat or drink anything. She’ll die like this.”

“Whatever.” Baekhyun scoffs, pushing past his brother through the hallway but Yixing blocks him again, eyes glaring, his authority showing.

“Baekhyun.” He starts slowly, patiently. “Listen to me. Last time she was insanely close to having a miscarriage. Killing the baby will kill her too. And at this rate both of them will really die. Is this what you want?”

“I’ll just get another Pet then.” He mumbles, trying to push past again to no avail.

“You’re lying.” Yixing says with a sigh. “Come on, I know you better than that, Baek. Dae has already been giving me a hell of a headache—don’t add to it.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Baekhyun snaps. “You’re leaving anyways! It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t matter anymore?” Yixing growls, pushing Baekhyun back. “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I don’t care! I’m not like you, apparently. I can’t act like I’m a heartless bastard. And it turns out neither can you.”

“Shut up.” Baekhyun hisses, anger rolling off of him. “You’re wrong.”

“The truth is you don’t want her to die.” Yixing pushes on, ignoring the threatening aura Baekhyun is giving off. “You want her to abort the baby because you know it’ll kill her to give birth.”

Baekhyun takes a shaky breath, hands clenching into fists. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.” Yixing says confidently. “Why do you lie? Why do you act like nothing affects you, that you care about nothing?” Yixing’s tone softens, “Acting like this won’t change anything.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, beginning to pace because he can’t stand this conversation any longer. He hates it, the way his brothers can so easily see past him—especially Yixing. He hates it when they look at him like that, so filled with pity and sympathy.

He’s simply not like them. He doesn’t feel anymore. All those years of being alive, at what cost? Grueling through time, passing day after day with no goal or reason to live.

Why does it matter? Why does anything matter?

Why should he care if it’s all going to go away anyways?

“Shut up.” He seethes again.

Shut up.

He doesn’t care.

just

doesn’t

care.

Not anymore.

You feel drained. You haven’t eaten in two days, and you don’t have an appetite. For your baby, you should eat but then again, what’s the point?

Baekhyun is going to take it away from you anyways.

You stroke your stomach, trying hard to feel the baby in your body. It’s still too small. You wish you could feel it move, could feel its heartbeat but you shake away those thoughts because if you could, you would feel even more guilty to kill it.

If it dies now, it’ll be like it never existed in the first place.

It’ll hurt less.

But it still hurts.

So much.

You let out a quiet sob again, but no tears come. You’ve cried yourself dry, have exhausted yourself. You wish you could just die like this, along with your precious child.

The door opens.

You recognize the footsteps, and you feel dread fill you.

“Heard you haven’t been eating.”

You stay silent.

“Suit yourself. Starve for all I care.” His tone is so casual, so painful to listen to. “As you know, Yixing is leaving soon. So I’ll get a doctor from town to perform the abortion—”

“No.” You whisper, and it’s enough to make him pause.

“No?” He repeats, a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Do you really think you have a choice in this?”

“If you want it dead so badly,” you hiss out, “then we will die together. Leave me alone.”

Baekhyun grabs your arm, pulling you up painfully, making you yelp. Your legs are weak, and they give way immediately. “You stupid human.” He growls out before he chuckles. “Did I give you permission to die? Until I give you permission, only the baby dies.”

“No!” You struggle against him, but he’s so strong and you’re so weak. You claw at him, meeting skin and drawing blood. “I won’t let you! I won’t let you take my baby from me!”

You can see the patience drain from his eyes, annoyance replacing it. He roars, voice booming and frustrated. “Why? Why do you want this thing so much? It’s a monster! An abomination! It isn’t suppose to exist!”

You slap him.

He stands there, stunned. His hold on you loosens, and you stumble back onto the bed, heaving. You hug your stomach protectively from him, its own father. You didn’t know you still had tears, but they sting your eyes again, your voice trembling with emotion when you speak. “I want this child because it’s yours, Baekhyun! It’s ours! Why can’t you understand?”

He blinks, confusion overwhelming his features as he says honestly, “I don’t understand.”

You breathe out, feeling unwell from the exertion. “It’s because I love you, Baekhyun. I want this child because of that.”

You hold your breath, waiting for his response. Whatever it is, it can’t be much worse than wanting to kill your child.

His eyes turn cold, emotionless, betraying nothing.

“You love me?” He repeats it like it’s a foreign language, like he’s never heard of such a thing before. He laughs, an empty laugh that echoes throughout your soul. “What a joke.”

“I’m not joking.” You whisper. “Baekhyun, I love you.”

“Liar.” He seethes, shaking his head. “Even after all I’ve done? Don’t lie, human.”

“It’s not a lie.” You feel your heart crack. “Please believe me.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you’re lying or not. It doesn’t matter what you think or want or feel. I’m the one in charge here. And I have already decided.”

He turns, his back cold and unwelcoming, looking so distant. “Starve yourself for all I care. I can replace you anytime.”

The room is once again drowned in darkness. A tear falls down your cheek as you whisper into the silence, “Liar.”

Previous Chapter│ Next Chapter

Eternal Mini Masterlist

A/N: I finally wrote! (Sorry it’s slightly shorter, but shhh you don’t even notice it) Did you have an ‘oh shit’ moment? I love writing his psyche, it’s so fun. Please let me know what you thought!

Tags: @loser-dot-com @meryljill-111192 @ugeuuupabo @baekyeolbeom @weirdsofagirls @and-you-found-me @ilovexiu @hibisciuslady @enchanting-exo @byunfirstlady @skjdln @kkatherinesky @xoforxiuchen @dear-fake-diary @chibi-desu-yo-01 @marimsun @sebootyforlife @baekhyuq @kyoongies @lavellanfriendliness

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isaaccecilbryant · 4 years ago

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A Murderer’s Son

Tales of Crestoria Drabble Words: 3,975 Genre: Angst Written to provide the backdrop for Isaac’s Cresty AU. I hope you all enjoy! If Regal ends up being in the Cresty plot anywhere that will throw a wrench into this, but I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

In Isaac’s earliest memories he never had a mother, just a father. There was no memory of a mother because she had died when giving birth to Isaac, but he didn’t know that until he was a bit older. The memories that Isaac did have where of a father who showed Isaac so much love and kindness but also hid his own sadness. The few nights that he crept out of bed as a boy for a glass of water and found his father crying alone in the living room were burned into his memory. Why was his father so sad when they had each other? As a young child Isaac couldn’t understand, but as he grew older Isaac understood it was because his mother was gone. When Regal did speak of his late wife to his son it was with a bittersweet tone. He’d loved her dearly and had so many fond memories of her, but her absence still stung.

It was around the age of ten that the boy’s life shifted. A new woman appeared in his life and she started staying at Regal’s side. She had reddish-brown hair tied into a bun and a kind smile that made her freckles dance. The woman was younger than his father but was compassionate and motherly. Her hands were so gentle when she would hug Isaac or stroke his head. As time passed Isaac noticed the nights where his father cried alone occurred less often. Was it because the woman was at their home more frequently? One day Isaac noticed all traces of sadness had left his father. Regal no longer was forcing a smile for his boy or masking his pain—it all had been eased and taken away.

“Father, will Miss Chevre be my new mom?”

Regal was surprised by the question from across the breakfast table. “Perhaps.” He answered shyly, no match for the bold 11 year old. “Only if you’d be happy to have her as your mother.”

Isaac rested his chin on his fists like he’d seen adult do. “She’s as kind as a mother.” Isaac reasoned. “But my mom was still the one who gave birth to me. I wouldn’t be here without my mom.” There may be no memories, but Regal shared all the stories he could of Isaac’s mother. To Isaac she felt like one of the mothers from fairy tales. Perfectly kind and loving, someone so tangible to others that you wanted to reach out to her too. Yet, just like the mothers in fairy tales she wasn’t quite real to Isaac either. His mother had fulfilled her role in the story and made her exit now, but the effects of her time there were still felt. “Hmmm…can both of them be my mom?” Isaac’s small face was scrunched up as he puzzled over it.

Regal reached out and tussled his boy’s hair and smiled. “Of course. Your mother is still your mother, even though she’s not with us anymore. And Chevre would love you as a child of her own.”

Isaac nodded at that and put a hand over his father’s before it could be withdrawn. He loved feeling his father’s large hand on his head. “Then, if my mother is ‘my mom’, then Miss Chevre can be just ‘Mom’. Because ‘my mom’ gave birth to me so she’s mom only to me, but Miss Chevre can be a mom to others.”

Regal chuckled at how Isaac reasoned it all out and rubbed his thumb over the boy’s head. “Then that’s how it will be. However, I haven’t asked her to marry me yet, so please wait until after to call Chevre ‘mom’.”

“I won’t! I don’t want to ruin the surprise!” Isaac promised with a big smile, but his dad just laughed more and Isaac wasn’t sure why.

~ * * * ~

At age 16 was leading his father into the woods as he burst with excitement. “I wonder what Mom has planned for us?” Isaac called back to Regal.

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

Chevre said she’d planned a surprise for them out in the forest. Isaac was hoping for a picnic. The weather was perfect for one and the nearby forest was filled with beautiful flora and funa. The odd monster that roamed it was relatively small and harmless, save one species, so no one feared the woods.

“Dad! This is it! The clearing with the wild flowers! But Mom’s not here.”

“It could be she’s running late.” It wasn’t uncommon for Chevre to lose track of time, but she thankfully was never more than a few minutes behind. “Since we have a moment, why not some sparring?”

“You mean hand-to-hand, don’t you?” Isaac sighed playfully. “Come one Dad, the sword is the only weapon for me. It’s the weapon of the gentleman.”

“It doesn’t hurt for you to know to fight with your hands. It means you’ll never be without a weapon.”

“Oh fine.” Isaac untied his sword and set it aside gingerly. “What about you? It’s not really fighting ‘bare handed’ if you use your knuckle duster.”

“There are times when your strength alone isn’t enough for a foe. There’re monsters in the world stronger than you or I can imagine.”

“I’m glad there’s none here.” Isaac said as he started trading light blows with Regal.

“Indeed. But, don’t you want to go out and see the world?”

“Not terribly. Everything I want is here.” Isaac slipped in an uppercut, but it was deflected with Regal hitting him with a soft body blow. “Keep your wrists straight, you don’t need to curve them.” Regal corrected. “That’s a bad habit, even in swordplay.”

“Got it.” They reset and went a few more rounds with their conversation drifting from Isaac’s late mom to current events with sprinklings of advice. They stopped when giggles broke their conversation.

“Chevre.” Regal looked past Isaac and saw she was already set up with a picnic for them.

“Mom! You’re as quiet as a mouse. How long were you there?”

“Long enough to watch you too.” Chevre smiled from the blanket, surrounded by the different foods she’d packed for Regal and Isaac. “Sorry I’m so late, I had too much on the go in the kitchen.”

“No, mom,” Isaac plopped down and took a plate “this is amazing! Thank you for making so much!” There were different favourites of all of theirs scattered around, fried tofu, several types of sandwiches and shepherds’ pie, plus more!

“It looks wonderful,” Regal gave his thanks and a kiss once he sat down. Chevre was beaming and offering food and tea the two. Her cooking wasn’t quite on par with Regal’s, but hers had a distinct homey-ness to it that Isaac loved. Regal’s was amazing but it could be too grand at times. Sometimes boiled veggies with dill was better than sautéed vegetables.

Isaac took a large bite of cake and ‘mmmmmhed’ as the icing melted in his mouth. As he reached for his cup he saw it was out of tea. “Mom, could you pour me some more tea please?”

“Certainly.” Chevre turned behind her for the thermos. She gasped.

“What is it?” Regal and Isaac peered around her.

A monster had coiled around the thermos and was staring down Chevre with its little yellow slits for eyes. Everyone froze as they took in the dark red markings on its scaly body and the large black, hooked claw on each of its forefeet. A keres had come to their picnic. “Don’t move.” Regal whispered as they all kept their eyes on the monster. While it was not difficult to kill due to its small size it did pack a nightmarish venom that slowly killed a person. Isaac thought back a few months ago when one man tried to catch one to make an antidote but got bitten. It took a full month for him to pass away, and each day he could be heard screaming in agony from his home. Isaac’s eyes darted to Chevre. Her body was shaking as the Keres coiled tighter around the thermos. Could Isaac run for his sword that was still with the flowers and cut the keres down before it struck? He glanced towards the field---

“Ahh!” Chevre reeled back. Her arm was flailed wildly. The keres had taken hold of her hand.

“Chevre!” Regal jumped to her side and grabbed the keres by the neck.

Isaac ran for his sword.

Where was it? Where had he set it down?

Flowers were brushed aside as Isaac frantically searched. He needed his sword! Chevre’s cries and sobs echoed through the clearing and tore at his heart. Isaac’s hand finally brushed against metal and pulled his sword from the flower. “Hold it still!” Isaac shouted as he ran back. Regal knew what to do and moved Chevre’s arm and the keres so Isaac had a clear shot. In a swing the monster was cut open and its jaw let go of Chevre’s hand. It writhed and screeched on in pain, body half cut off, as blood pooled on the blanket. Seeing the size of the fangs it had dug into Chevre made Isaac’s stomach churn.

“Mom, are you okay?” He asked, leaving the monster to die.

She just whimpered and held her hand. Regal was cradling her in his arms but wore a grim expression. Isaac saw her pallid hand was already turning purple, and it was spreading up her wrist. The poison would spread fast, and they’d lost so much time with Isaac looking for his sword…

Chevre grimaced, fighting back tears and screams. How could this happen to her?

“Mom…”

“It hurts! Regal, please don’t—don’t leave me like this!”

Regal tightened his grip on Chevre, wrestling with himself on what to do.

“Dad! What’s going to happen to mom?”

Regal met his son’s terrified gaze and then looked to his beloved. He couldn’t leave her to stuffer such a painful death, but what other options were there?

“Please…just kill me now.” Chevre bit her lip and drawing blood. “I—I can’t…” She sobbed, “I can’t hold on.”

Isaac’s vision blurred from tears at her request. They were supposed to kill her? “We could never! Mom I--”

“Isaac,” Regal cut him off, “look away.” His head hung low, eyes hidden from Isaac.

“But Dad!”

“Now! I don’t want you to see this.”

Isaac sucked in a breath. He looked to Chevre. Her breathing was erratic and despite the grip Regal had on her, she was shaking violently. “Mom…”

“Please! Regal!” The sudden loudness of her voice stabbed both of them deep in their hearts.

“Isaac! Look away!” Regal ordered again. “Now!”

Isaac took a few unsteady steps away but dropped to his knees and covered his ears. His mother was dying, and his father had to kill her. This was so messed up! Couldn’t they got back ten minutes to when everything was bright and sunny again? Try as he might, the sound of Chevre’s labored breath reached his ears, as she pleaded with Regal, saying she loved him until it all became a mindless ramble.

“Isaac!” Chevre called out. “I love you! As my own son, I love you!”

He doubled over, hands still over his ears, wishing for one last hug from her. She was the only mother he physically knew. After today she’d be gone from his life, just like his biological mother. His father would fall back into depression, and this time Isaac would tumble in right behind. “Mom, I—” He started to say but ‘I love you too, as my own mother I love you too!’ wouldn’t come forward. His throat ached and it felt like the air had been punched out of him.

Isaac could make out the faint rumble of his father’s voice. He was saying a last goodbye but Isaac couldn’t make out the words. The flowers at his feet wavered and bent as more tears washed over Isaac’s vision.

Then he heard it.

A sickening snapping sound.

Quick and painless.

In one second she was gone.

She was gone and Isaac would never hear her voice again as she read to him, or sang songs with him, or even greeted him when he came in the house.

“Hnggg…Haaaaa!! Moooom!!” Isaac brought his arms around himself, digging his fingers as he tried to hug himself. Why did this have to happen to her of all people?! Why?!

Regal was moving around behind him, Isaac could sense it even while curled into a ball. Isaac didn’t want to think about what his father was doing. He didn’t want to think about anything. If the earth opened its jowls and swallowed him whole he wouldn’t fight back. If he suddenly died too—

“Isaac.”

His father’s hand was on his shoulder. Turning his head Isaac not only was the picnic packed up, but Chevre’s body was lying in the flowers. Aside from her purple arm, it would look like a woman napping in the field.

Regal’s face was pale and his expression tired. “We need to go back to town and get the embalmer.”

“…Right.” Isaac’s head drooped as he followed Regal back to town, each step dragging along. It had to be a nightmare. Tomorrow he’d wake up and everything would be back to normal, and none of this would be real.

“Isaac.” Regal’s voice cut through Isaac’s thoughts. “Do you hate me for doing what I did?” There was uncertainty in his voice, and so much shame.

Isaac opened his mouth but was voiceless for a moment. “No.” He whispered eventually. There was more to say, more he needed to tell his dad that he understood, that he didn’t want Mom to suffer. However the words just weren’t there yet. No way could Isaac sort his mind out after what just happened.

“I see.”

And there…the window had shut on Isaac’s opportunity to say more. Had his father been hoping Isaac would say something specific? Isaac couldn’t ponder it. Those thoughts were ejected from his mind, slipping through the slick and squishy crevasses of his brain like a worm through mud. Only one thing persisted in his mind.

I want Mom.

As they neared the town a questioned bubbled up, reaching the surface and breaking with Isaac’s voice all too quickly. “Why did we leave her behind?”

Regal stopped in his tracks. The hand holding the picnic basket now was in a white knuckled grip. “People tend to jump to conclusions, and vision orbs only lend to the problem.”

As Regal turned to Isaac slightly, he caught a trace of his father’s expression. His eyes were dark and filled with sorrow. It was out of place against the scene of him holding a basket on a bright and sunny day.

“However…no matter how it is judged, what I did doesn’t change. I…I…killed…”

“Dad.” Isaac ran up and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s okay. If you hadn’t she’d have suffered worse.” A whole month that man had suffered. He lived alone, so he had no family to make the hard choice that Regal had to for Chevre.

The tears pushed back into Isaac’s eyes. Had her suffering been quick enough? Was she able to have some peace before she died?

A flash of light drew both of their attention to the town center.

“That was vison central.” Isaac started for the epicenter with Regal close behind. A crowd was already gathered around the large orb.

[“Please, Regal!! I’m begging you!”]

Isaac’s chest tightened and constricted his heart. It was a recording of his father and Chevre.

[Regal—You can’t! You can’t. Just please!”]

It was from when Chevre was rambling. Out of context it sounded like Regal was threatening to kill her. Vision Central finally showed an image, the moment Regal snapped Chevre’s neck.

Bile jumped up from Isaac’s stomach and he struggled to hold it back. All the delicious food and cake he’d eaten earlier was gone. The acidic, putrid taste of bile erased it all as it spilled from his mouth and over his fingers.

Something then landed on his foot. The basket.

Regal looked shell-shocked as he still stared at vision central. Hadn’t it been enough that he had to commit a deed so unthinkable? Why did he have to watch it again?

As the crowd murmured with contempt Regal hissed and clutched his hand. A black mark in the shape of a vision orb seared on to the back of his hand.

“How could someone kill her like that?”

“Brutal. He has no mercy.”

“Didn’t his first wife die too? I bet he killed her too.”

“Murderer! Murderer!”

Isaac watched as his father shrank under the gaze of the townspeople, no one caring the pain and sorrow he was showing.

“It didn’t happen like that!” Isaac shouted out. “Mom got bitten by a keres! Dad was just—”

“We cleared out tons of keres weeks ago! How could she have got bitten?!”

“Covering for a criminal, how despicable!”

“That murderer deserves the same!”

“Just die!”

“Die!”

Isaac lost his footing as he staggered back. They weren’t listening. They didn’t care if they knew what happened or not. He looked up from the ground to his father, hoping Regal found the strength to stand his ground.

…Yet Regal’s head hung low as the beaten husk of a man stood in his place.

“Dad! Don’t—Don’t listen to them!”

A set of flashes and the inhuman sound of enforcers arriving drained the blood from Isaac’s face. No. No, no no no NO!

Regal stepped towards them.

“DON’T!” Isaac grabbed his arm. “Don’t go with them! I can’t lose you and Mom!”

Wordlessly Regal pried his son’s hand off. “I killed her. The circumstances do nothing to change that.” His voice sounded dead.

How could his dad say that? He of all people knew why they had to perform a mercy kill for Chevre. Did Regal regret it that badly? Was the guilt of that sin too much for him to bear? An image of him trying to kill Chevre flashed through Isaac’s mind. The horror and self-loathing from simply imagining it shook Isaac, and knocked him out of the phantasm. Yet, he continued to jump back in to see what it was his father felt. And it was hellish.

Isaac grabbed for Regal’s arm again. His father’s arm felt weak in his grip and Regal noticeably struggled to remove Isaac’s hand.

“Isaac. What I did in unforgivable. I’ve accepted the judgement cast on me.” Regal pushed past his son, though Isaac was right after him, grabbing and clinging to him like a young child trying to stop their parent from leaving.

“Dad! No! Please no!”

Each time Regal brushed him off until he stood before the two enforcers.

The crowd surged around them, all wanting to see the murderer brought to justice. People shoved closer to get a good look, all shouting condemnation and profanity at Regal. When Isaac went to grab his father again several hands held him back.

“Don’t interfere with the enforcers!”

“He’s a murderer, just let him die!”

“Why would you want to save a monster like him?”

Isaac struggled against him but felt his stamina fading. “But—he didn’t! He’s my dad.” Tears leaked out, burning Isaac’s cheeks as they fell. “Dad! Dad!”

The robe of the enforcer lifted as it reached towards Regal.

“DAAAAAAD!”

In instant they were gone. Isaac blinked and missed the moment his father vanished from the world. One enforcer still remained, but any trace of Regal and the other had disappeared entirely. The only thing that remained of Regal Bryant was his son.

“No. No…” The ground came up hard under Isaac as he dropped to his knees and everything began shifting under him. “How could you?” People were cheering and boasting, so smug with their ‘justice’. “He didn’t…he didn’t have a choice. Why?” Looking at the face of the people he knew, people he’d grown up around, celebrating the death of his beloved father something in him snapped. “You’ll pay. I swear it, I’LL MAKE YOU ALL PAY!”

Fire burning in his eyes, Isaac was up and swinging fists at everyone in range. Men tried to hold him down but Isaac was a wild beast, thrashing out of their hands and knocking them back. “My father wasn’t a murderer!!”

Yet the words didn’t stop.

“How shameful…”

“If his father could kill in cold blood just what is the son capable of?”

“The apple never falls far from the tree.”

“The son of a murderer may as well be a murderer.”

Him too? He hadn’t done anything though…Why? “You’re all monsters!”

“You’re the monster!” Someone shouted back and held up their vision orb.

Isaac going into a frenzy appeared on vision central, screaming how he’d make everyone pay before beating on the people around him.

Voice started bombarding Isaac from inside his head.

“What is wrong with that boy?”

“What kind of parents would raise someone like him?”

“Wait…that hair colour. He’s the child of that murderer!”

“Murderer!”

“Killer!”

“Monster!”

Isaac covered his ears but it kept pouring in.

“Die!”

“Disappear!”

“Go to hell!”

A searing pain shot from his left hand. On the back a mark resembling a vision orb appeared—a Stain of Guilt--and the voices in his head grew louder.

“DIE!!” Was what they all demanded.

The enforcer that stayed behind now hovered towards Isaac.

“Get him!”

“Take him away!”

“Send him to hell!”

There was no mercy for Isaac. Every face in the crowd was an enemy out for blood. Was this all just a sport to them? A pastime to get riled up over to dull the boredom of daily life? Was the execution of Isaac and his father just for their enjoyment? Vision orbs…why did they exist? Who made them? This world was better off without them!

When the enforce was before Isaac he played submissively until the last second, grabbing a child and shoving them towards the enforcer. It dodged, not here to take away an innocent. People jumped back to avoid touching the flowing white and blue robes of the arbiter, shrieking about not touching it.

Isaac turned on his foot and ran, pushing through the crowd with a renewed energy and force. He wasn’t going to die here. He was going to rid this world of vision orbs and avenge his father, no matter what it cost!

He had little time, but Isaac needed to prepare if he was going to be on the run. His home was deserted now, all staff from the small manor in town with the others. Those traitors. Isaac could care less about them being out of the job with their master of the house dead. A bag was grabbed and packed with whatever he could grab from the kitchen. From his room Isaac took a few shirts and underwear. Lastly his father’s pocket watch and a book Chevre read to him were packed.

Isaac paused. His mom. What would he take to remember her by? They may never have met, but it wasn’t right to leave her out of it.

“Dad, if I got my blue hair from you, what did I get from my mom?”

“You inherited her best feature; her smile.”

It was a conversation Isaac had nearly forgotten, but there it was, right there with him just below the surface. “My mom, you’ve been there this whole time, haven’t you? Is this right?” Isaac blinked away the new tears that threatened to gather. “Is this what I should be doing?” If his mom loved Regal like Isaac did, then surely she would agree with his decision. He’d change this world by getting rid of the vision orbs and he’d do it with a smile on his face.

#drabble #Crestoria AU

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gratitudejoyandsorrow · 8 years ago

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Of Loyalty and Duty (Chapter 2)

Prompt: In an effort to save two kingdoms, an arranged marriage was made. At his request, Prince Lin-Manuel Miranda was to be wed to you, the youngest daughter in your royal family. RoyalAU. Written for the hamwriters’ write-a-thon Day 1 prompt.

Chapter 1

Pairing: Lin x reader

Words: 2,695

A/N: I will always get nervous whenever I post anything about this fic, because, let’s face it, it’s AU as hell. But I hope you guys like it! I already have about ~500 words for the next chapter. I know a few of you guys wanted to be tagged for this update but since I’m shit at organizing my page and I didn’t even think about writing it down as I got asked to do so, I couldn’t do it. But if y’all wanted to be tagged the next time I update, just shoot me an ask or message. I’ll make sure to write it down this time. As always, let me know what you think! :)

EDIT: @nesthemonster - this is for you.

Thanks for reading!

“Your Highness.”

A firm shake on your shoulder abruptly pulled you from the realm of slumber. You pushed yourself up from the bed, eyes still bleary from sleep and muscles sore from the position you slept in. You glimpsed at your retainer who looked at you with worried eyes. “What is it?” you whispered, voice hoarse.

She hesitated before speaking. “It’s morning, your Highness.”

You rubbed your weary eyes, noticing for the first time that the sun had risen. You must have fallen asleep through your tears. You frowned, the events from the night before still heavy on your heart. “Is it already time for breakfast?” you questioned, grimacing as you pulled on the bothersome pins that were still tightly bound to your hair. A section of your long mane fell down in waves, curtaining your face, and your retainer immediately rushed forward to help you.

“Yes, your Highness,” she answered.

She beckoned you to sit in the vanity and you inwardly recoiled at your image. The kohl on your eyes was smudged and the rouge on your lips and cheeks was faded, the sight reminding you of a cheap jester. You inspected your retainer as she hummed to herself, her skillful fingers gently removing the pins she applied the night before. For the first time since you’d met her, you noticed that she was similar in age as you, her round cheeks and small stature a sign of her youth.

“What is your name?” you found yourself asking.

She paused, blinking at you in wonder. “My apologies, your highness. I must’ve forgotten to introduce myself in light of all the madness for the arrival of your family. My name is Elaina. I am your temporary aid until the wedding.”

You remained silent, the memories of your retainer from back home, Magdalene, fresh in your mind. The two seemed alike, yet Elaina seemed more soft-spoken, a trait that Magdalene lacked. The thought caused you to inwardly smirk, remembering the playful quarreling behind the closed doors of your quarters once you coaxed her into being comfortable with you. Magdalene was a very dear friend. The recollections of your retainer, coupled with the events from the night before caused the overwhelming sense of longing for home to rear its ugly head once more.

“We mustn’t dally, your highness,” Elaina urged, helping you rise to your feet, “I drew a bath for you. If we wait any longer, you will have an uncomfortable start to your morning.”

You peered at your reflection one more time and thought of the upcoming confrontation with your family, Prince Lin, and his family.

“Why yes, a cold bath would definitely be an unfavorable start to this exciting day.”

You were the last to arrive in the dining hall.

A quick sweep of the table revealed more guests than you expected – the familiar faces of royal families from the night before along with members of the court were seated and waiting for your presence. You curtsied low in apology, knee nearly brushing the ground, and took the last remaining seat next to Margaret.

“I am sorry for the wait,” you said, feeling the penetrating eyes of everyone in the room on your frame, particularly from your parents. Your rash disappearance from the celebration was impudent and inappropriate for royalty and was deserving of a heavy discipline.

King Miranda, who sat at the head of the table, regarded you closely. “It is understandable, Princess Y/N. My son informed us the reasoning behind your sudden absence from yesterday night. I am delighted to see you recovered to join us.”

Your eyes darted to Prince Lin, nonplussed. He kept his gaze on his plate and refused to meet your eyes.

Did he lie for you?

“I am feeling much better, your Majesty,” you answered after a pause, “thank you for your concern.”

“Good. You have a very busy day today,” your mother interjected sharply, the tone in her voice indicating her irritation.

Your hands tightened around the napkin that you placed in your lap, your knuckles turning white. You resisted the urge to argue, knowing that it would have caused the stiff air looming over the table to thicken.

“You should have seen her, your Majesty,” Prince Lin remarked, raising his eyes to study you from across the table, “I’ve never seen a person so haggard, or become that shade of green so quickly. I was impressed.”

“All this time I thought you saw me as nothing other than a silly little girl who pranced around in dresses and whined when I did not get my way,” you scowled, using his words against him, “But I am pleased to hear that you’re impressed by one of my many remarkable hidden talents.”

He chortled. “And I cannot wait to discover more of those talents, your Highness.”

The occupants of the table roared in laughter at what they assumed was playful banter. You ignored the raucous uproar, anger bubbling low in your belly as you held his teasing gaze, unmoving even when the servants came to distribute breakfast.

Prince Lin leaned forward. “Don’t I deserve your thanks, Princess?” he murmured, low enough for you to only hear, “I do believe that I just saved you from a lecture on behaving like royalty.”

“Did you forget that I am upset with you, Prince Lin-Manuel?” You countered.

He gave you a weak smile. “And do I have to remind you to stop pushing me away? I am trying to remedy my foolish blunders from last night.”

You broke away from his deep gaze, perplexed at his persistence. Despite his foul words, he said nothing that was untrue. You weren’t groomed to rule a kingdom, nor did you want to.

“Believe it or not, I am fighting for this marriage,” he said cryptically, “and I need you to fight for it too.”

You remained silent for the rest of the meal, pondering the meaning behind his words.

Long after breakfast was over and you’d said your goodbyes to the departing guests, you found yourself in the study to review the details of the wedding with your mother and Queen Miranda. Thanks to the lovely advisor you had the honor of meeting the night before – you’d learned over breakfast that Darius was his name – Victoria and Margaret were whisked away by Prince Lin to explore the castle. Not only did he succeed in belittling you, but his adamancy for Prince Lin to be with your sisters became apparent when he suggested the idea to King Miranda.

The office was overlooking the open field in the middle of the castle, and you ignored the tailor prattling on about your wedding dress when you spotted the trio make their way outside. Prince Lin was ahead of your two sisters, pointing at something in the distance while they trailed behind him, eagerly soaking in the castle’s beauty. He brought his fingers to his lips, whistling, and you waited with baited breath in anticipation of your sisters’ reaction to Tobi.

You were not disappointed to see Victoria hide behind Margaret once the mutt appeared, her hands clutching your sister’s side in fear. Margaret stood her ground and the sight caused you to smile, not expecting any less from your fearless and poised elder sister. Tobi, who was enjoying an ear rub from the Prince, took a brief glimpse at your sisters. To your utter surprise, she remained glued to the Prince Lin’s side, barely giving your two sisters a glance. No ankle licking, not even a breath their way. You didn’t understand why, but you were relieved that Tobi’s affections were still privy to you.

“Y/N,” your mother called, drawing your attention back to the room, “are you listening?”

“I was not. I’m sorry,” you said, eyes lowered to the table. You didn’t need to look at her to know she was angry.

Queen Miranda, sensing the building tension, placed a comforting hand on top of yours. “You must miss your sisters dearly. This is the longest you have gone without seeing them, isn’t it?”

“Yes your Majesty,” you answered, meeting her eyes and giving her a small smile.

She sighed, squeezing your hand gently. “I was an only child. My mother passed after she gave birth to me, and my father was too heartbroken to remarry. I envy the dynamics of siblings and their fierce allegiance to each other.”

“I love my sisters,” you replied truthfully.

Queen Miranda smiled. “I haven’t yet had the occasion to tell you, Princess Y/N, but I admire your character. You have accepted this arrangement gracefully and I will never fail to thank you for saving my people. I am pleased to see you handle my wayward son with ease and I have no doubts that your marriage will be a fruitful and happy one. I am honored to be called your mother-in-Law.”

You didn’t realize that you were crying until she reached over to wipe the tears that trailed down your cheeks. “Thank you, Queen Miranda,” you whispered, moved by her sincere words. It was the first time that you’d spoken to her so intimately, and seeing the motherly and kind side of the Queen made you feel vulnerable.

“So shall we continue our planning for the wedding? We only have a short time before we begin the tour of the kingdom.”

You nodded, sniffing. The feeling of helplessness did not clear during the remainder of the meeting. How could it when Queen Miranda’s gentle hand was still holding yours so tenderly and your mother’s sharp stare changed to one of approval with your willingness to participate in the discussions?

Outside the castle, three carriages all bearing the emblem of the Miranda household laid in wait. The open carriages were intricately designed, the metal skeleton forming a pattern that looked like vines weaving and wrapping together to form the body of the carriage. You couldn’t fight the wry smile when you noticed that they were colored an Egyptian Blue – a token that you only knew because of the linens for the wedding.

“This is exciting,” Victoria squealed, bouncing on her toes, “I am ecstatic that the King and Queen have invited us.”

You grinned, agreeing with her sentiments. Back home, it was rare that you and Victoria traveled outside the palace walls. The only exception was when the royal family was invited to events in neighboring kingdoms; though even during those visits, you were confined within castle walls. Margaret was the exception to the rule – as future Queen it was her duty to interact and keep contact with the Lords of her lands to ensure their well-being and efficient output of goods. She was always swept away by your parents, frequently leaving the castle and meeting with the courts to deal with the politics within the kingdom.

Today was the first day of the parade that the court had spoken of, a way to soothe the rumbles of discontent throughout the kingdom about the impending wedding. A tour of the land was an excuse to mask the ulterior motive of swaying the opinions of the people. It left a heavy burden on your shoulders, especially with the events from the previous night and the tension between you and the Prince.

Margaret reached over a tucked your long hair behind your ears. “I am curious to see the mechanisms of an agrarian society. Prince Lin-Manuel has told me of the plague and famine that recently overwhelmed the land,” she murmured, “I believe that a new irrigation system and including proper sanitary precautions would help.”

You stared at your sister, puzzled. “You’ve spoken about issues of the land?”

Victoria hid a giggle behind her hand. “You should have seen them this morning, Y/N. I was lost at their words. It was a conversation that only a King and Queen would be able to have.”

“Oh,” you replied softly, not knowing how else to respond. A strange emotion struck your chest, making you frown. Why didn’t Prince Lin tell you any of his troubles?

“It was not as spectacular as Victoria suggested,” Margaret quipped, “just a typical and dull conversation between rulers-to-be. It was nothing to warrant your alarm, my sweet sister.”

Your stomach sunk at her words. What was that supposed to mean? Before you could respond, King Miranda and Darius appeared by your side. You eyed the latter warily, bracing yourself for his schemes.

“We will be visiting the nearby villages today,” King Miranda said, “and tomorrow we will be venturing further to the villages sprinkling the outskirts of my lands.”

“We are thrilled to see your kingdom, your Majesty,” Margaret commented, Victoria nodding enthusiastically beside her.

King Miranda smiled. “Though my lands are not as nearly developed as yours, I hope you appreciate the beauty of nature that they have to offer.”

“And if your people are as welcoming as their ruler, I’m sure that I will have no problem falling in love with them,” Margaret hummed, smiling from ear to ear.

“Princess Margaret, you are after my own heart,” King Miranda rumbled, laughing, “I am pleasantly surprised. I thought Princess Y/N’s wit was exceptional, but it seems like it must run in the family.”

“My wit?” you echoed, startled.

King Miranda turned his gaze toward you, eyes soft and a kind smile on his face. “Your father has told me of your intellect, Princess. To say I am pleased is an understatement. You handle my son quite well and it is amusing how quickly you subdue him.”

You blinked in surprise at his words. “Subdue?”

“My old man thinks I am a loose cannon,” Prince Lin exclaimed, rolling his eyes as he took his place by your side.

“Shall I recount the letters I’ve received from the nearby villages and kingdoms?” King Miranda chuckled, eyes gleaming, “My son loses his sense of virtue and honor when a beautiful woman is involved.”

You jerked your head towards the Prince, glaring at him disgust. He had the audacity to grin at you.

“My Princess is all too familiar with my habits, Father,” he cooed, leveling gazes with you.

You were going to throttle him.

The King roared in laughter and your sisters hid their giggles behind their hands. Before you could sputter your protest, the guards emerged from the castle. The rhythmic pounding of their horse’s hooves halted when they neared the King and the guards kneeled in respect when they dismounted. When they informed the King that their preparations to depart were complete, your sisters were ushered into their carriages by the coachman. King Miranda, with the quiet Darius by his side, followed suit, heading toward the carriage where your parents awaited.

“Well? Are you ready?” Prince Lin murmured, dusting off the lapels of his Egyptian Blue coat and holding his hand out for you to take.

You scoffed. “We’re still behind the walls of the castle, Prince Lin. We can begin the charade once we reach the villages.”

“Humor me, will you?” he replied, reaching for your hand and encasing it in his.

You sighed, acquainted with the motions of holding hands with him from the countless times you’d done it the night prior, and let him revel in his strange request. As he helped you up into the carriage, he pulled you close to his side, arm wrapping around your shoulders. You nearly fell off your seat when the pads of his fingers brushed against your bare shoulder, the touch of his rough skin causing a sharp jolt to run down your arm and for you to jerk back in surprise.

You lifted your dress and scooted away from him, eyes burning with fury. “Be mindful of your fingers and where you put them, Prince Lin-Manuel,” you snarled, heart beating furiously against your chest, “or I’ll have no choice but to break them.”

Prince Lin smirked, lifting his hands up in a playful yield. “Why, you almost had me worried there, Princess. You were so complacent with my wishes that I thought I almost had you surrendering to my charms.”

“In your dreams,” your harrumphed, ignoring him for the remainder of the carriage ride.

#lin x reader #lin manuel miranda x reader #lin manuel miranda fanfic #lin manuel miranda imagine #lin manuel miranda preferences #hamilton x reader #hamilton fanfic #hamilton imagine #hamilton preference

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