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archonanqi · 4 years ago

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consequence / pt ii

⛔️ Warning: Please read the tags and warnings on the info page and proceed with caution.

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pt. ii of iii

The sky was still dark when you woke with a splitting headache. You blinked the sleep from your eyelids, eyes adjusting to the shadowy silhouettes of furniture around you. This was— one of Wangshu Inn’s rooms? You checked yourself for wounds and fractures; there was a scrape on your knee, but it had been properly dressed and bandaged.

Zhongli.

You had to get Aether and get out. You would have taken any punishment from Zhongli for breaking the contract but Aether— it was clear that Zhongli knew he could get to you through him. Your brother was in danger, too.

Stumbling to the door, you threw it open to meet the stunning Liyue night view. At the altitude of Wangshu Inn, the air was always cold and crisp, and you took a deep breath as you stepped out of the room to come face to face with a pair of familiar, bright yellow eyes.

“Xiao?” The relief you felt was immense. No matter the danger, you’d always been able to depend on the Vigilant Yaksha to back you up in battle. “I’m so glad to see you. You won’t believe this—“

Once you took a better look at Xiao’s face, you trailed off. There was no surprise in his gaze. You had not found him by a stroke of luck; he was here to stop you from leaving.

“I know of your contract with Rex Lapis.” How long had it been since he had last spoken to you in that tone of disdain? “I have helped him uphold countless in the past few millennia. Even you are no exception.”

“Xiao, I didn’t even know what the contract meant,” you pleaded, hope soaring at the flicker in his eyes. “Please, let me leave.”

The Yaksha swallowed visibly, brows knitting together. “No,” he finally said. “Go back to your room. I don’t want to have to fight you while you’re in... this state.”

“You’d fight me here?” You said, for the second time that night. “The civilians—” As you turned to gesture at the staff of Wangshu Inn, you realized that despite the commotion, not one of them was looking in your direction.

“The staff of Wangshu Inn are prepared, as am I,” Xiao said, without so much as glancing in their direction, “to carry out the will of our lord.”

Ah. You were alone here. But still, you stood firm, and watched the resignation dawn in Xiao’s eyes. You had not backed down when Chef Mao told you they were out of Almond Tofu, during your dinner with Xiao three months ago. You had not backed down when three Abyss Mages had you cornered in Lingju Pass; and even as Xiao had slaughtered them, you’d tried to get one last swing in with a tree branch. You would not back down now, and Xiao knew it as well as you did.

“I wish it didn’t come to this,” Xiao said, and you believed him wholly.

He clasped his hand to his face, and when it came away, he was wearing his mask. You supposed that you should feel a little flattered that he thought he had to don his Yaksha mask to fight you, hungover as you were. But before that, you felt worry. You knew full well what the mask did to him, had seen your fair share of aftermaths after a battle had dragged too long.

“Xiao, don’t hurt yourself,” you whispered.

In his eyes, behind the teal glow of his veil, you saw just a flicker of hesitation. But not enough.

Just as you shifted into a defensive stance — the way Xiao had taught you to do during your sparring sessions — there was a movement behind you. The Yaksha looked up over your shoulder, and immediately bowed his head, his mask fading away as quickly as it had come. You turned, even though you already knew what you’d see: Zhongli, pristine and immaculate as ever, his coat carried gently in the wind.

Disappointment in Zhongli’s gaze had always been hard to stomach, but today, it felt like the weight of the world on your lungs. “So she did try to escape, then, before even granting me an audience?” The former Archon asked, every word chilling you to your core. “Thank you for your service, Xiao. You may go now.”

Xiao lifted his head, turning to go wordlessly. Before he disappeared down the stairs, he paused. “What are you going to do to her?”

Zhongli regarded him with a lidded glance. “Only what must be done.”

—

After Xiao’s leave, Zhongli turned to you.

“Do you understand now?” He asked, flicking his hand back in the same slow gesture as he always did when he was telling a long story. You remembered how much you adored listening to the tales of the Archon War. Stories of those he conquered, brought to life through his deep, rich voice. You never thought you’d be among them, one day. “Six thousand years is a long time, even for those who live forever. I know every crack, cave and crevice, every clan, bloodline and family in Liyue. There is no place for you to run.”

You knew what he left unspoken. You had been a part of Liyue for what, one, two years? He had raised it from the earth. Despite all his talk of friendship, you would find no allies here who would, when faced with the choice, defy their archaic lord for you.

Xiao’s betrayal still stung, but in light of the weight of Zhongli’s presence before you, it was all but inconsequential, and wholly unsurprising. The slight shiver that ran down your spine, this time, was not because of the cold night air.

“What did you do to Aether?” is the first thing you managed to say.

“Your brother is safe.” Zhongli assured you. “I’ve had him sent to Bubu Pharmacy for treatment, and Paimon is looking after him.”

The relief you felt was uneasy. Safe— for now, at least.

“Where is he?”

“A location that I have secured, personally. You may see him when we are done here.” Zhongli answered seamlessly. You did not miss the threat that was left unspoken. “Though, he is not the one you ought to be worrying about, right now.”

An amicable departure from Teyvat was but a dream at this point; but maybe if you swallowed your anger, you could get him to leave you alone. Of all the farewells you had imagined, this wasn’t one you hadn’t even imagined would come to pass.

“That was it, right?” You joked weakly, even the pretense of cordiality almost too difficult to maintain, “the Wrath of the Rock? I mean, you literally knocked me out.”

Zhongli studied you carefully, before opening his mouth. “What do you think?” He asked. “ Was that a punishment fitting enough for one who reneged against the God of Contracts?”

“I— I,” You stammered for a little, but stopped once you realized it was futile. Zhongli would exact what punishment he deemed you deserved, and no force in Teyvat could possibly hope to stop him. Defeated, you exhaled deeply. “Would it help my case if I said ‘yes’?”

“No,” Zhongli answered, without hesitation. “Not in the slightest.” There was nothing left of the Zhongli you knew — thought you’d known — in his stone-cold expression.

A festering fear had settled deep within your stomach, rancid and heavy. How arrogant you had been, to think that you could thoroughly understand a being that had lived longer than recorded history, longer than human civilization in some worlds — could you even grasp the very notion of living six thousand years, of spending four thousand fighting a war? The countless bygone friends and foes he must have had to cut down?

How foolish of you to think that you could have outweighed any of them.

“What will it take to keep Aether safe?” You said, dropping your smile. If Zhongli would not budge when faced with the lingering remnants of your friendship, then you would speak to him the only way you knew how to get through to him; with a contract. “I’ll willingly accept any punishment, without a fight, as long as you promise to let him and Paimon go safely afterwards.”

Would Zhongli really… kill you? Even knowing all that you knew of his brutality during the war, it was hard to wrap your head around. You couldn’t breathe.

“Any…?” Zhongli’s huff created a small cloud of condensation in the night air. “It seems I have not taught you enough about the art of negotiation during our journey together. An open contract is a very dangerous thing to place in the hands of your adversaries.“

“I don’t care,” you snapped. Any other time, and you would have loved to hear him lecture, but...“Just tell me you won’t hurt them.”

Zhongli closed his eyes once more, as he always did when presented with a contractual proposal to ponder. Finally, when he had been still so long you’d thought he might have fallen asleep, he crossed his arms. “Very well. I accept the terms of your contract.”

At least, no matter what happened to you, Aether and Paimon would be safe.

“Come, y/n,” Zhongli beckoned with two gloved fingers, “let us continue somewhere more private.” He turned around and began walking, as though he had not a doubt that you would follow him. Well, with the terms that he had over your head, did you really have a choice?

You had been to Wangshu Inn so many times — to complete commissions, to grab a quick lunch, to bring Almond Tofu for Xiao — that you knew the land around it like the back of your hand. It would be so easy to escape on your own; you’d make it to Mondstadt within the night. Determined as Zhongli was, the idea of a diplomatic fallout with Liyue’s neighboring nation would at least make him take pause in his pursuit of you. Right?

Freedom was within your grasp. Behind you, the crickets chirped their hymns into a star-flecked sky.

You owe me big time, dear brother , you thought bitterly to yourself as you followed Zhongli back into his room.

#zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #yan!zhong #zhongli fanfic #genshin fanfic #consequence #anqi writes #my writing

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ammocharis · 4 years ago

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Writing Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @cleverblackcat and @tejaswrites!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

12 as of now, though some of them are parts of the same story and I might weave them all in a single work one day, but I decided to split them due to time skips and changes in tone. I don’t know when I’ll be able to bridge all the gaps but I still wanted to share what I wrote, so I ended up creating a series with a couple of installments.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

140 699 words

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Watch the Skies - 125 kudos

Vatna of Two Falcon Hold as a companion in Dragon Age - 8 kudos

Mirrors and Braids ex aequo Rattle the bars if you like, but I chose to enter this cage - 7 kudos

Aval'var, it means - our journey ex aequo Avvar History Reconstruction - 5 kudos

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes, I do respond to almost every comment and I really appreciate receiving them. When someone comments on certain aspects of the story, I usually try to explain some of my choices, like why I decided for that character to react in such a way, why I deviated from the canonical storyline, or why I included those lore tidbits. It allows me to share my perspective, my reasons for writing the story in the first place.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Well, I have started writing an alternative storyline for my Avvar Inquisitor, Vatna, in which she becomes a part of the Jaws of Hakkon, which ought to be super angsty, but it has no ending yet.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Do limericks count? They’re fun but each is five verses long.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I had, in fact, the first fic that I wrote was a crossover between Dragon Age and Puella Magi - it’s just not published on AO3 and probably never will. It's pretty crazy, that’s for sure, given how wildly different those two pieces of media are, though strangely, I found a few of thematic parallels that compelled me to explore them for a while.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, and I hope I’ll be spared from it. My writing is not perfect by any means, and I do welcome constructive criticism and corrections, but I probably wouldn’t deal well with hate comments. Mustering motivation to write fics is hard enough as it is.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

No, not really. I have written some scenes that focused on sexual interactions, but they weren’t quite smutty, if that makes sense, as the POV character is a sex-indifferent asexual.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I write in English, even though it isn’t my native tongue, so I could probably translate my own fics if I wanted, but I didn’t feel like it so far. If someone approached me with an offer to translate my fic into a language I don’t speak, I’m not sure what my reaction would be, as I’d like to know how they present my characters in the translated version. Translation is a tricky craft, and there are many ways to express a single concept. Sometimes, a translated work has a completely different tone from the original.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah, I wrote Fool's Gold with Toshi Nama as a part of Discord server collaboration, in which her Warden, Farin Brosca, and my Inquisitor, Vatna Einarsdotten, meet up to investigate a red lyrium smuggling operation in the Frostback Mountains. It was a fun challenge!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I’m not sure, I don’t focus on shipping that much.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I probably won’t get back to finish my unpublished crossover xD But I enjoyed thinking about the possibilities, and I did have the general storyline thought out, but I don’t think I could finish it. For one, it would take a lot of time and motivation that I don’t have, and if I ought to pick a project I would like to see till the end, it’s the story of my Avvar girl.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve been told my worldbuilding is well-thought out. I do have the benefit of writing fanfiction, so there’s no need to built a world from ground up, but I do expand upon what’s presented in the original work, and I greatly enjoy it. I wonder a lot about the unexplored details, like when I’m writing about the Avvar, I imagine what kind of holidays they could celebrate, what cultural taboos they might observe, what is their main source of food, how their families could be structured, little things like that, which, hopefully, create a compelling picture together.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

My pacing is probably not that great, when I think about what I’d like to write, I don’t really ensure that each story beat is nicely spaced out, that there are no sudden accelerations or decelarations of plot. I do have a general plotline in my head, for the most part, but when it comes to writing, I focus on individual chapters.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it has its time and place, but I believe it should be done sparingly. I wouldn’t be excited to read a super long dialogue in a language different from the one that the work is written in, and I won’t include such things in my fic. It disrupts the flow and doesn’t benefit the story very much, in my opinion. If it’s necessary for the plot or characterization to show that someone speaks in another language, I think it’s enough to use a foreign word or a phrase from time to time, hint at its meaning through context, and describe how the communication barrier affects the characters.

My main character, Vatna, does alternate between her native tongue (Avvar, which is I represent as Icelandic/Old Norse) and a second language (Common Tongue, which for all my intents and purposes is equivalent to English) so I do include some lines in a different language, but I keep them short. Usually, it’s just a single word whose meaning can be easily inferred from the surrounding text. More often than not, I signify the language barrier through other means. Sometimes, Vatna slips into her native tongue for a longer moment, and she may even have conversations with her fellow Avvar, but the actual dialogue remains in English (i.e. Common) - instead, I use the narration to show that the language barrier is ever present, like describing the reaction of accompanying characters.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

My favourite is Mirrors and Braids, a part of the Saga of the Avvar-Daughter series, which focuses on Vatna’s reaction to the loss of her arm. Though it’s not really a “fun” story by any means, I am quite fond of it. It was somewhat cathartic to write.

Tag list under the cut

@samuraisaucefrites @dreadfutures @crackinglamb

#tag game #writing tag game

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so-i-dont-forget-again · 4 years ago

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So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Entry 151: Zora’s Domain

After training and lunch Sidon and I went searching for history again. We would have brought Bossa Nova, but he had wandered off during training.

We went searching around Ruto Mountain. It reminded me of when we were just walking around the cliffs that faced the Akkala region. Just walking around and chatting. He did give me a scare though when he accidentally slipped on some rocks and slid down a shallow cliff. Thankfully it was not a long drop and he found some more history.

It’s rarer, but Sidon got embarrassed. He’s rather cute when sheepish, he has this little habit of scratching his cheek, even if he tries to hide being flustered, that gives him away. He apologized for worrying me, saying a prince ought to have more awareness of his surroundings.

It was about Mipha, her trident. When she was born the trident was made for her. From the start she was loved by everyone, she was even skilled in spearmenship, easily mastering the Zora’s form. After she died, everyone was devastated, it was like they all lost the most lovable, precious, strong person in the world. They tried sending her trident down the river as a funeral of sorts, but it began to glow, and they heard Mipha speak. She told them her and her trident were one, and to keep going on happily, to remember the past with fondness, it happened and not grief that it was over and to not cry. Since then, on the anniversary of the Calamity striking, they honor the trident as a holiday.

So, when I was given her trident, when I was told that with it she would be protecting me like she wanted, it wasn’t hyperbole or a metaphor, or whatever, they literally meant it. Mipha is literally with me.

Sidon asked me if I was alright. I told him I was the one who should be asking him that. The gesture of being given this trident, what had become my main weapon, the one I almost always go to for battle, something that is considered to be Mipha, it just means a lot. I can understand gifting me the armor she wanted to give me, but her trident, it almost feels to be too much. I just wish I could remember more about her. I want to know what our relationship was, and if she really was as great as everyone says. She honestly almost doesn’t sound real. Just perfect in every way. But then again, Sidon is here, so a person like that isn’t too far of a stretch. Sidon said he wasn’t perfect, but he strives to be, to be like his sister.

I asked Sidon if he was pressured to be like his sister. He admitted that at times, yes. Sometimes he felt he wasn’t good enough and couldn’t live up to her legacy, how when he was younger he would be compared to her often but that just meant he had to create his own legacy and be the kind of person everyone could love, but in a way different from Mipha. He said it’s like what I’ve done. I… didn’t understand. He seemed confused and asked to read through my memories, of the ones of my current time here. He told me there was something I hadn’t noticed.

It seems so blaringly obvious now.

I’m not being compared to the Hylian Champion from a hundred years ago. We are separate people. There’s the old, or I guess younger me, the me who fought with the champions, the one who Mipha loved, and the one who died. Then there’s me, a new champion. One who is more expressive than the one from long ago, one who’s made a reputation for being a troublemaker with an exceedingly kind heart. The new champion who gleefully plays with the children and help them with their pranks. The new champion who had such a big heart he searched across Hyrule’s waters for one single person. The new champion who fought along side their Prince to save them all, a person who rose from death itself just to help people. Someone who even when injured still wants to help by becoming a teacher. They see the old champion and the new champion as separate people now.

They haven’t talked about the past much being here this time, the old me. The old me exists, and is remembered, but I’m not him.

At times, it feels the Zoras speak of nothing of the past, but they live for so long, it only makes sense, it’s not history to them, they all remember it all, yet… Mipha and Sidon are both loved, but differently, and I, though the same person, am thought of differently, and now even treated differently.

That must be why it feels different this time, not as suffocating or sad. Its… like the feeling I have for Hateno, but different, like the love for Sidon and Mipha.

It’s nice.

We kept exploring around the cliffs.

We got a clear view of Mount Lanayru. There seemed to be this bluish-purpleish glow at some places. It’s not like the Luminous stones in the Domain, it’s something else. It’s odd. I never looked around there before. Maybe there’s some shrines to be found, maybe I could get some new equipment, hopefully something to keep warm in the snow since I’ll be going to Rito Village.

We had to do a bit of rock climbing and Sidon carried me the whole way. He slipped a few times but did very well.

We also walked along very tally, grassy areas and found a forest. I insisted we search around it. No matter how small or inconspicuous, I’m going to search every forest for the Master Sword. Sidon asked if this was what traveling was like. Sometimes, it really depended on the area and if I’m following roads or not. Sidon said he’d like to travel someday. It would be fun to have him and Yunobo tag along. Maybe I should visit him soon and see how Death Mountain is doing. Maybe he’d feel safe enough to travel now.

We found more history in the forest.

It was about a princesses Zora who fought alongside the princess of Hyrule and the legendary hero against a man who wanted to rule the world. The Divine Beast was named after her and it was believed to be fate for another princesses Zora to have been chosen to pilot it.

The sun was beginning to set, we should have gone back, but we decided to go searching for a little longer.

The Domain at night is beautiful. It reminded me of Death Mountain. I tried describing the gorgeous sight of that bright, hot lava against the stark darkness. Sidon said that usually if the Gorons and Zora wish to speak, the Gorons come to them, but perhaps, I could be his escort, take him up the mountain, and he could use a lot of potions to protect himself there. The Gorons respect strength so a Zora, a being who needs a cool moist climate, to go to their land, surely they’d respect that and make the ties between them stronger! Sidon wants his people to have good relations with everyone, working together would make everyone stronger than they are alone. The Hylians used to be more so the force that tied the Zora, Goron, Gerudo and Rito together, but with our power fallen, everyone has somewhat separated and Sidon wants to get everyone back together to be able to better help one another and fight against any more disasters like the Calamity. The visit could serve two purposes! If he was going to go there anyway with me, he might as well as get to know the Gorons. He spoke of it like it was certain we were going to visit one day. He told me that if he had the power, he’d do anything for me. He said that with all my travels, I’ve seen so many places, so if I specifically am fond of one area, it must be something more beautiful and unlike any other, he trusts my judgement.

We’ve been taking the river when traveling, but this time we just walked on the trail. Traveling by river and riding on his back is much faster than walking. We found another one. It was about his father and how he had defeated a guardian single handedly and saved the domain.

On the way back we found some blue nightshade flowers. He tucked them behind my ear and just said ‘adorable’, and then I was especially so when I blush and he did it with that toothy grin and why must he make my heart race so effortlessly! He’s doing it again even now just remembering it! AGAIN!

We found one last history piece one the way back, it was right by the road like the last one. Unlike the others, it was notably worn, decayed and uncared for. It was just barley legible, unlike the others. It’s close by town too, it’s almost impossible to miss it when coming and going from town via the trail. The others, some are nowhere near trails or water and were difficult to get to or to find yet were perfectly kept up. It was about me, when I defeated the lynel and earned the Zora helm.

Sidon just stared at it for a while. I couldn’t quite read his expression.

After a while he took my arm and lead me back to the medical bay. Before leaving me in my room, he kneeled down and just hugged me. He told me I am an amazing and sweet person. That I’m strong and courageous beyond belief. He told me I am such a marvel, how hard working I am is astounding. He was grateful he could call me his friend, and I deserved only the best the world had to offer. He asked if I knew I was loved. That people truly care about me and want nothing more than for me to be able to be happy and safe.

If no one else, I at least know without a doubt he cares.

Bossa Nova was asleep on the bed when I got to my room. He looked so comfortable I didn’t want to wake and move him.

Sidon asked if I thought I’d go to sleep. I’m too wide awake, I have too many things on my mind.

Sidon asked me to follow him.

He took me to the reservoir where Vah Ruta was attacking from. We were able to climb up it with a staircase. At the top there are several docks that line the top. Before the dock we were on there is this big, I think it’s called a gazebo? It has a roof and the framing for walls, but no actual walls. Along the frames there’s this counter that connects everything except for the entrance gap. On it are some trays, chalices, a jug and some tall thin glasses full of drinks. There are also a few seats by the counters. The back doesn’t have any pillars, not far beyond it though is the large wall we had to scale to get here. It’s a little taller than the reservoir itself. On the frames are the softly glowing stones, everything else is crystals. There’s also a large bed at the back. Sidon says it’s a water bed. The bed frame is like a cradle that holds this giant bag of water that’s the mattress. Because it’s water the mattress moves and readjusts when you’re on it. It’s so comfortable, and warm, the heat readjusts too.

Sidon told me we was not sure why this was here, maybe it was for entertaining the Hylian royalty when they came to visit the reservoir. Whatever the reason for it, he found it to be a nice spot. From here there’s a gorgeous view of the town and the surrounding nature. You can even see distant mountains and cliffs. It feels like it close to town, but also detached. Just me and Sidon, no one else. The night sky here seems endless. It’s a strange feeling being here. Almost feel a little nervous being here with Sidon. Sidon is usually so calming which makes this even stranger. It’s not a bad kind of nervous though.

Its more windy here than it is in the canyon, more chilly too. Sidon and I hid in the bed, and it was so warm. Like standing in the morning sunshine in Gerudo desert.

Sidon loosely draped his arms around me and made sure he wasn’t touching my injured arm.

He wondered aloud if I could have my splint taken off for a while so I could take a bath, it might be relaxing if it wouldn’t hurt me. He wondered if we should visit Death Mountain before or after I face the Calamity. He wondered if I’d take him everywhere across Hyrule, just go anywhere I wanted. He wondered aloud about us resting under the stars. He spoke very sweetly, just about us being together. Sidon kept talking, trying to stay awake, but he soon fell asleep. He’s hugging me in his sleep. Even when he’s not awake his touch is so strong and secure.

Bossa Nova can get food, and I’m sure Sidon will be able to wake me up, so maybe I’ll try to fall asleep tonight. No one can get hurt if I rest for now. The Rito need help, but I can’t go till this infection in me is gone, the doctors won’t allow me to go till I’m healed, so since I can’t help them anyway maybe I can rest for the night. Maybe it’d be okay, but I’m not sure if I even can.

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tarithenurse · 5 years ago

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Stolen - 26

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!gifted!reader Content: A sort of calm before the storm. No proof reading at all. A/N: Hey! So, GISH happened. And I’ve returned to work but under special conditions, thankfully. Also I might be very distracted from this fic due to a new hyper fixation – blame my husband for that! Ask or re-blog for tag.

26. Cupid Carries a Gun

... Reader ...

The word pissed does not even begin to describe what you’re feeling but at least you have the satisfaction of the weather matching your anger. Sitting in the queen’s parlour in the middle of the day, it has still been necessary to light candles all around while the dark storm outside pelts the windows with rain. Now and then a flash proceeds a roll of thunder, making you wonder if bad weather in Asgard are just a thing of nature or if it always requires Thor to be busy. Mostly though, you curse Loki.

“Where’s your mind at?” A book taps you lightly on top of your head, calling you back to the present.

“My apologies, your highness,” you mumble. Man, I gotta be such a disappointment right now.

Whatever she might think or not, the woman smiles sweetly as she puts the books and parchments away. “Perchance it would soothe your troubled mind if you told me what is wrong?” She stops your protests with a graceful hand. “What has he done this time?”

“...uhm?”

“My son. Over the years, I’ve had to deal with many whom he’s vexed. Mostly Thor, of course...” For a moment Frigga is the one lost in past events. “So...let me hear it.”

I can really, really NOT tell her that! Heat rises in your cheeks, possibly blocking your airways to prevent any words from escaping. “Nonono, it’s okay! Really! There’s no need -”

“Ah, I see...it’s what he didn’t do...”

I need to change the focus of this conversation! “He uhm he magicked me to sleep!”

A devilish smirk graces the queen’s face. “Do you want to get even or do you want to prevent it from happening again?”

“Both?” If that’s an option.

“Fortunately for you, this distraction is well timed. As you know, none of the lore and theoretical works I’ve procured has been of much use yet, and your description of your gift’s flow has gotten me thinking of the Älfir powers of old. I have managed to find one tome, however the translation is not completed.” She pulls you to your feet, urging you towards the softer seats rather than the desk. “Perhaps, what I will teach you now about Loki is of better use, even.”

... Loki ...

She should be back by now. The raven-haired man scowls at the setup of the room: everything is perfectly clean, a thick log is burning happily in the fireplace, and a light snack awaits on the little table near [Y/N]’s favourite chair. All that’s missing is...her.

Naturally, Frigga could have chosen to extend the lesson’s time frame or perhaps invite the guest to participate in some social hubbub. Loki would like that. It’s a much more comfortable thought than if the Midgardian has been swept away by the Warriors Three, for instance. Or his brother.

As evening creeps in, it becomes increasingly difficult to remain optimistic. Maybe she has decided to leave on her own accord? The new concern is uncomfortable the way it gnaws at his heart.

Purposely staying out of [Y/N] way, he had observed her discreetly during the morning, praising himself for the sensible decision to do so because the woman was seething with anger and he had no illusions: it was due to his actions. After all, Hel hath no fury like a woman scorn. And so, it’s with a smidgen of anxiety in his guts that he conjures the disguise and sets out to find the stubborn woman in question.

Scurrying along the hidden passages, he asks the few servants he encounters on the way to the queen’s chambers initially before the gardens, the arched balustrade over viewing the courtyard, and eventually the grand hall. That’s where he finally gets a useful reply.

“The lady is at the library,” a maid informs.

Oh, really?

... Reader ...

There aren’t a lot of books you can read in the Asgardian palace library but in all honesty, you didn’t end up in one of the plush seats in the corner for the sake of the literature but rather due to the quiet. Frigga has given you a lot to think about on top of a practical assignment.

“A song for light,” you mutter under your breath, staring at your fingers which are doing anything but create a glow, “light...light....”

You’re too caught up to notice a slinking figure watching you through the nearest bookcase. If I were a glow worm, what would I sound like? But the only experience you have with things that both sing and shine is Lumiere and you’re fairly sure belting out “Be Our Guests” won’t do much good in this case.

“Perhaps milady ought to retire for the evening?” a warped voice startles you.

Freaking stealth-god! He might not sport the usual mesmerizingly green eyes, but you know it’s Loki simply due to the way he looks you over. Well, keep looking ‘cause you don’t own me and you can’t order me to do anything. Ha! The silence stretches, and you recognize the beginning ticks revealing the Asgardian’s impatience – no disguise can hide that – and you have to bite back a smile as you turn to look out the tall window again.

“Lady [Y/N],” he tries again, this time stepping over to stand right next to you.

Waving a hand dismissively, you send a thankful thought to Frigga. “Not now, I’ve got some...things on my mind.”

“Allow me to ease the mental burden.” Only a thin veil separates the sarcasm from being too obvious.

The footsteps of someone coming nearer reduces the simmering standoff to silent glares, then a librarian rounds the bookcase and bows discreetly to you, informing that he will take his leave unless you have any requests. Oh, it’s tempting to invent some reason for the man to stay, forcing Loki to keep up the charade, but for the life of you you can’t think of anything and have to watch him walk away.

“Thought you could escape me by coming here, hmm?” the god hisses into your ear.

It sends shivers down your back which you do your best to suppress. “I’m not surprised you don’t know this but I actually like reading. I love books. Perhaps you should have bothered to learn a bit before assuming you’ve got me figured out.”

His eyes gleam and a grin begins to split his face. “Is that so? You presume I do not know you?”

“Fine! What’s my favourite food?” When he doesn’t answer, you power on: “Yours was roasted duck with figs and nuts when you were little. On Alfheim, you seemed to adore the salad with warmed goat cheese and honey.”

“That wasn’t goat cheese.” He doesn’t manage to derail the conversation so he tries with a new tactic, lowering his voice to an obscenely sensual level. “What I do know is how your breathing hitches as I pinch your nipples. It’s no secret to me that your hips would buck if I were to slip my fingers between your soaked folds...and, my pet, even now the scent of your arousal is rising as rapidly as last night.”

“Yet all you do is talk,” you bite back, “empty words but nothing to show for it!”

You know you’ve pushed him past that line the history books and hindsight so clearly shows when his eyes grow dark, emerald and ruby peeping through the illusion. His fingers tangle into your hair while the other hand pulls the glowing cube from the air and the world is obscured by the cloud of magic.

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years ago

Text

Castle - Henry IV x Reader (The King)

Hail To The King - but if it wasn’t at all platonic

...? Do the Mendo tag squad even want in on this? I’ll tag ya’ll anyway... @mandy23b @happyskywhale @wltz-bby

Author’s Note: I caved. I caved. But also the discord server thread for him had the subject line “Bed Me Your Majesty” So I don’t think you can blame me. ALSO - As this film was pretty much fanficition of fanfiction of what really happened... I’m writing fanficition, of fanfiction, of fanfiction...! 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ Honestly, it’s literally just artistic licence!

It’s more a talked about relationship; I didn’t go too detail heavy.

TL;DR: If Shakespeare wrote fanfiction on history, so can I!

Disclaimer: Following The King on plot here / gif not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: Too many people in this Kingdom have big, big plans - but you just want things to stay as they are. You can’t ask for more than you have, considering for your entire life you’ve never wanted anything else but him.

Words: 4985

Warnings: sexual connotations / mild swearing

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Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

Oh, all these minutes passing, sick of feeling used If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

I'm headed straight for the castle They wanna make me their queen And there's an old man sitting on the throne That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean I'm headed straight for the castle They've got the kingdom locked up And there's an old man sitting on the throne That's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut Straight for the castle

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You couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing. Well you could – you supposed your parents had never had anything but blind ambition for you; as their only child. But you thought your father ought to have known better than to push such an agenda. He’d been a King’s Guard before you, and been proud to see you – as his daughter no less! – take the mantle from him as Henry ascended the throne. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen combat before that – Henry’s insistence to drag you around the Kingdom had seen you in many a battle. To him there was none more worthy. To your parents, since his wife had died, they clearly saw an opportunity; swapping your armour for dresses and your sword for children. As if he didn’t have six already. You wouldn’t have it. “I am his King’s Guard – forgoodnessake! Do you have any idea how much Mary meant to him – to ME!? I cannot take her place and nor WILL I!” “Y/N, please, he needs a Queen.” It would sound better if they were on their knees begging you, instead your parents’ tone was more coercive. “Henry doesn’t need a queen – and even if he did, the council would never class me as suitable for him!” “There are ways and means of getting what you want.” “What you want!!!” You shook your head, taking a few significant steps back, “I won’t become a pawn in some political manoeuvring for you-!” You shot an accusatory look to your father, “And YOU ought to know better.” “As if he would mind, you’ve known each other nearly your entire lives, you grew up together-” Your hand moved over the hilt of your sword – and half of you wished you were meeting them in amour and not something so casual. A mistake on your part. “Stop. Before you even think another word stop.” You gritted your teeth, “I will not be party to this. I will not allow you to solicit it to him. And both of you should be careful talking about this here! People have been executed for less.” Your mother placed her hand on your father’s shoulder; “You would threaten us, Y/N?” “If I must.” You turned your body defensively, “I’m leaving – and you should too. I will have the guards escort you from the castle.” Then, because you should, you bowed, “Good day.” You supposed what you were really most scared of happening was people finding out that you and the King weren’t just close friends anymore. You’d been interested in him your entire life; and your parents were right, you had grown up together. You knew about as much about Henry as it was possible to know – and a lot you wished you didn’t. A feeling you believed was probably mutual. People were coming in and out of your life constantly – in no small part due to battlefield deaths. And you were up here in the Castle now. You’d moved around with him for years before the idea of ‘King’ came to mind. And now here he was – but you also knew your place, and it was not as his wife. That thought alone was preposterous; and you would have thought his entire family to forbid it – and he’d been told as such, right around the time you possibly could have fallen in love. You’d both been much younger then. You scoffed, pulling your sword from its sheath as you reached the training ground – about the best way to let off steam right now – it wasn’t ever a fantasy you indulged in. One of those stupid early-20s conversations when Henry asked when the hell you’d give it up and get married – and you’d punch his arm and say ‘Marriage? Me? Really? I thought we knew each other!’ You planted your feet in a solid stance, balancing the blade correctly in your hands, you took a deep breath and cut through the air – before long you were moving in step and sparring with yourself. Your look probably couldn’t have read more angry. It wasn’t just that your parents had suggested it; it was how much you knew such a suggestion would play with your feelings, and they knew too. There was a moment once where you thought you were over him. And then again when you had to be over him. Maybe you’d just conditioned yourself – but there was no better conditioning than loving her too. Mary was his whole world, and she was a literal angel. If there was anyone in this world that could calm him down, and be a good influence, and stand by his side, and be suitable then it was her. You’d met your fair share of women who had wanted to be in her position – but they all had a major problem with you; she never had. Your presence in his life didn’t scare her – and in fact your love for him didn’t either, because she knew that alone would have you keep Henry safe. He was your best friend, and a lot of the time you felt your only friend; with time she became that too – but a couple of years ago Mary had passed away. And your King was now a single man. That had never factored into things for you; suddenly six children didn’t have a mother – and a fairly absent father. King first, father second. That sometimes left you, as King’s Guard, trailing around after 6 growing children. And where at first you’d found them shadowing your every step annoying, and your skills with kids awkward at best – now you loved them as if they were your own. The eldest boys were old enough to begin swordsmanship lessons too – and if you were honest with yourself those points in your week might just have been the ones you looked forward to the most. The problem was, her death had added a new element to your relationship with Henry – and you didn’t know what or whom had started it, yet you did know it was dangerous. An affair? With your King? In your position? The number of men you were surrounded by daily, constantly looking for just such ammunition to throw you to the streets – or worse, were insurmountable. Which almost made it exciting. But you weren’t so sure exactly what it was… he was hurting, and you were a comfort – you supposed. You got to live out your wildest fantasy as a (dangerous) dream come true. Still, you thought to yourself, rather you than anyone else – and constant female companionship kept those you would deem less worthy out of his bed. Before you even started on those trying to find him a suitable second wife. He wasn’t one for having it – and you wouldn’t trust to hope that it had anything to do with you; but that he simply could never marry again after her. Still, your face often said it all when people tried to present their daughters to him. And you were sure the way Henry and yourself glanced to each other sometimes did you no favours in getting in anyone’s good books. That wasn’t something you particularly cared about either. Truth was, you liked where you were, right now. You didn’t want to marry him, you didn’t want to be Queen (for a start a list of conspirators against you would be longer than your arm from the very second Henry slipped a ring onto your finger, if not before), you didn’t want children and you didn’t want to bare him children. If you could help it. That was always an outside possibility – probably about the only thing that that kept you out of his bed as often as you’d quite like to be there. That and knowing your duty came first – not only would pregnancy make what was happening fairly obvious, but it’d lose you your position as King’s Guard – and they’d have to take that from your dead body. The sound of your blade slicing through the air caught you a little off guard as your swings became vicious. Now you were just letting your emotion get the better of you, taking a deep breath you tried to reign it back in; but that only made things worse. Afterall – hadn’t you come here to vent a little? You turned into your next strike, power to your overhead cut. But you struck steel and not air. Henry’s arm didn’t buckle despite the way he was holding the training sword; although you could already tell the quality of yours had put a nick in it. “What did the air ever do to you-!?” You backed up, and inclined your head to him; he was still your King after all. “Nothing. There’s just a lot on my mind.” You kept your eyes to the floor for a moment, and sheathed your sword. “I see you dismissed your parents without so much as a welcome from me.” You raised your eyes to his curiosity, how did he even know they were here? Who had gone ahead and told him? “Yes. For good reason.” “Oh. What could that possibly be?” You folded your arms, confident enough to say it to Henry’s face, “They want to cook up some convoluted plot with the council, which ends with me marrying you.” Not one emotion crossed his features for a number of seconds before he blinked, and then laughed; “I’m sure the court would enjoy hearing such a proposal.” “Do not give them any excuse to come back here and attempt it!” He twisted the steel through his fingers, “Would that be my decision, I cannot stop them from coming to court – and if they would so propose such a thing,” You cut across him; “Very well, but I would like to attest I want no part in it.” “…It wouldn’t exactly be un-agreeable.” He finished. “Henry.” Your look was sharp, “I cannot marry you. This is ridiculous, I don’t know why I even mentioned it.” You covered your eyes for a moment and sighed “Forgive me. It’s just…” He shook his head, “I understand your sentiment. Although with my council perhaps you should speak softer.” But the King looked amused, “I believe you are due a meeting today, are you not?” “That’ll make everything better.” You fell in step with him as you exited the training field; “But yes. We are. I’m sure I’ll have much to report on.” “I’d trust yours over anyone else’s…” That made you roll your eyes, “Then I might ask why you have them around.” “You know very well I don’t have a choice in that.” Though you offered no comment, your smirk probably told him everything. “As long as your mind is sound, your Majesty.” He nudged you, which only made you laugh “My mind? You’re the one that needed to clear her head.” “Indeed. I should check in with the children at some point before the meeting also…” “Yes.” Henry nodded, turning to you again – his mouth opened, but you held your hand up; “Please, I know what you’re thinking. But I cannot be a mother to them – I will not replace Mary. I cannot replace her. It would feel too much like betrayal…” you subtly glanced about to check you were indeed alone as your voice lowered, “Whatever we have, it is not marriage material, and you should not opt to see it as such just because it might get the council off your back. This is me, Henry, they are not my biggest advocates. And besides I would rather your children didn’t hate me for it too-!” “So you will not even consider it.” “NO…” You backed away, prepared to run off to your next engagement, “And neither should you.” But he reached out and caught your wrist before you could, because he could read all over your face that your emotional attachment to the situation was causing your thoughts to run wild; “Then it will never transpire. You should not have to worry about such a thing. Or marriage in general. In truth, you know that I am still grieving her… If what you are really worried about is anyone discovering us, that’s foolish. We’re careful – and you more so than me. Everything will be as it is meant, Y/N. Now…” He let you go, “Please, I wish for you to enjoy the rest of you day – even with your meeting – and we shall discuss this later.” You bowed again; “Yes, your majesty, as soon as my duties for today are done, I shall return to you.” Henry smiled gently, turning away from you to walk in the opposite direction, “See that you do.” Then paused and called you back; “Oh, Y/N.” “Yes?” You immediately paused your jog to twist back to him. “There are a great number of country estates that I could move your parents to. I believe that would alleviate the situation. A barter, if you will. Put a stop to this before it begins. As you may imagine, I would not want this weighing on the mind of my King’s Guard any more than it should.” You nodded, “It… sounds agreeable.” “Then you will not mind me summoning them back?” “No.” “Very well. Then we need not talk of it any longer.” He nodded, and then continued on as if he had never turned back. You smiled shaking your head gently – sometimes he was quite unfathomable. “Thank you!” But Henry held his hand up with a wave – don’t mention it. ***

There was once a time, when he was a little younger, before marriage and children, and becoming a King, when even you allowed the thought of you and he becoming more than fantasy to linger around. Yet even after those things, when he actually spent time on a physical battlefield, rather than the political battlefield he now found himself on, it wasn’t a feeling easily shaken; maybe kicked to the side but never truly gone. The problem was the line between friends and almost/never lovers had always been blurred. Back when you were kids you didn’t know what you were feeling. He was your best friend, sometimes he was the brother you never had, sometimes all Henry was to you was your King – and you the one charged with protecting his life. Maybe he was all of them – but even being intimate with him now you never felt that it was meant to be. Quite the opposite, and yet it was somehow allowed to happen… But sometimes all you could think about was praying together before these battles; hands entwined in prayer in front of you, eyes closed, foreheads touching – whispering well recited Latin. in nomine patris et fili et spiritus sancti And the apparent scandal, or not scandal, of sharing his tent. That was really to make sure he slept – you were one for staying awake and listening to his breathing. Still were. But you didn’t really trust anyone – his life was more important to you than anything else. But you’d never really told Henry that, outside of making it sound like a duty-bound sentence. As far as sleeping with him went, the closest you thought you’d ever get was on the hard ground next to his makeshift camp bed. When his hand would dangle over the edge and you’d have to resist the temptation to reach out and hold it. When your light sleep was burdened with strange vivid dreams, and you were always anxious that you’d wake with his name on your lips. You could probably both brush that off – but the embarrassment of why would have always weighed on your mind.

But he knew. He must have. For Henry to even contemplate ruining what you had by making it more than it ever had to be. He was alone and hurting, and you had always loved him. You had a feeling he loved you too; perhaps not in the same way – perhaps he didn’t feel the desperate yearning you always did. The need to repress everything on something that would never work. But he did. Henry must have; that first kiss wasn’t an accident – and maybe you should have pushed him back and told him that it wasn’t proper and never would be. But you were weak, and you craved him and you were desperate to feel his lips on yours once. Just once! So you didn’t, and with his hands in your hair the words out of your mouth would never have been stop. Henry never used his position over you – but you knew that it wouldn’t even matter if he did.

“Bed me your majesty” was never a phrase that spilled from your lips, but you knew you felt it. You knew you stared at him sometimes and thought it – and you thought Henry probably knew that too, because sometimes all it took was the way you looked at him. Maybe you should whisper it to him, when you felt so fragile and you trembled under his fingertips. It was at least exciting to think of the way he’d react to it. Not another soul in this castle had ever seen you look so delicate as he now had, and that was something Henry liked to keep to himself with a little smirk. But, obviously, he’d be wrong to think that would be normal – you’d always been the very definition of strong woman. Better believe that extended to every facet of your life. Apparently, that was even more exciting.

The morning light wasn’t pale when you awoke. That already meant problems; usually you’d slip out of his room as soon as you could. Not for want of actually wanting to leave him, but needing to. Safety first. You were greeted by the brush of his lips to your forehead and without any walls up, you allowed yourself to smile. You didn’t want to say words yet, just lay together like this. Everything was calm this morning – the only sounds from outside, bird calls and dogs barking. And you almost allowed yourself to fall back to sleep – before what you knew would happen if you were found here panicked you, and you sat up. “Shit, I really should go.” He reached out for your wrist and you found yourself immediately dragged back into the sheets. Henry wound his arms around you, pressing kisses into your skin; shoulders, neck, down your arms and to your hands. You couldn’t help but giggle gently to yourself – but you also knew better. “No no…” You rolled over, lips to his, “I’ll be late for the pre-council meeting… And the servants will be along to bathe and dress you soon, I cannot be here!” His sigh was grumpy as he opened his crystal blue eyes; narrowing them against the harsh light – “Damn your meetings.” “Occasionally I would like to…” You breathed, kissing him again, before grazing your lips to his shoulder and stumbling from the bed, pulling on your breeches, boots and shirt – tightening the cord across your chest, and threading your sword belt around yourself. Doing your best to neaten your hair before pulling it back and off your face once more. “I will see you later, at your side, when we all assemble to hear from the Archbishop.” Henry groaned; “Again!?” “I’m afraid so!” You grinned, moving back around the bed to kiss his face once more – to which he chuckled. “Go. Leave me!” “I’m afraid I must, my King. Until later!” Although you didn’t miss his call of; “You look so beautiful when you’re flushed!” and you could have cursed him right then. By the time you reached the chambers in which the council gathered, they’d already started and you were red for two reasons. It earned many questions, that you could quickly dismiss. After all, you had run all the way here. And you were a swords master – what did they think you did all day, stand around in ceremony like they did? You had to practice if you were to defend him properly! That at least shut the majority of them up, leaving a few suspicious. It hardly mattered to you though; perhaps they knew, perhaps they’d guessed, you were the only female here and certainly the only one that Henry kept consistent companionship with… But you’d been around long enough to know everyone’s secrets – heck, their secrets had secrets. At least you only had one. Although it was a big one. Still you sat around in armour on occasion, and a sword constantly. So you’d like to see anyone try to say anything about it. They might just find the blade at your hip run through them. You were capable, and they already knew you liked to threaten… If they came for you you highly doubted they would be kept around, or even alive if Henry so happened to get word (he would, you’d make sure).

If you’d ever thought there would be something to worry about, you were there now. His children were grown up, and a few of them off and married themselves. Thomas was on the council, and damn good at it – you were always impressed by his level headed judgements. Hal… wasn’t, but had been. And he was off wherever he wanted to be – you hoped he was just being a young, reckless and rebellious teenager. Half of you wasn’t sure it’d wear off; it certainly didn’t stand him in his father’s good graces. Hal became Henry’s new favourite thing to grumble about. There were times that you’d dragged him back to the castle kicking and screaming just keep the King quiet. That didn’t earn you a whole lot of love – but Hal at least still respected you, and that helped you get between them and cool them both off when necessary. Henry’s health was waning – it had been for a while, and he’d been through just about every major illness you could get, but had survived. You wanted to be around him now to look after him, as much as you did anything else. That instinct made you a lot sharper, he didn’t have a lot of time to waste and there were plenty in the Kingdom who wanted to waste it. Standing beside him and giving them filthy looks, or scoffing, or rolling your eyes; sometimes just unable to keep harsh statements from coming off your lips. And you were sarcastic too, especially to the council. Truth was you’d had enough of the bullshit and deceit. The decent thing would be for them to stop manipulating Henry and his thought process; people thought he was out of his mind at the best of times, the council only served to make it worse and pretend that it was all your King’s doing. You saw right through all that in various stages of contempt. Thomas and yourself were walking the corridors of the castle after one such meeting and as the sweetest of Henry’s children (and perhaps the most apt), often chided you for the kind of comments that you made to unsuspecting subjects, or the council. (Though you were sure he might understand why you’d make them to the council.) “Oh, Y/N, why are you so cruel and mean and sarcastic all the time? It doesn’t make you friends!” You would only ever laugh though; “Thomas you’re so sweet-! And I don’t do it to make friends, I do it to protect your father, especially NOW!” “Well, I certainly worry about it!” “No need. I’ve been doing it a long time.” In fact only his entire life. “I’m not sure that excuses doing it worse. I’m concerned for your wellbeing.” You sighed softly and smiled; “Okay… If it makes you feel better, I will tone it down.” “Thank you. It would.” “…Only for you mind.” You raised your finger to let him know you were deadly serious about that. “Well. I’m sure others would also appreciate it.” But he beamed, and you thought that maybe for that alone, you could probably tone down your scoffing at everyone else’s ludicrous decisions on what to do next. Though, you were sure on occasion Henry and yourself would still catch each other’s eyes thinking exactly the same thing. Idiots-! So you couldn’t help but smile back at that; “I’m proud of you, you know? You’ve come so far in such a short space of time, you’re responsible, you’re not yet that old. You’ll go far Thomas; I hope you realise that... and I hope you’re proud of yourself.” He acted bashful for a second; “Oh it’s… nothing really. Not like you.” “Oh yeah?” You leant back slightly and folded your arms, “And what, pray tell, is the difference between you and I?” “You’re on the council… and you have seen and won many a battle. You’re… as close to my father as it’s possible to get.” You inclined your head; “My prowess on the battlefield is really the only reason I am here…” You touched the hilt of your sword, “I am only on the council because I am King’s Guard, I have very little input into everything, and…” you paused, knowing for fact that Henry had always been an arms-length sort of father, “…I’ve known your father since we were both very small. He trusts you as much as he does me – I know this to be true.” And you did, the King often talked of how proud he was of Thomas. You thought it was an all-around good sign, but how exactly you got him to show the affection that came with it, you weren’t sure yet. “Thank you…” He also paused for a second, before hugging you, it was a warm, tight hug. And considering the very nearly professional context of your attire, it caught you off guard. You stiffened for a minute, eyes wide, before returning his arms around you. You tried desperately hard not to be overcome with emotion, but you almost welled up; remembering vividly back to when the best Thomas could do was cling to your leg, begging you not to go to a meeting that he himself was now avidly involved with. He let you go, still smiling, “I bid you good day, Y/N.” “And you, Thomas.” As you would for his father, you bowed gently to the Prince and watched him take off down the corridor, smile still on your face. You only turned around when you heard the clearing of a throat behind you. Standing leaning against an entrance way to a higher corridor, was Henry himself. You had no doubt he’d probably heard that entire exchange. But you couldn’t help but smile at him too, and jogged up the set of steps to join him. “Are you waiting for me?” “I was watching the world go by, but I heard the two of you and decided I best collect you, after this morning’s escapades.” Henry gave you a hard look and you hoped he might be joking. “Thomas does a good job of chiding me himself, I don’t need it from you also.” “Ah, but I am the King. And therefore…” You leant against the other side of the doorframe with a scoff, indicating he wasn’t about to get away with saying such a thing. From here you could see through the high windows into the gardens below, and as Thomas crossed the grass several of the dogs chased around his feet. Henry watched your smile grow with a shake of his head; “He’s probably right. You should tone it down.” “Oh? Are you only saying that now because you’re older and wiser? Because there was a time when you used to not only agree with me, Sire, but laugh along.” “Yes, well. Older – perhaps wiser. But I feel that I should probably mention it.” “Save your words, I’ve been like this for years – Best believe I wouldn’t stop now. Force of habit.” “Well if you’re around, and I no longer am, you may well have to change.” “I believe my reactions save you from endless boredom. And, hush - don’t say things like that… How am I supposed to live my life without you!?” It was something you considered, obviously, but never ever wanted mentioned. “I rather think you’ll manage quite well… They depend on you, Y/N. They may not say it but they do.” “Whom? Your council? Your sons?” “The Kingdom.” “Oh.” You hesitated, with a blush, “I… see.” Although currently you weren’t sure how much the Kingdom would really be thanking you for that – considering their views on their King. Afterall, it was not just your job to defend him – you would lay down your life for Henry no matter who he was. He leant across the about foot gap between you and held your chin between his fingers before brushing his lips to yours. You blinked a couple of times; “That was… unprofessional. Especially out here!” “Don’t you ever get tired of worrying?” “No. Especially not now they’re so grown up.” Still, you stole a second kiss before he pulled away. He looked back to the castle grounds; “Thought that would make it more exciting.” “Well, if I would be so bold as to suggest something to entice you away from your duties today, my King.” Henry turned to you, eyebrow raised – but his smile turned into a gentle smirk, and instead of asking what you meant he simply said; “Entice me.” You smirked, a little more seductive, as you claimed that gap back, face so close to his you could feel his breath, and body almost touching his you could hear his heartbeat. Your eyes flicked slowly from his lips to his eyes and back. And for once you decided to brave the sentence you’d been dying to say for a long time. “Bed me, your majesty.”

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Thank you for reading!! 💙🙏💜

#Halseyyyy once again!#The King (2019)#Henry IV x Reader #Ugh that's a weird tag to write #I mean he did /have/ illigitimate children so it's not like this kinda thing /couldn't/ have happened #161 #Thea #another favourite OC of mine #Couples that slay together stay together #I think I prefer them platonic to romantic (as envisioned)#but I do like this one #What is with all the minimal editing?#I just kinda added description here and there but...#I dunno everything is kinda going along nicely #I like that #The King

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tinyshe · 4 years ago

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still worth reading ... more now than ever:

The Kraken Unleashed: Are We Ready to Fight the Beast?

Father Richard Heilman January 14, 2015

“And I saw a beast rising out of the sea, having ten horns and seven heads; and on its horns were ten diadems, and on its heads were blasphemous names. And the beast that I saw was like a leopard, its feet were like a bear’s, and its mouth was like a lion’s mouth. And the dragon gave it his power and his throne and great authority. One of its heads seemed to have received a death-blow, but its mortal wound had been healed. In amazement the whole earth followed the beast. They worshiped the dragon, for he had given his authority to the beast, and they worshiped the beast, saying, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it? – Revelation 13:1-10

“In the 2010 film, Clash of the Titans, there is a scene in which Zeus, angry with the humans, is persuaded by Hades to visit vengeance upon the mortals in the form of the Kraken, a giant monster from the depths of the sea. The visual of this great evil being unleashed is something to behold:

“If this scene is evocative, perhaps it is because it’s familiar. Like a Kraken released, we have a colossal problem in our world today. There are few who are not stunned by the growing specter of evil; a darkness more profound and spreading more quickly across the globe than any civilized human being could have ever imagined. Many of those I speak with have admitted that they now abstain completely from watching the news: “It’s just too much,” they say. “It’s just so horrifying!”

“For the past two years I have been confiding to close friends my own growing sense that something is happening, that something unholy is stirring. I have spoken with others who have admitted the same suspicion. The way I have tried to describe it in the past is like the rumblings felt just before a volcano explodes.

“Now, I find myself wondering if the eruption is upon us.

“Who could ever conceive of atrocities like those we are seeing executed in the name of religion? Where once we might see coverage of a tragic conflict far away, we now face an evil that is not confined to some distant corner of the planet. With the always-on, near-instant spread of information in our digital age, your next door neighbor can be radicalized from the comfort of their living room.

“What we are facing is, first and foremost, a form of spiritual warfare. In a time where violence is rampant and the innocent are threatened, it is true that we must be ready to physically engage the malefactors. But if we deny the spiritual nature of this surge of evil we are facing, we will have no hope of victory.

“When confronted with atrocity, the immediate reaction of most people is, “What can we do to stop it?” Yes! That is the exact question we need to be asking. Summoning us to courage, St. Augustine challenges us to do battle: “Hope has two beautiful daughters: their names are anger and courage. Anger that things are the way they are. Courage to make them the way they ought to be.”

“But to begin to answer the question of what we can do, we must first properly assess where we are. What are our capabilities? How is our strength? What is the state of our conditioning? Without this kind of brutal honesty, we are likely to flounder rather than fight.

“Jesus warned, “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life, and that day catch you by surprise like a trap. For that day will assault everyone who lives on the face of the earth” (Luke 21:34-35).

“And yet isn’t that exactly what has become of us? Consider this sobering analysis of our present condition from columnist Jeffrey Kuhner at the Washington Times:

“For the past 50 years, every major institution has been captured by the radical secular left. The media, Hollywood, TV, universities, public schools, theater, the arts, literature — they relentlessly promote the false gods of sexual hedonism and radical individualism. Conservatives have ceded the culture to the enemy. Tens of millions of unborn babies have been slaughtered; illegitimacy rates have soared; divorce has skyrocketed; pornography is rampant; drug use has exploded; sexually transmitted diseases such as AIDS have killed millions; birth control is a way of life; sex outside of wedlock has become the norm; countless children have been permanently damaged — their innocence lost forever — because of the proliferation of broken homes; and sodomy and homosexuality are celebrated openly. America has become the new Babylon.

“This cultural assessment is bleak. And I believe that underlying it all is a deeper evil, a more ancient and intractable error which gives rise to all the rest. Many have pointed to “Modernism” as the heresy of our times. Modernism, while it takes many forms, is basically a break or rejection of our past in favor of all things new. And, while it seems evident that our Church is fully infected with the heresy of Modernism, I believe that it, too, is a symptom of this more fundamental threat.

“What am I referring to? Something that impacts the very nature of human existence and the opportunity for our salvation. Lacking an official name, I call this monster, “Stealth Arianism.” Students of history know that the Arian heresy – the worst crisis in the Church before our present age – was rooted in the belief that Jesus Christ was merely a created being, not equal to God the Father. Stealth Arianism follows the same fatal error, but with a twist: while the Arians of the fourth century openly denied Christ’s divinity, today‘s Arians will profess Jesus as God, and yet through their actions deny it. In other words, they don’t even know they are heretics. Many even believe that they are doing God’s work in their attempts to elevate Christ’s humanity at the cost of His divinity.

“You see, once we diminish the identity of Christ as the Son of God, we are left to view Him as simply a historical figure that was a nice guy, a respectable teacher and a good example for how we are to live. Religion is then reduced to a nice organization that does nice things for people as we seek a kind of psychotherapy for self-actualization. And this is not only not what He came to give us, but it’s something He made sure to leave no room for.

In his Christological examination, [easyazon_link asin=”0060652926″ locale=”US” new_window=”default” nofollow=”default” tag=”onep073-20″]Mere Christianity[/easyazon_link], C.S. Lewis makes the case plain:

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: “I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept His claim to be God.” That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic—on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg—or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronising nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.

“Over the past 50 years, the Stealth Arians have done everything within their power to remove from our lived experience of Catholicism anything that would point to the divinity of Christ, and the supernatural quality of our faith. Everything has been stripped from our churches – sacred art, sacred architecture, sacred music, and the sacred elements of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass – and we are left in the barren desert of the banal. It is no wonder many Catholics think nothing of approaching the Most Holy Eucharist dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, and grabbing the host like they’re reaching into a bag of chips. As Flannery O’Connor said, “If it’s a symbol, to hell with it.” It’s more surprising that these individuals even bother to attend Mass at all.

“Moreover, the Stealth Arians have deliberately chosen to keep their teachings muddled, ambiguous and elusive in an effort to increase “pastoral sensitivity” as the highest of all values, which keeps people feeling good about themselves just the way they are – though never challenged to strive for sainthood! Of course, when people like the way their church makes them feel about themselves, that keeps the money flowing into the collection basket. But whether confused and uncertain, or simply spiritually blind for lack of true pastoral care, the faithful who have been abandoned by their spiritual leaders are prone to be conformed to the world and its prince, a murderer and liar from the beginning.

“St. John Chrysostom exhorts, “Let us be filled with confidence, and let us discard everything so as to be able to meet this onslaught. Christ has equipped us with weapons more splendid than gold, more resistant than steel, weapons more fiery than any flame and lighter than the slightest breeze … These are weapons of a totally new kind, for they have been forged for a previously unheard-of type of combat. I, who am a mere man, find myself called upon to deal blows to demons; I, who am clothed in flesh, find myself at war with incorporeal powers.”

“That sounds noble for St. John, but about for us? Are we really prepared to such a fight? Just when we need mighty spiritual warriors for these dangerous times, Satan has spent the past 50 years diminishing the Church’s legions to little more than a bunch of Girl Scouts. Now that we are left in our weakened state, Satan seems to be calling out to deal the last blow, “Release the Kraken!”

“Indeed, what can we do?

“St. Paul gives us the answer in his epistle to the Ephesians (6:10-18):

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

“Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints.

Originally published on September 18, 2014.

Father Richard Heilman

Fr. Richard M. Heilman is a priest of the Diocese of Madison, Wisconsin, and the Wisconsin State Chaplain for the Knights of Columbus. He is a regular guest host on Relevant Radio’s The Inner Life, and is the founder of the Knights of Divine Mercy, which is an apostolate for Catholic men’s faith formation..

He is also he founder of the Ladies of Divine Mercy, which is an apostolate for Catholic women’s faith formation. He is the author of the Church Militant Field Manual and the Roman Catholic Man website, which are both dedicated to helping Catholics understand and train for their role in the mission of combating evil and rescuing the souls of our loved ones who have lost the precious gift of faith.

#catholic #fr richard heilman #be awake #be aware #be prepared #get right with God #spiritual battle #pray #are you ready to fight the beast

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let-it-show · 5 years ago

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All The Love I Found In You 3/?

Here we go, part 3! It got a bit long, heh. Part 2 can be found here. Aaah Anna is feeling a little rough, there’s awkwardness, but Elsa does her best to help. They’ve got a guest they didn’t plan to see, and heavy emotions to work through. Are they any closer to figuring out this switch though? You can find part 4 HERE! And another tag to @hellodemoiselle !

Standing around to meet with Arendellians was always a bit of a drag for Elsa. It was rarely anything interesting. She was happy to help and loved when she could effectively settle any issues for anyone before her, but it was lot of repetitive small things. And sometimes there wasn't anything. She should have felt relieved about that but people still wanted to talk to her instead of letting her go get some space.

It was even harder as Anna, who loved when there were no problems and would excitedly chat with just about anyone. Elsa didn't know how to force conversation like that. She was starting to feel a little suffocated.

After the third person gave her their life history in a buildup to how to get their neighbor's trees off their land, she was feeling worn out. She had to talk so much instead of gliding around always looking elegantly busy like she did when she visited. Everyone expected her to engage.

Ann had floated around like that for a little bit, just watching, but eventually she found Elsa's side again. She linked their arms and started to drag her off. "We're just gonna go off to the side for a bit," Anna told her. "They'll assume we're discussing something important."

Anna dragged her next to a curtain that half covered one of the larger windows in the hall. The light coming in warmed her neck. "Thank you, Anna," Elsa said in relief. She leaned her head on Anna's shoulder - her shoulder, it wasn't as bony as she feared. "I haven't done this in months..."

Kristoff chose that moment to find them. He stopped in front of them both. "There you two are! You were gone walking for quite a while," he said, and he looked a bit tired. Maybe not just tired, Elsa realized, but sad.

Knowing what she knew, it was hard to see anything other than sadness on his face. She also felt responsible and she avoided his gaze. She'd really made things difficult for Anna, not just then, but years in the making. It was a terrible feeling.

"Oh, I learned how to use the magic better," Anna told him. "You should let me make you something! And soon, too, it's growing again and I gotta use it."

"Ah," he let out a weak laugh and Elsa nearly winced at the sound of it. "No thanks Anna, that's okay. I think I may put some stuff together and go see the trolls. If I get an answer for you two I'll be back tonight, if not I'll probably stay up there."

"Stay up there?" Anna asked, voice hushed.

"For tonight! I'll come back in the morning. Wouldn't want to miss the party, you know?" he asked her and there was the affection Elsa had gotten used to hearing from him. Kristoff wasn't a spiteful person at heart, even though she knew he was hurting.

"O-oh! Okay. I thought you meant..ah..."

"No, no. Um, well I'll be off now." Elsa looked up to see him puffing out his chest and looking determined. "I'll see you both later! ...Maybe not. I mean generally later but not later tonight maybe." He still tried to look at ease and like he said exactly what he meant to.

Elsa stifled a laugh. "Okay Kristoff. Travel safely, please," she said and she very much meant it. Whatever happened, he was family to them.

"Thanks. You too," he said and then just closed his eyes at his own words. "Alright, bye," he said, waving and turning.

"Bye Kristoff," Anna called out and then sighed, her body drooping. "That was awkward," she whispered. She looked down. "I wonder when it will stop being awkward."

Elsa had no answer for her. She took her hand and squeezed it. "It'll be okay. Kristoff? ...I'm sure he'll still be your friend. He's a pretty great person." He was forgiving and patient. That was exactly the kind of friend who was good for Anna.

He would have also been perfect for her to marry, she supposed, but that idea made her want to squirm.

Elsa had to separate once again to talk and say good evening to the people still milling around the castle and out in the courtyard. She had fought against wandering from the hall to the courtyard because it was getting cooler the later the day got, and the edges of her ears felt like they were being constantly nipped at.

How did Anna get along so easily with the cold? Elsa was aware it got colder than that in Arendelle. She was aware she was being kind of a wuss and that she shouldn't be bothered. Well, she was calm enough not to complain about the chill, but she could still be annoyed by it.

When she had the chance to be inside again, Elsa took one look at her body standing stiffly and looking flustered. She took Anna's hand and hauled her down and out of the castle to that little place by the water again. It really was a favorite spot for her even if being by it made her shiver.

Anna put her hand out and let ice shoot in an arch over the water before delicately dropping down and spreading across the surface briefly. She made a sunflower design in it which sparkled before going away. She sighed, held out her other hand, and repeated it.

Once more Elsa found herself lost in the beauty of Anna's work. She watched each little movement, anticipating the ice dropping and spreading when Anna did it the third time. That time the design lingered and Elsa's gaze stayed on it.

"Elsa?"

The small voice made her startle, not expecting Anna to say anything. "Huh? Yes?"

Anna sighed and traced random shapes in the air with ice. "I feel guilty. Really guilty."

"About Kristoff?" Elsa guessed easily.

Anna nodded and paced a little, slowly. "Do you really think I'm doing the right thing?"

"Anna..." She really wanted to talk about it with her, but at the end of the day. When they were done having to see anyone. If Anna needed to break down and sob then they could be alone to deal with it. "I think we should address this later, after dinner at least. But...yes, I think you're doing the right thing." She approached her and took her arm. "If you aren't sure you want to marry someone, then you shouldn't. If you don't feel like you can handle that big a change in your life right now, then don't make yourself. ...Don't make a lifelong commitment because you feel bad," she said finally.

Anna had shown she was listening, unlike Elsa she kept eye contact when talking about a heavy subject involving herself. At Elsa's last words though, she reacted with a little gasp, then chose to look to the castle and back at Elsa. "You're right..."

"You see? Sometimes you just need to put it in a simple way..." Elsa chuckled. She was just lucky she was good with words and Anna.

"Yes..." Anna smiled again. "Thank you. I love you Elsa," she told her, meeting her eyes.

"I love you too," Elsa said without thinking. It was automatic, and she was falling into Anna again. She actually felt like she was falling. Elsa wanted to tip forward and be caught in Anna's arms, in her actual arms and in her correct body. She wanted to stay in them, never move again as the world spun around her.

The gaze was broken as they heard chatter above them from inside the castle and Elsa remembered that they could be seen. Where they stood was not private after all and Elsa was sure she heard Mattias's voice from somewhere inside. He liked to walk it, sometimes, and Anna told him he was always welome.

"Well." Elsa took her hand and tugged. "If you're good for now, let's go back inside. If we want a nice big dinner, we ought to start helping in the kitchen."

Anna smiled. She did enjoy helping in the kitchen, and it had been a hobby for her when Elsa was queen. She hadn't done it in a long time, and since the most important parts of her day were over, Elsa figured they were free to enjoy themselves. Anna didn't need to hold any sort of council that night.

They enjoyed baking in the kitchen, tasting the seasoning, and seeing what the staff cooks were doing. It was hard to watch themselves and not interfer, as Anna had quickly learned some time ago that the staff liked to focus on their art: providing a magnificent meal. Who were they to disturb it?

They were the royal sisters and had every right to demand the food be done to their liking only, but they also weren't stupid. Left to their own devices, their cooks were nothing short of stunning and Elsa and Anna didn't disturb their balance.

Near the end of the food prep they had both stopped tasting and poking and watching over shoulders and stayed against the wall. It was nice to take in all the activity.

Royal servers seated them along with Olaf, who decided to join even if he didn't eat. He didn't join every night, sometimes going to see a friend in the village or getting stuck reading.

They also seated them with a guest, which was...not expected. When Kai walked the man in, he rushed up to the table with a guilty look on his face. "Queen Anna!" he exclaimed and Elsa nearly forgot to show she heard him.

She had just sat down. "Kai? Is that-?" The man was at least familiar. He was a tall, almost ridiculously muscular man with golden skin and a handsome face. His hair was long and curly, held back by a black band and brushing his neck. He was dressed in a fine dark green suit decorated with various symbols and little medals. Over his heart was his kingdom's crest: a silver shield featuring a green cloud housing green musical pipes. It was one of the oddest Elsa had ever seen.

"Menander! He is the appointed ambassador from Graeci that visited with Kristoff today. He insisted on meeting with you tonight and having dinner and since you didn't see him earlier-" Kai seemed very nervous. Elsa didn't really know why. Menander was a nice enough person even if any time he visited Arendelle he pushed to have a party. She hadn't seen him since she ruled as Queen.

"Of course. Hello Menander, is everything alright?" she asked, and then hurried to add, "I'm so sorry we missed you this morning!"

"Ah!" He clasped his hands together, bowed, and regarded them. "Oh yes, I believe so, but I did wish to see you! The energy coming from the castle has been so strange, so fantastic mostly but riddled with confusion. I did tell you I'm a bit of a psychic! I simply must learn what is going on!"

"You..." Elsa didn't know what to say.

"Oh yes! Anna did mention that to me too," Anna said quickly and while Menander's gaze was off her, she made a face.

"I remember too!" piped up Olaf.

"Yes. Yes! Ah, so that's why you've insisted on joining us?" Elsa asked, completely blown away by the direction the conversation was taking.

"Why yes! And if I see something bad hidden by all this, I will surely warn you," he said, and happily bowed again. "I do humbly request that you not see me joining you suddenly for dinner as an insult, your highness!"

Usually, it would have been. Elsa didn't tolerate any of her dinners with Anna being interrupted. That was time for them. However, she had also completely avoided meeting with the man that day and was fortunate he didn't count it as a slap in the face. "No, no it's fine. I was unable to see you earlier, after all!"

"You did send your absolutely delightful Kristoff! We always love seeing him, if he isn't helping us move things, he will often read lines with us when we practice our dramas in the courtyard." Menander reminded her of a walking smiley face with his big grin. "Wonderful. What is dinner?"

"We're having delicious skrei with olives and-" Anna tried to answer and was cut off.

"Wonderful!" He seemed to like that word.

"I can't eat it," Olaf chimed in. "But it sure does look good!"

"Aha little snowman! I almost forgot about when I tried to serve you apple pie and it dropped right through you." Menander happily pat Olaf's head and looked between the sisters eagerly. "That feeling is in the air again, stronger! And I believe I see a flaming heart of love about us," he said, and grinned at Anna.

"Oh um..." Elsa tried not to freeze up as she watched a little cloud start forming above Anna's head. "Sure, there definitely is."

"Where IS Kristoff?" Menander asked and Elsa caught on a second later. He had been referencing Anna and Kristoff, of course.

She pretended to act like nothing was going on. "Oh! He's well. He's gone to visit the trolls, but he will be back for the party. He wouldn't miss that."

"Excellent. I would hate to have him miss out. Hmm, but there's something else here, what is this sense in the air? Something is strong but there is unease..." He looked to Elsa. "Is there unrest in the kingdom?"

"No," Elsa answered, surprised. "Everything is well. What unrest do you think you feel?"

"Perhaps it's one of you!" He turned his attention to Anna, and opened his mouth to speak when food started to come out, starting with a salad. Anna and Elsa immediately dove in and so did Menander. His mouth was occupied and Elsa was relieved. She knew Anna was too which was great - the little cloud faded.

Menander was nice, but he could tell something was up and didn't get that he should shut up about it. It was going to make things tougher for Anna, and the last thing they needed was her accidentally icing anyone.

Still, he continued when he could. "Something just seems off. Have you been happy, dear Queen? I have heard no news about the wedding we expected to learn more about. Has he foolishly changed his mind?"

Anna bristled a bit and hid her hands under the table. The air was...frosty. "No," answered Elsa, not about to get into that issue right then. "Honestly, Menander, we just want to enjoy dinner without this." She didn't know what he was doing anymore - sniffing out information? Playing at being a head doctor? It was likely both. Her hands became hidden as well as she tugged at her fingers.

"Well. I can stop," he said kindly as the main course was delivered. "But when all is unsettled, things get mixed about. I hope whatever is going on, you two figure it out," he told them. His eyes lit up at the delicious fish placed before him. "Perhaps focus on this warm fuzzy feeling my senses pick up. Until then, let's dine!"

"Yes! Let's!" Olaf chimed in, and then proceeded to start flipping through a book he brought in with him. .

When Menander turned to his fish, Elsa and Anna exchanged glances. His words hit a bit too close, but there was no way he could know what was happening. Still Elsa was aware she and Anna needed to talk more about her decision, and where her head was.

Making their way through dinner was a little painful. They weren't in the mood to entertain a guest, which was bad form for a queen but Elsa didn't care much at the moment. She tried to focus on eating and some chitchat with Menander, about the party, about decorations which she did not care about. Olaf, though, that amazing little snowman got excited about the party and started talking Menander's ear off about helping him put it together.

Elsa had to remember to do something extra special for him later.

Finally their dinner was ending with a lovely cake for dessert. "Fine, fine, how fine it all was!" Menander said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression.

Anna had begun to look a little brighter; she always did adore her desserts. She had scarfed it a little more than Elsa would have liked, but she also ate a bit too delicately herself. There wasn't any food on her face. By the time she realized that she couldn't really smack any sauce on her cheek without it being blatant.

If Menander noticed anything, he didn't voice it, which Elsa was thankful for. "Yes, our kitchen staff is amazing, and they know just how we like things cooked," she said."

"How wonderful they haven't forgotten since you left for the forest!" Menander said with a smile.

"Elsa visits all the time," Olaf informed him with a big smile. "If they forgot, that would be ridiculous! Sometimes she goes in the kitchen when she's here and tastes things."

"Oh, yea, I like to just wander around and eat whatever I see when I visit," Anna said casually. She failed at hiding a small smile and Elsa had to bite her lip.

Well. She could shoot back. "Sometimes that's good, because I've been known to eat a whole sandwich right before dinner and if Elsa accidentally pigs out I don't really worry about there being less food." She calmly sipped her elegant little glass of water. Anna was glaring a little.

"One time when there was some tasty soup going, I just walked in there and froze it solid-"

"Anyway, I think it is time for us to retire for the night," Elsa said, cutting off whatever embarrassing story her sister was about to tell. She had many more she could fire back with and they should at least try to be civil in front of a guest.

Menander looked a little disappointed. "Oh? I did hope we could have drinks and perhaps sit by the fire!"

"It's been a long day," Anna said, looking at her plate. "I had a rude awakening this morning and well, I'm exhausted."

"And I must look after my sister and be sure that she's alright. We both need energy for your party tomorrow," Elsa explained.

That seemed to brighten up Menander. "Ah, yes! Glorious!"

"I'll come play cards with you," Olaf offered Menander. "Or we can play something else! I'm not tired," he said. Elsa felt a little bad, as Olaf usually hung around with Kristoff and Sven at the castle. He had to feel a bit lonely even if he did also spend more time in the library.

"Splendid!" Menander carefully arranged his dishes and smiled at Olaf. "I'm in!" He slowly rose from his chair, then turned to bow to the girls. "Thank you for having me to dinner this evening!"

"Well you sort of showed up," Olaf pointed out.

"And, we're glad for it," Elsa rushed out as she and Anna stood. "Thank you for your company, Menander. We are honoured to have you."

"Yes!" Anna added. "Very much so, and we will be happy to see you tomorrow."

Menander bowed again and bid them goodnight. Olaf ran to hug Anna and Elsa, and they both told him goodnight. As soon as the other two had left, the sisters picked up their dishes. Neither one was a fan of leaving an awful mess for the servers, even though sometimes they had to be batted away for the staff to do their job. Anna and Elsa were ever offended. They had the staff for a reason after all.

Both of them had also been known to be so helpful they made the job harder.

It felt like too long before they were able to get to their bath. And a magnificent bath it was - it was far bigger than the normal one person tub the girls used usually and was almost like a small swimming pool. The water was heated through the floor with a hypocast built far before the sisters were born. It worked wonderfully though, the room heated and the steam not thick enough to suffocate them.

The stone floor beneath them was almost shiny. Anna had kept it in good shape, but evidently never used the bath herself. For her first usage of it she had made sure flower petals were spread in it. There was lavender with red and yellow rose inviting them in for a stress-free soak. The staff who prepared it hastily left as Elsa told them they were not to be disturbed and finally they could get comfortable.

Elsa had a somewhat easier time stripping for the bath, knowing Anna seeing her own body wasn't too weird for her. At least she didn't think so.

When she was completely naked, she heard Anna make a sound and turned to see herself topless and staring. Elsa blinked. "Uh-"

"I've never seen my own butt! I mean I've - over my shoulder in the mirror. Not the same though." Anna started walking closer and Elsa felt weird. She covered herself with her arms. That made Anna roll her eyes. "Your nipples can't be cold!"

"They're not! It's just..it's weird to see me." She tried to keep her gaze on her own face. For some reason it felt awkward to look at her own nude body at the moment.

"Elsa these are your breasts," Anna said, stopping about a foot from her. "You don't have to be shy, you've seen them a lot. Probably."

"Oh, not helping." Elsa wasn't a prude, and she wasn't ashamed of her own body at all. It was just beyond bizarre to be seeing in front of her, and if she looked down then she saw her sisters naked form. She did not need to see that; she felt guilty enough any time she'd needed to use the bathroom that day.

She definitely didn't want to think about that.

"Yours are heavier than mine," Anna said and Elsa finally looked to see Anna shoving her hands under her breasts and jiggling them.

"Anna!"

"What? If we have to be switched up then we might as well compare." Anna reached for one of Elsa's folded arms and tugged gently. "Come on, touch mine and then yours."

Elsa's cheeks burned but perhaps she was thinking about it too much. Anna was both her sister and her best friend. She was the only person Elsa felt truly comfortable around and if everything in that day showed her anything, it was how close she always wanted to be with her. "Right, right." She agreed, reached out one hand, and touched her own breast. "This is weird." With great hesitation she shoved one hand up underneath one of Anna's. It wasn't as strange as she thought it'd be. It certainly wasn't normal, but it was sort of interesting. "Yours are lighter than air," she said, kind of surprised. "I mean, comparatively anyway." Anna's were kind of perfect. But she'd rather touch them when in the proper body and- that's where it got weirder. She dropped both her hands. "Let's get in the bath," she said and quickly walked by Anna.

"Wait! Do you want to see your butt?"

Elsa wondered if her face was somewhere beyond red. She didn't answer Anna, going down the little steps into the bath. She shouldn't have such thoughts and it bothered her. To want to be near her sister, to want to protect her, hug her, and shower her with affection was normal right? Wanting to touch every inch of her perfect being and feel her precious skin under her fingers and lips was different. She wanted to appreciate her beautiful Anna.

She didn't even know if it was a sexual thing. Elsa had never been interested in the idea before. At the same time she never had anyone to talk to about it. There wasn't really anyone in her life to work those questions out with. Sadly it was yet another thing that had sort of gone by for her, and it was depressing along with confusing. She sank down into the water, watching the rose petals go by. If only it was the sort of thing she could ask Ahtohallan to clear up for her.

Anna had slipped into the bath, bringing a floating basket of soaps and hair wash for them. "Elsa?" she asked, her top half not underwater yet. "I'm sorry if I took it too far, it's just interesting, that's all. If we- in our normal bodies I wouldn't have been touching your chest like that. Not that I disliked it, I-ah..." And then Anna was red.

That brought some comfort to Elsa. "I didn't dislike it either, Anna. The thing is -I'm...Anna?"

"Yes?"

It was best to be honest. "Anna, you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"Elsa!" Anna laughed nervously. "You're just being nice because you're in my body and you're a lot hotter than me."

"What!?" How could she think that? Elsa knew she herself was pretty, she wasn't up to acting like a fool for the sake of making anyone feel better, even Anna. At the same time, she felt she didn't compare to the redhead. "Anna, no, that's not true. I love-I love everything about this body," she said, rising up a little more and looking down. "But I really love it with you in it."

Anna bit her lip. "That's how I feel about yours. Elsa, you're stunning. I don't mind being trapped in you but...I wish it was back to normal too, so I could open my eyes and see you in front of me instead of myself. I want to hug you and be actually hugging your body. That's when I'm happiest."

"You mean in regards to being in our bodies?" Elsa asked, turning her head. She carefully fingered one of the yellow rose petals in the water, just for something to do with her hands. She had no gloves to tug or ice to shoot.

Anna dipped her hands in the water and the connection hissed. They must have been cold. She looked down."I mean...always. Elsa my favorite thing is being with you and close to you. I can't-I can't explain how much I've missed you." Her fingers moved under the water and there was a bit of a glow.

No chill had reached Elsa yet, though she wasn't sure if it would. She wasn't even focusing on the water temperature. "Anna, I've really missed you too..."

"And yet, you stay up there."

It was like a sword to the heart. Elsa felt guilt and sadness at once and she stared at the water too. She felt she ought to say something, but she didn't know what. Saying she was sorry didn't seem to suffice, and she didn't have any good excuse not to be at the castle more. If she was being honest with herself, even she wasn't sure what she gained by living between the glacier and the forest.

"I'm not mad at you," Anna said, and the water swished gently with her movement. "I know it might seem like it. Maybe I should be. But I don't want to spend any of our time together being mad, I just want to hold onto it as long as I can. I waited so long for you to open up your door... I'm not going to be angry now that you're here." She stopped just in front of Elsa, as she could tell from the water.

Yet, Elsa could not look up. She felt too ashamed. She hurt and closed Anna out and treated her to three short years of her time, then was gone again. However badly she felt about not being with her, what Anna dealt with from her was terrible and Elsa didn't even think she deserved to be around her.

"Elsa? Please look up at me," Anna told her, and suddenly cold hands cupped her face. Elsa startled and Anna gasped. "Sorry. I'm nervous."

The cold hands certainly got her attention and Elsa met her gaze. She fell in immediately, letting the hands carress her face gently. It all felt so good, the coolness on her cheeks and the heat over the rest of her body. "You're too good to me, Anna."

"Be kind to yourself." Anna touched their foreheads together. "I know behind the door you weren't happy either. I know you were alone and scared. I still had more freedom than you, I could be myself." She stroked the sides of her head slowly. "You deserve to be forgiven and you deserve to be cherished. I cherish you, Elsa."

Elsa was speechless. She had said similar things to Anna, tried to build her up all the time. That moment, their situation, that was different. She felt her eyes welling up as her love and gratitude started to spill over. They'd been discussing their bodies and somehow it turned into something else. Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. "Anna..."

Anna placed gentle kisses just above her eyes, paused, and then pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around Elsa tightly. "I love you so much Elsa. I don't ever want you to forget it. I feel true happiness when you're here."

Immediately, Elsa hugged her back. She wished she were feeling Anna's smooth back under her hands instead of her own, wished it was Anna's chest against hers, but it was Anna's soul entangled with her own and so she was able to be satisfied. "Anna...I love you more than I think I can ever tell you," she said, squeezing her. "You're part of me." That wasn't said with the fifth spirit in mind.

They stayed like that, for a while. Elsa watched the yellow and red rose petals float gently around them, some stopping against their bare skin. She barely felt them. The smell of lavender gently drifted to her and calm gradually settled in her heart along with her bursting fondness for Anna. If only she could just stay in her arms...

After a while Anna shifted and released her, though she stroked her hands down her arms. "Would you like me to wash your hair?" she asked softly.

"I'd love that," Elsa replied. It did sound nice. When they were in their correct bodies she'd love it even more, but feeling Anna work through the tangly hair and massage her head sounded like heaven in that moment.

"Good," Anna said and she let go of her to get back the basket that had tried to float off. She quickly brought it over and pulled Elsa forward as she positioned herself behind her. Anna knelt behind her and first draped herself over Elsa's back. Her lips were next to Elsa's ear, breath warm on it as if she were going to speak.

She didn't, however. Anna kissed the side of her head and began to work on her hair instead, little tugs leading Elsa to tip her head back. She took a deep breath and let her eyes close. All she could do for the time being was lose herself in Anna, and she was okay with that.

#Frozen 2 #fanfic #elsa #anna #elsanna #kristoff #olaf #bodyswap

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alexandriteobscuraarchive · 4 years ago

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(( @guardianofyesod you get a lil thing because ilu and I want you to come back to nice stuff!))

The door is thrown open mid knock and the white haired male is suddenly thrown under the perilous? scrutiny of Nellie standing in the doorway. Her appraising glance is brief---no more than an up and down of her eyes as her mouth thins into a short-lived frown. He was almost painful to look at, best keep it quick.

“Did you get dressed in the dark or what?! Between you and my brother I don’t know who’s worse!” Her tone holds no real CRUELTY and the hand that takes hold of the other to lead him inside is just as warm as the smile now forming across her lips. “Thankfully I’m here! You two would be so lost without me!”

Nellie was clearly excited and nothing---absolutely nothing---was going to ruin it. The tickets had been hard to get after all, nevermind how expensive it was for all three of them to go. “Meeelllll!! Gab is here!! Are you decent my dearest brother~?”

Nellie’s yell directed up a small flight of stairs is immediately answered in the form of Mell poking his head briefly out of the bathroom door, his hand mid brush through damp hair.

“I can hear you without you yelling, Nellie. And hi Gabriel! Please don’t let Nellie push you around too much, okay...?”

“I don’t push anyone around! I’m HELPING! Gab needs a new outfit before the play tonight and I’m the best person for the job!” Cue the young girl turning to Gabriel and giving him an even brighter smile. “Right? Right! We won’t be at the store long so make sure you’re ready by the time we get back! I want you in your nicest clothes----and no, not the ones you wore earlier today!”

“Okay mom. You act like we’re going to the actual Globe theater to see a Shakespeare play rather than a place in town.” Her enthusiasm was quite adorable. Would Mell tell her that though? Not a chance. “Should we wear appropriate dress? I’m afraid I don’t have the proper attire to look like I’m from the 17th Century.”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up in there Mr ‘I have the ugliest pajamas in the history of the world’. We need to look our best! We need to look CLASSY! If I have to custom sew you some pantaloons I’ll do it!!” She’s kidding of course, and this ‘argument’ was as comfortable as anything. A testing of previous tumultuous and confusing waters. “And who knows! One day I’ll be able to go to the real Globe theater...”

“Well if that opportunity comes up I’ll take you myself....if only to fall asleep inside a building rooted within history.” This last part was wholly playful; even with Mell’s penchant for falling asleep during long plays he’d still appreciate and marvel at the history of his surroundings. It was a special interest for him, after all, just as theater was for Nellie.

“Bahhh! My brother is a heathen, isn’t he Gab?! So uncultured!!” Now Nellie turns the other away as if they were both offended, her slender hands winding around one of his arms and propelling him back towards the front door. “Come on, let’s go pick you out a nice outfit! We’ve still got some time before we need to start heading towards the theater!” Her directive chatter turns idle as she leads the male outside into the faintly snowy night and down the street, her hands still wrapped around his arm as if he were escorting her like a proper gentleman.

“Have you seen much of Shakespeare, Gabriel? I’ve read all of his work!! Romeo and Juliet is my favorite although that’s not what we’re going to see tonight. We’ll be watching a recital of some of his sonnets---I hope I don’t cry!---and then a performance of The Winter’s Tale! I hear the acting company doing the performing is really impressive but I’ve never heard of them before so I hope it’s a good performance---”

And on and on, her voice filling the steadily encroaching evening between them with a brightness as if it were no latter than early morning. Even the shop lights lining the streets paled in comparison and Nellie seemed perfectly content in leading her friend along past said shops until, rather suddenly, her steps slowed with a telltale precision.

It wasn’t the tailor but an antique shop that Nellie stopped in front of. Her hands unwind themselves from around Gabriel’s person and she walks around him to peer in through the large window. She executed this motion in absolute silence and with an almost worried tread---as if she’d stopped in front of this very shop window many, many times. She had, in fact. Gone was her smile as she peered through the lightly frosted window, her honey colored eyes moving with precision as a faint tinge of worry began to suffuse both her expression and movements.

Had someone bought it? Surely not! It had to be there, it had to--

“Ah!..Aha...thank goodness...” Her softened tone is framed with a sigh of relief as she visibly relaxes. Nellie stood so that the lights from the shop framed her perfectly and if one were to gaze through the window while standing behind her they could perhaps imagine the art she was looking at being worn upon her person. Inside the window was a small case and inside said case was a perfectly crafted ROSE. It was an accessory that could be worn in multiple ways; be it as a choker, hair accessory, a brooch, and so forth. The item had a small stand set up next to it with important information, such as it being made of forged silver, actual gemstones and other such precious things, as well as the year of its forging: 1603. So not only was the piece EXQUISITELY BEAUTIFUL it was also HISTORICAL. It belonged in a museum rather than an antique store---as evident by the hefty price tag.

Nellie stood in front of the handcrafted accessory with a look of unabashed wonder, as if she were mesmerized by her daydreams concerning it. She was---she had been for days now. Her hands moved with a dreamy slowness only to clasp together and press against her breastbone just underneath her throat. That rose should be there, at her throat. It was made for her, it just had to be!

“One day I’ll buy it....somehow.....” She spoke in a mere whisper---perhaps thinking that if she spoke at a normal volume both the glass surrounding it and the piece itself would break. It took her a few moments to remember just what she was doing, not to mention the fact that she wasn’t alone. Crap. Nellie turns back to Gab almost reluctantly, her genteel reverie being dispelled with a noticeable effort. “Uhm--sorry Gab! I--it’s cold, right? Let’s keep going, the tailor is just down this way!” Her hands reach for him again as she resumes leading the way.

“So...Gab do you like Sh---oh wait no I asked you that, uh...” Now she sounded like Mell! The thought ought to bring her some COMFORT given their closeness but it only seemed to fluster her more. “Ah--...what...what colors are you favorite? I think you’d look nice in darker colors! The tailor has lots of nice dress shirts....”

#I'll think of a proper tag next post if you actually want to continue this~#guardianofyesod #also there are two canon refs to their Rose Manor lives; see if you can spot them~#also a very important note: this is post their conversation so they're working towards a normal and healthy relationship #say Nellie told Gab about the whole thing because she wasn't afraid of him judging her and Mell confirmed it

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todisturbtheuniverse · 5 years ago

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FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [2/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3500 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 here.

Once they'd crossed the Waking Sea by ship, Adaar convinced Josephine to ride in the wagon with Vivienne—who could both entertain her and protect her, should it come to that—and rode slightly behind their little party on horseback, watching the open plains around her with unease. She'd never been wound so tight in her entire damn life. Which was saying something, after the last several months.

It was just...she had been the target then. Her, and all the idiots who tagged along with her, who had magic or steel to protect them.

Not Josephine. Josephine was supposed to be safe. Tucked away in their lofty mountain fortress, where the worst that could happen to her was a particularly annoying noble with an axe to grind.

But who knew, with the House of Repose, if even Skyhold would be safe? It was a sleepless thought, one that had kept Adaar awake every night since they'd left Val Royeaux.

Cassandra appeared ahead, guiding her horse around the wagon. "Nothing," she said in response to Adaar's raised eyebrow. "It's not a good location for an ambush, Inquisitor. The House of Repose surely knows better."

Despite that, she rode with only one hand on the reins, the other resting on the grip of her sword. Her shield hung ready from the saddle. Not one to be caught by surprise, Cassandra. Adaar had always appreciated that about her.

"They will wait until we're in the mountain pass, if they plan to attack at all," Cassandra continued.

Usually, Adaar appreciated Cassandra's pragmatism, too. Right now, however, it was about as welcome as a kick in the stomach.

"If," she repeated, holding desperately onto hope. She wondered if she could convince Josephine to lie down under one of the wagon benches the entire way up the mountain. "You don't think they will?"

Cassandra hesitated. "I do not know. I believe Josephine knows better than us, but I also believe that her judgment is clouded. I will feel more certain once we have Leliana's input, but by then, the mountain will be behind us."

"So prepare for the worst, then?"

"It has not failed me as a strategy so far."

Perhaps Adaar could persuade Josephine to put on a spare set of armor. Anything that might prevent an arrow from piercing the oilcloth covering on the wagon and driving straight through her chest.

"Forgive me for prying," Cassandra said, interrupting Adaar's catastrophizing, "but I do not think I have ever seen you this agitated. You always make light of danger."

And Cassandra hated it. In the beginning, she'd usually had a choice word or two about how Adaar ought to take all this more seriously. The comments had eventually tapered off as Adaar did her job and did it well, despite her habit of taunting demons, rogue templars, ancient magisters, and whatever else had ears.

"That's when the danger is coming for me," Adaar said, "not someone…" I care about, she thought, but decided against it. "...else," she finished.

Cassandra shifted a little in her saddle. "Have you…" she began, then paused, mulling over her words the way only Cassandra could. She didn't mull, actually; she deliberated.

"Have I what?" Adaar prompted.

Cassandra shook her head. "Never mind. It is none of my business."

"No, no, go on," Adaar said. Cassandra could hardly make things worse at this point, after all. "I've certainly badgered you enough with my invasive questions. It's only fair."

"When you put it like that." Cassandra wore a trace of a smile now. "You are...fond of her."

Adaar pulled a face. "Yes," she said, which had the merit of being both true and not incriminating.

Cassandra snorted. "I would never have suspected that you could be as recalcitrant as me," she said, very dryly.

"Every day is an opportunity to learn new things," Adaar told her, grinning.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Very well. Are the two of you involved?" Before Adaar could recover from Cassandra's bluntness—really, she ought to have braced for it—she went on. "I feel as if Leliana would have complained of it to me if you were, but perhaps there are things in this world she doesn't know."

Adaar laughed. "First of all, no, there aren't. And second of all—no. We aren't."

"I see. My mistake—it seemed very much as if…"

Adaar cleared her throat. "I don't really think it would be proper, would it?"

A crease appeared between Cassandra's brows. "Because you are the Inquisitor? I didn't imagine you thought yourself that far above us."

"No, no, not that." Adaar fiddled with the hilt of her belt knife. "She's a noble. Until all this...business...I was a mercenary. We just don't fit."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cassandra's frown deepen. "Does she think so?"

Adaar recognized the early signs of Cassandra's stubbornness, and dug in her own heels, too. "Don't know. Haven't asked."

"Then how do you know that you don't fit?"

"Call it an educated guess," Adaar said, exasperated.

"If you are a simple mercenary, then it would hardly be an educated guess."

Despite her annoyance, Adaar chuckled. Cassandra's frown twitched toward a smile again. They rode on in companionable silence for a moment as Adaar considered.

"Even if she does feel the same," she ventured, "could her...society...ever accept me? Nobles strike me as snooty." It was the most toothless word she could think of. Nothing compared to how they really were. How she knew some of them to be.

"You aren't without rank," Cassandra pointed out. "It's unusual—"

"Savior to some, damned heretic to others, yes."

"But it affords you some status," Cassandra pressed. "Besides, the Montilyets are minor nobles at best, given their troubles."

"Someday—and I hope it is soon—the Inquisition will not be necessary any longer, and then I will be what I always was. And once this is all done, she will only have risen."

Adaar could see Cassandra marshaling her arguments. Bless her. They had become friends, despite all the business at the beginning, and Cassandra was loyal to her friends.

But Adaar didn't want to argue, not about this. She didn't want to get her hopes up. She got them up every time Josephine looked at her, anyway; she didn't need more encouragement.

She didn't need hope to turn into expectation. She'd really be in trouble then.

Luckily, because they were friends, she knew exactly how to put Cassandra off the topic entirely. She sighed, adopting a mopey, lovelorn air. "It's no good, Cassandra, though I appreciate your optimism. It just isn't meant to be."

Cassandra gave an indignant huff, exactly as expected. "Long though I have loved silly romance novels, I have always thought that they were unrealistic. I see that you are determined to live one out page by page, however."

"It's a good story, isn't it?" Adaar said, shooting a smile sideways at her. "A quick, loveable rogue—nice woman, really, despite her spotted history—pining after a lady of means. Her feelings all the more pure for knowing they can never be returned—"

"I think you are determined to be star-crossed," Cassandra continued, radiating disapproval.

"Is that so?"

"It is," Cassandra said. "I'll leave you to your pining."

Adaar laughed; Cassandra dug in her heels and sent her horse back to the front of the wagon, leaving Adaar alone.

It was sort of funny, when she was bantering about it with Cassandra—laying it on real thick, too—but as the quiet grew around her, the humor faded. She had hoped, long and hard, that this infatuation would simply melt away, that she would someday cross Josephine's path without light and warmth filling her up inside and spilling over, but by all indications, she was more deeply entrenched than ever.

A pity, and a shame, that it had taken her near thirty years to find someone she liked as much as she liked Josephine. Given the state of the world, she doubted she had another thirty years in which to find someone else.

She rode up behind the wagon and dismounted. A few quick steps closed the gap again; she left her reins loosely looped around the back post, then heaved herself up and through into the covered compartment, a welcome stillness after the gusting winds of the plains.

Vivienne looked up with a smile. "Good of you to join us, my dear. I'm sure Cassandra can handle the watch."

"Actually," Adaar said, though it was always daunting to order Vivienne around, "would you mind taking the rear? I just need a bit of a rest, then I'll head back out."

If Vivienne thought this unnecessary, she didn't voice it; she simply inclined her head with a duchess's worth of grace and brushed past, out into the cold, leaving the wagon empty except for Adaar and Josephine.

"Inquisitor," Josephine said in greeting, with a dip of her head.

"Ambassador."

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence held. Adaar sat opposite Josephine, moving with the rattle of the wagon. Astonishing how little room there was for her legs in a space like this. Josephine didn't look uncomfortable in the least, one ankle tucked behind the other, small book open on her lap, dark blue skirts perfectly arranged. It was a simple dress, comfortable for travel, paired with boots rather than slippers.

Simplicity suited her. Finery suited her. What didn't suit her?

Oblivious to her internal dramatics, Josephine asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Adaar said, automatic. "Doubt they're going to come out of the fields and try anything in broad daylight."

She shut her book. "I meant...is everything all right, between us?"

Adaar cast her a puzzled look. "Of course."

Josephine let out a relieved breath. "I'm glad to hear it. I did not like arguing with you, and we have not spoken much since…"

Adaar cleared her throat, rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry. I've been preoccupied."

"Yes. With protecting me." Her eyes were very soft, warmed by her small smile. "Thank you."

"Of course," Adaar said again. All the other words seemed to have flown out of her head. All those reminders not to turn hope to expectation had fled with them.

"I have devised a plan," Josephine said, straightening up a little. "The du Paraquettes cannot overturn the contract at present, lacking status as they are, but if we can raise them to nobility again…"

"Would they agree to that, do you think?"

"Let us hope I can convince them. But if we could restore their status, I imagine that they would agree. It seems a fair trade."

For a moment, Adaar's hopes lifted. If these people could just be given status like handing out candy, then maybe…

"Didn't realize you could elevate people just like that," she commented, in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"Certainly not just like that." Josephine toyed with one frayed corner of her book, frowning, eyes a little unfocused. "I will need to offer someone...maybe several someones...a few favors. But it can be done."

Adaar could imagine how much more costly the favors would be for a Vashoth. She set the idea aside. "I don't love the sound of that."

Josephine waved this away. "No different than the capital I've traded for the Inquisition. Simpler, even. It will only cost time."

"I guess you would know. I personally don't have much experience trading in these intangible debts."

"Do not sell yourself short," Josephine chastised. "You've brokered many deals for the Inquisition."

"With much smarter people pointing the way."

"You forget that I stand at the war table with you," Josephine said, lips quirking in a smile. "I know what cleverness you are capable of, whatever modesty you hide behind."

The praise warmed her a little. "Still, I know nothing about turning ordinary folk into nobles. I'm afraid your cleverness will have to suffice for this one."

Her head tilted, hazel eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But turning ordinary folk into legends? You know something about that. Surely that is the greater challenge."

She really knew how to cut through all of Adaar's admonishments to herself. A handful of words in Josephine's mouth was as deadly as one of Adaar's knives.

"I would hate to always be the target of your honeyed tongue," she said, with a slightly helpless grin; she hoped it looked careless rather than besotted. It was the best she could manage. Truth, disguised as jest. "My insides are all a-flutter."

For a moment, it looked as if Josephine might press the topic further; then she sat back, a more somber set to her mouth. "It will not be easy," she said. "But it can be done. Despite the arguments I imagine Leliana will make."

"Well, tiebreaker," Adaar sighed, some of the tightness in her chest easing. "I outrank her."

Josephine inclined her head. "Thank you."

Her fingers ran down the edges of the book's cover again, and Adaar noticed the feather charm dangling from the marked page. She remembered the letter she'd sent with it from the Hinterlands, the bruised wrist she'd nursed while she'd written it. She could hardly believe such a paltry little thing had made it out of Haven when they'd fled.

But Josephine had rescued it, somehow, for some reason.

It was a small space, easy to reach across and touch the dangling feather. Josephine's fingers paused in their tracing.

"You don't have to…" Adaar paused, tried to get her words in order. "I know these are useless trinkets."

Josephine looked up, eyes meeting Adaar's. "I happen to like them. Besides, it makes a pretty bookmark, doesn't it? Hardly useless."

They were treading dangerous territory. Adaar should not have leaned forward. It would be so easy to close the remaining distance, touch her fingers to Josephine's cheek, tip her chin up…

There had been other moments like this, and every one of them, Adaar could have sworn that Josephine was expecting just that. Waiting, her lips slightly parted, her eyes focused so intently on Adaar's. Hoping.

But she shouldn't. Couldn't.

She sat back. "Well, then," she said. If her voice was too loud for the space, if it pushed out all chance of intimacy, that was for the best. "I won't question your tastes, which I know to be very fine."

She told herself that she was imagining the flicker of disappointment in Josephine's face. Easy to do; whatever Adaar thought she had seen one moment was gone the next, as if it had never existed.

"You have a knack for finding pretty things," Josephine said. "And in the strangest places."

"Maybe it's hereditary. My dad was the same way. By the time my parents made it to the Free Marches, he'd picked up all sorts of things on the road. Cleaned up some of them to sell, but kept a fair amount of the rest." She managed a chuckle. "Drove my ma up the wall, the way she told it, but I liked the things he found. He always remembered exactly where he'd picked it up. Or he was a convincing storyteller, I suppose."

"Another inherited trait, I believe," Josephine said with a smile. "What happened to it all when you left the farm?"

"I left it with Jana—the neighbor I told you about, the one looking after the place. It's probably all still sitting in a crate in the corner of the root cellar. I took one thing with me, but in the interest of not jingling with every step…"

Josephine smothered a laugh with her hand, as if the idea delighted her. "A different combat strategy, certainly. What did you take with you?"

Adaar reached into her coat and pulled a tiny journal from one of the interior pockets. She flipped to the center and retrieved a folded piece of paper, then unfolded it and handed it to Josephine.

It was a drawing. A sketch, really, of a miniature hourglass, a chain threaded through one end. Not the original sketch; no, she didn't dare carry that out into this dangerous world with her, not after what had happened to the object itself.

"It's pretty," Josephine said, "though I admit, not what I expected."

"It's just a stand-in, unfortunately. I lost the hourglass at the Conclave." She cast a miserable look at the paper in Josephine's hands. "Dad had it made from little pieces and materials he'd picked up on the way south. Sand from the shores of Par Vollen. Wood from a tree he liked as they passed through Antiva. A little gold embellishment from the melted-down remnants of the first gold coin he ever scraped together."

Josephine's face had fallen. "I'm so sorry."

Adaar shrugged one shoulder. "He wouldn't hold it against me, but...I kept it safe through so many jobs. Guess the Fade was just too much for it. Still feels weird, not wearing it."

Josephine looked to the paper again, her eyes moving from one detail to the next. "Why an hourglass?"

"My name means time, in Qunlat."

"Adaar? I thought that meant cannon."

"No, my given name—Herah."

"Herah," Josephine mused. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken Adaar's given name; her heart lurched to hear it in Josephine's voice.

"Because I ran out their time under the Qun," Adaar explained. "But gave them more time, somewhere...else. Somewhere free, in their opinion. The sand ran out, but then the hourglass turned."

Josephine was smiling, widely and warmly, as though truly touched. "That's a lovely sentiment."

"Yeah," Adaar said, but her agreement felt a little hollow. She accepted the paper back from Josephine. "What does it mean when the hourglass breaks, though?"

Josephine pondered that for a moment. The wagon rocked, and Adaar listened for any indication of a disturbance, but there was only the wind, rustling past; the horses, their steps heavy; Cassandra's muttering up ahead, if she wasn't mistaken.

"Perhaps it is as your parents said," Josephine said at last. "Your time with the Valo-kas ran out, but your time elsewhere began."

"That's a nice way of looking at it."

Adaar tucked the paper away again, safe in her coat. The original sketch—the one with her dad's notes, written in Qunlat before the painstaking translation—was safe in her Skyhold loft, hidden away.

If Skyhold fell, after all, she had probably fallen with it.

"Speaking of Jana," Josephine said, "have you heard from her recently? I know that you were concerned about Duskfield."

"I got a letter from her just before we left Skyhold. Seems as if all is well there, for now."

Josephine's lips pursed in thought. "If you'd still like to check in on them, I'm sure I can find some business in the area—an excuse to make the trip."

"I would, but...when this business with the House of Repose is done, maybe. So that you're free to—well. If you still wanted to come with."

The offer hadn't been made so long ago, but it had been made without any firm plans. They'd both been low at the time, vulnerable. Maybe Josephine hadn't been serious, or had thought better of it since. But she smiled, and the strength of it creased the corners of her eyes.

"Of course. I would love to see where you grew up." She tapped a finger against her lips. "It is a little hard to imagine you tending a farm, though it sounds like a peaceful life."

"It was," Adaar sighed. "I might even go back to it someday."

Josephine cast her a surprised look. "Really?"

Adaar shrugged. "Assuming I survive all this, then...why not? Settling down never held much appeal to me before, but after the last few months, I think it would be a relief. The mercenary life would seem like a demotion after the Inquisition, and it's probably best for everyone if I fade into obscurity, anyway."

Josephine chuckled. "Well, when you put it like that. So long as you promise to visit me in Antiva during your retirement. The Montilyet vineyards are renowned, you know."

"I suppose I could crawl out of my hermitage for that," Adaar said, grinning. "Assuming this wine is as good as you say."

Josephine raised one eyebrow, as if challenging her. It was hard not to lean in again. There was so little space in this cursed wagon, and they were already too close.

"There is plenty of it to sample at Skyhold," she said. "And we have other business to handle when we return, aside from my personal affairs. A working dinner may be in order."

Well, at least there would be a pile of convoluted requests to keep Adaar's head on straight. And a table between them, for good measure. "By all means," she replied. "You have full reign over my calendar. Pick a day, and I will be there."

"Perfect," Josephine declared, like she'd won something. Adaar wished she knew what.

Go to Chapter 3 -->

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar x josephine #f!adaar/josephine #dragon age #inquisition #friends to lovers #developing relationship #mutual pining #class differences #universe writes

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bazzybelle · 5 years ago

Text

Carry On Countdown - Day Twenty-Seven

Notes: So I am giddy with excitement about writing this fic! It’s a snippet for an AU historical fiction (my personal favourite literary genre) that I’ve started working on. I have a basic outline drawn up, I have plots and tropes and quotes I want to use (I’ve even started making a playlist for it… because I’m THAT much of a dork), and those who I talk to on the regular know that I have not shut up about it. I’ve always loved The Renaissance in Florence, especially during the time of Lorenzo The Magnificent. My first university degree was History and Italian Culture, and the BULK of my classes involved the Florentine Renaissance (Neeeeeeeeerd). Ok! I won’t bore you all with details now, wait for my AU fic! Title and beginning quote are taken from the Neo-Platonist philosopher Marsilio Ficino.

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for your beta-work, and for sharing/encouraging my nerdiness for this topic, I look forward to discussing this story with you, as well as Plato’s philosophy! xD

Gonna tag also @fight-surrender, @f-ing-ruthless-baz and @giishu for being my never ending support board and for putting up with my non-stop photos of notes from my tiny tiny notebook.

Finally tagging @sbazzing... You wanted to be tagged in this.. here ya go! :)

Day 27 Prompt: Time Travel

Title: Love is a Dream of Beauty

________________________________________________________________

Artists in each of the Arts seek after and care for nothing but Love.

February 20th, 1490

BAZ

“Signore Pitch!”

I look up from the text I’m analyzing to see one of Lorenzo’s (yes, Lorenzo de’ Medici… Il Magnifico to most, but to me, he’s always been Lorenzo) assistants rushing towards me. He is one of the younger ones, I believe. What was his name?

Paolo?

Francesco?

Marco!

I put down the book I have been reading (Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita Libri - History of Rome - I’m working on translations for Book 9) and look at the nervous young man. I do not understand why the servants and assistants fear me. I suppose it is my dark and broody nature that unsettles them. Or maybe the fact that I have little to no patience for the courtly life and the politics that go along with it.

“Yes, Marco? How can I help you?” I gaze down at the young man. Maybe it’s my cold eyes that are constantly glaring and the way I always sneer when I’m annoyed that frightens the younger workers.

“Gran… Gran Maestro de’ Medici would like a word with you.” I take in a sharp breath and nod at the young man. If Lorenzo wants to speak with me, it is for one of two reasons; either I have done something that displeases him (unlikely), or he wants something of me. A request from Lorenzo de’ Medici is not a request one simply ignores (though, Lorenzo has a soft spot for me, so I can get away with more than others).

“Is it urgent?” I raise an eyebrow at Marco, which only increases his nervousness. Honestly! Why does he have to be so apprehensive? It’s not like I am going to bite him or anything! Marco looks to the floor, not wanting to meet my eyes.

“He said to call for you immediately, Signore Pitch.”

I sigh deeply and offer him a curt nod. “Very well. I shall be with him shortly.” I turn back to my book. I want to finish this last page before going to meet Lorenzo. I look up briefly to notice that Marco is still standing nervously in front of me. I roll my eyes at him and point to the door. “You may leave.”

Marco stumbles out of my room. I shake my head and continue with my translations. It is my unofficial job at the Academy, to translate these texts from Greek to Latin as well as the local vernacular. I am not fond of the vernacular, but there are still groups within the city that hold onto the linguistic belief set forth by the great poet, Dante. My peers may look down on those who choose to practice the vernacular, but Angelo Poliziano (my teacher, mentor, dearest friend) insists that I keep an open mind to the shifts and changes that come with learning the language.

Satisfied with the quality of my translations, I close the books and stretch my back. I do not know how long I had been sitting at that table before Marco came to fetch me. Maybe I will go for a brief ride through the countryside to clear my head, once my meeting with Lorenzo is through.

As I make my way through the corridors and halls of the villa, my mind begins to wander (this often happens, Marsilio Ficino calls it the philosopher’s curse) and I think about the young assistant. I should have expected the uncomfortable interaction based on how he addressed me alone.

I am known by many names in this court. Signore Pitch is one, but I find that to be dreadfully formal. I am not a master, nor am I nobility (well… not anymore). Amongst my peers and the scholars at the Academy, as well as the members of Lorenzo’s court, I am referred to as Tyrannus (which is probably worse than Signore Pitch, but these Florentines do love their classical history). My closest friends (of which I can count on one hand) refer to me as Basil or Baz, which is frankly what I prefer. It was what my mother and father called me before they died.

There is also what enemies of the Medici like to refer to me as: The Displaced Prince. I would find it rather insulting, if I wasn’t so amused by it. They are not wrong in calling me that, except I was never really a prince. My family was a noble one, but we fell from grace many years ago. Actually, I may be the last member of my family remaining. I suppose that’s why Lorenzo has kept me around all these years. I have been around the court of Lorenzo de’ Medici long enough to understand how the politics work around here. I am of noble blood and eligible for a political match that could work in Lorenzo’s favour, and continue on for his son, Piero. It’s truly a shame that I have no interest in political matches.

Or marriage for that matter.

I reach Lorenzo’s quarters. I knock on the door and wait patiently to be received. Lorenzo doesn’t typically spend much time here at his villa in Careggi. Most of his time is spent in the city itself, at his central palazzo. He has been here for a couple of days, and I wonder if he had come all this way in order to speak to me in person. Lorenzo de’ Medici never does anything without an ulterior motive.

The door opens and I am ushered inside, where I find Lorenzo sitting at his desk, pen in hand, and a focused look on his face. He looks up to see me and his face brightens.

“Tyrannus! How are you, my dear boy!”

I enter the room and lightly bow my head. Lorenzo isn’t an official ruler of Florence, but as the head of the Medici family, it is a simple gesture of courtesy. “Good afternoon, Gran Maestro de’ Medici.” I address him by his official title, again as a sign of respect. I am many things, ill-mannered is not one of them. Lorenzo raises an eyebrow at me and shakes his head.

“Tyrannus, you have been a member of my household for nearly 15 years, I think at this point, you may call me Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo stares knowingly at me. I return the gaze with a raised eyebrow of my own before we both begin to laugh. Lorenzo rises from his seat and comes to greet me. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a hug and kisses me on both cheeks. He pulls back to get a good look at me and smiles brightly.

“Ahhhh… It’s good to see you! We do not see you very often anymore. I imagine Angelo has been working you to near death!” I laugh light-heartedly and shake my head.

“Not at all, Lorenzo. I rather enjoy the work, to be honest. It does me good to leaf through the books that once belonged to my family. To hold the pieces that are left of their legacy.”

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to spend time amongst my family’s books. I was a very precocious child, always asking questions and wanting to absorb as much knowledge as I could. When I first arrived in Florence, all I wanted to do was spend time in the library. When Giuliano was still around, he would remind me to have fun and to allow myself to have a childhood… Despite that, most of my life was spent amidst the company of older, learned men.

Lorenzo claps my shoulder and gives it a tiny shake. “Always so somber aren’t you? Your family’s legacy is not dead. You are still around.” He looks into my eyes. Brown eyes, contrasting to my grey.

I sigh at him and start to step away from his grasp. “Only because the Divine has willed it so.”

“You truly have been spending far too much time with the philosophers!” Lorenzo gives me another hearty laugh. “I do need to take a visit to The Academy. It has been far too long since I’ve taken part in one of Marsilio’s symposia.” I detect a hint of melancholic nostalgia in Lorenzo’s voice. Ficino would tell me of the time where Lorenzo was more carefree and would spend days within the Academy, debating the nature of Plato and his ideas on Love. Those were the days before his duties to his family and Florence began to weigh heavily on him.

A small laugh escapes through my nose.“They do become rather heated. I could hear them shouting from my study the last time.”

“As every great debate ought to be!” Lorenzo leads me towards his desk, but does not sit down just yet. “Now, Tyrannus. There was a reason I asked to see you.” I nod knowingly and smirk at him.

“You would not be Il Magnifico if there wasn’t an ulterior motive to everything you do.”

Lorenzo laughs heartily. Few people are allowed to see him like this. I am one of the lucky few, for he has known me since I was a child.

And, I remind him of his brother… Giuliano. If circumstances were different, it would be Giuliano giving me this talk, as opposed to Lorenzo. He picks up a small weight from his desk and begins to run it through his hands.

“Tyrannus, you will be celebrating your birthday soon, will you not?” He points to me as he asks me the question. I nod my head in response.

“Yes, Lorenzo. On the 24th, I shall be turning 20 years old.”

Lorenzo stares off wistfully. “Ahh… To be young with a future full of promise. Do not take these days for granted. Soon enough, you will be cursing the ways your body fails you.” He frowns towards his legs. Lorenzo’s family is plagued with gout. His father died as a result of his gout, and he started showing signs much later in his life. Lorenzo has not been as lucky. He clears his throat and continues.

“But I digress. Now, when I decided to take you in as a ward of the Medici family, I told myself I would treat you as if you were one of my own children. I believe I have done a decent job of that.”

I nod and smile at him. “You have. I would have never had the opportunities to read from my family’s ancient texts had your family not taken me in.”

“Correct. Now, it is my duty as your guardian to ensure that a beneficial match is made for you.”

I frown and take a step back. “A… match?” I decide to try and play ignorant. I had a feeling that this discussion was coming. Still, it was not something I was interested in. Besides, I may be Lorenzo’s ward, but I am hardly a member of the Medici family.

“Of course! It is only proper that we find a suitable match for you!” Lorenzo places the weight back down on the desk and begins to shuffle a few of the papers lying about.

“Lorenzo… I do not think anyone would want to be wedded to a Displaced Prince.” I purposely use the slanderous name against me in order to make a point. It may be a name given to insult me, and it does not really bother me. But it is a name based in small truths. I have no lands, no titles, no stability. Lorenzo’s face darkens and addresses me in an aggrieved voice.

“Let me tell you something Tyrannus. Do not allow the words of bitter men to leave a lasting impact on your soul. Now I will make it my duty to see that a proper marriage alliance is secured for you.”

I appreciate the concern, I truly do. But marriage is not a future I see for myself. “Lorenzo. What if I did not want that? I am perfectly content to remain amongst my family’s books in the Academy,” I respond solemnly. My wish is that he drop the subject, but Lorenzo de’ Medici does not work that way.

“Nonsense Tyrannus. You are the sole remaining member of a family that has been around since the time of Constantine the Great! It is your duty to ensure your line does not die.” He waves his arms extravagantly. It is very difficult work not to roll my eyes at him. Men like Lorenzo put far too much emphasis on the past. Yes, it is important to know our past, but too much focus on it causes one to lose sense of the future. I come from an ancient family, it is true, but that family is gone now.

“Lorenzo, I have made peace with my family line dying with me since I was a child. I have my family’s books; I have their legacy and I intend on keeping it alive through their words.” I speak in a soft, somber voice. I almost plead with him to understand my position on the matter.

Lorenzo grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eyes once more. “Will you at least let me try? For your parents…”

My back stiffens and I very nearly glare at him. He knows I cannot say no when my parents are concerned. I sigh in resignation and furrow my brows. I see that I will not win this argument with him, so I offer a compromise; a deal with him.

“What if I gave you until the end of this year? Until the Epiphany celebration; to find me a suitable match? One that I approve of as well.” I emphasize that I shall have the final say (if there is any say at all).

Lorenzo regards me with an astounded look. “You truly have become a part of this family, Tyrannus! Only a Medici would offer up a deal like that.”

I nod towards him and shrug my shoulders. “I did learn from the best. Shall we shake on it?” I offer my hand and Lorenzo takes it willingly.

“Until the Epiphany celebration I shall do whatever it takes to get you married.”

“I don’t doubt that. Would that be all, Lorenzo?” I am ready to get out of this meeting. I really do need some time outside of this building in order to process everything that has just occured. Maybe a ride to one of the neighbouring villages will do me some good.

Lorenzo puts a halt to my plans almost immediately. “Not quite. I had a feeling I would win you over today, so I requested that Signore Botticelli paint a miniature portrait of you. He is already expecting you.”

I try to not groan out loud. Sandro Botticelli is one of the city’s finest painters. At the same time, he is one of the most arrogant men in existence. He has painted every member of Lorenzo’s family, and has never once done so without a complaint. He had been gone from the city for quite some time (The Vatican requested his talents for their holy Basilica). I suppose now that he’s back, Lorenzo has already begun with the commissions. I shake my head at him; the impossible man.

“You truly are one of a kind, Lorenzo.”

“That’s why they call me Il Magnifico. Now go on. You may take one of the horses into town.” Lorenzo walks back to his chair. He settles in and waves me away. I bow my head at him and exit the room.

“Thank you, gran Maestro.”

I make my way to the stables, stopping by my rooms to put on some warm outer clothes. I could walk to the city, but it really is much faster to go by horse and with the sun making its way into midday, I should make my way to Botticelli’s workshop as quickly as possible, before the day begins to darken.

I mount my favourite horse, a chocolate mare I’ve called Minerva, and start to ride towards Florence. As I pass the hills and small houses that dot the trail, I think about how the events of my life have brought me here to this moment.

I come from a long line of nobility from the lost empire of Byzantium, on my mother’s side. She, as well as her family were forced to flee the city of Constantinople when she was a young girl. My grandfather, having impeccable foresight, knew the war against the Ottoman Turks was lost. So he had arranged for all of the ancient books and texts from my family’s libraries to be moved to Florence, to the libraries of Cosimo de’ Medici (Lorenzo’s grandfather). My family was offered sanctuary within the court, but my grandfather had other obligations to attend to. My mother was betrothed to my father, a nobleman from England, so my family settled there. It was where I was born and where I spent the first five years of my life.

But because turbulence and bad luck seem to follow my family like a dark cloud, it wasn’t long before we were destroyed once again. England, at the time, was in the middle of a dynastic war between two royal families; The Yorks and the Lancasters. My father was a Lancastrian and while that worked to his benefit for the longest time, my mother, sharing the same aptitude for forethought as her father, knew that our time in the sun would not last. She had written to several powerful houses in Italy (The Sforza, the Argonese, the de’ Medici, and the Este), and offered them everything we had left if they would take me in, should it be necessary. Out of those families, only Giuliano de’ Medici responded.

I remember the last night I saw my mother and father as if it were yesterday. I still have dreams about it. I remember being asleep in my chambers, when my mother swept inside, bright ruby-red dress flowing around her. She roused me from my sleep and scooped me up into her arms. I could not understand what was happening at the time. She rushed me through the kitchens, where a small band of trusted servants were waiting for us. With tears in her eyes, she held onto me, running her fingers through my dark hair. I remember her smoothing the strands from my face as she reminded me to remain strong and to never forget the lineage I was born into, even in the darkest of nights. The last thing she told me was that I was the very best of both her and my father and that she would always be with me. With a final kiss on my head and a caress of my cheek, she was gone, ruby skirts flowing behind her. I remember crying out to her, begging her to come back. None of it mattered, for we were soon off, galloping on horses as we rode into the night.

My mother had managed to obtain passage for myself and my governess aboard a ship headed to one of the ports controlled by the Florentines. I don’t remember much of the journey to Florence. I think my mind has decided to block those memories from me. All the better, for I wish to never think of them. I do remember docking at one of the ports and my governess quietly ushering me into a small inn, where a tall, handsome man with flowing dark hair and kind brown eyes was waiting for us: Giuliano de’ Medici.

Giuliano was the younger, more care-free brother of Lorenzo. He was, by all accounts, the heart and soul of the Medici family, and it was because of his gentle heart that I found my way into the Palazzo Medici. That day, he took me aside and explained to me that he would be taking care of me from now on. When I asked about my parents, he was kind, yet truthful. He explained that it was almost certain that my parents did not survive the attack. I remember being determined not to cry in front of this stranger, but the thought of my mother was too much for me. A strong, reassuring hand on my shoulder was all it took to let loose the floodgates. As he continued to pat my back, Giuliano explained that we would wait for word from England in case he was wrong, but that I should prepare myself for the worst. He did not sugar-coat the reality of my situation, and I suppose it was because of his honesty that I learned to quickly trust him.

For the next three years, Giuliano looked after me, and treated me as if I was his own son. It took some time for my walls to come down, but eventually I saw him as a father figure in my life. I was beginning to get a true sense of having a family again… when…

But I don’t think about that… About the blood and the knives. I don’t think about the Easter mass that would once again break apart any family and hope I dared to have.

I don’t think about any of that. Instead I make my way to Botticelli’s studio, where the impatient maestro is already waiting for me. I tie up my horse and proceed to knock on the door. The door opens in a rush. Before me stands Sandro Botticelli, all impertinence and self-importance.

“Tyrannus! Glad you could make it!” Botticelli gently grabs my sleeve and pulls me into the workshop. I stand tall and watch him with a disinterested look on my face.

“Signore Botticelli. Always a pleasure.” Botticelli rolls his eyes at my formal address and already begins to scurry about around the workshop. He calls out to me over his shoulder.

“Tyrannus, while I do appreciate the formal greeting, please call me Sandro.”

I shake my head and raise my hands in consternation. “Does no one around here appreciate formality? Fine… Sandro.”

Sandro places a stool in front of a window, where a little soft light has managed to come through. “I see you have finally given in to Lorenzo’s demands.”

“You know how it is. Whatever Lorenzo de’ Medici wants, Lorenzo de’ Medici gets. I would like to get this sitting done as soon as possible.” My continued icy tone is really unnecessary, but I have already had a long day and I find it difficult to mask my disdain.

“Yes yes, Tyrannus! We all know you have important work to do at the Academy! Tell Signore Poliziano that if he’s got a problem, he can take it up with Il Magnifico!” Sandro waves a hand dismissively towards me and then roughly points to the small stool. I roll my eyes and settle into place. Sandro starts to walk away and yells out towards the back rooms.

“Simon! Where are you, boy?! We are waiting for you!”

I straighten up and roll my shoulders back in surprise. I was not expecting this. I start to get up from the chair when Sandro places his hand on my shoulder, settling me back down. “Wait. I was under the impression that you-”

Sandro casts a dark glare at me and I settle back down. It is clear that he is beyond fed up with my attitude. “Please, I do not have the patience nor the time to paint yet another member of the gran maestro’s household. No, your miniature portrait will be handled by my young assistant. Simon!” He barks out once more, abrasively.

I adjust a crease in my shirt and tuck some of my raven-black hair behind my ear. I look up and my breath becomes caught in my throat.

A broad-shouldered, tawny-skinned young man rushes from the back rooms, carrying what seems to be half of Sandro’s art supplies in his hands. Canvases, boards, charcoal, and paints (why would he need paints right away). I quickly turn my head from him so as to conceal the blush creeping onto my cheeks (clearly I am embarrassed for this young man… nothing more…).

A loud crash makes me turn my head back. I notice a head full of long bronze curls before me, surrounded by scattered charcoal, paints, and brushes on the floor. He looks up at me, blue eyes sparkling and a deep red blush creeping across his face.

Damn it all…

“Apologies… Signore…” He starts to stammer at me. I lift a hand at him and narrow my eyes. I can feel my heart quicken as I begin to think about the many ways I can continue to make him blush. I shake the impure thoughts from my mind and conceal myself behind the mask of indifference I wear around court.

My impervious, cold mask. I need it now than ever. Because a blue-eyed, bronze-haired disaster has just crashed into me and I do not need disasters in my already unstable life.

So, time to scare away another rosy-cheeked young man.

“Pitch.” I reply, with acid in my voice. I turn to Sandro, who looks as if he is just about ready to murder the boy, and drawl out sarcastically, “I must say Sandro, you certainly know how to pick them. I was wondering why I had never seen this apprentice before. I suppose I have my answer.”

I look back to the young man, Simon, who has collected himself and is now wearing a look that could strike me dead. I laugh scornfully at him, which only angers him further.

Perfect.

“I think this one will prove to be more of a handful than you can handle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to the Academy.” I lift myself from the stool and stroll towards the door. It takes every fibre of my being not to run out of that building as fast as I can. But I have been practiced in the art of nonchalance, so I make it to the door, when Sandro calls out to me.

“Tyrannus!”

I look back to Sandro and his unfortunate assistant. I give them both a mocking sneer and a graceful wave of my hand. “Apologies, Signore Botticelli. I know you are a very busy man. We can try again tomorrow, perhaps.”

I exit the workshop and take a minute to gather my thoughts. The poor boy will probably be getting a tongue lashing from Botticelli. I want to feel sorry for him, but I cannot allow myself to feel anything for him. I untie Minerva and begin to ride out of the city.

As I gallop away from the city, my thoughts start to become more and more cloudy. I try to focus on the translations I need to finish, or on the discussion that Lorenzo and I had earlier today. I even try to think about the many arguments between my Academy peers. But no matter how I try, I keep coming back to one thought and one image.

Of a boy with blue eyes, bronze curls, and a brightly flushed face.

Misfortune and misery seem to follow me around like a dark cloud. And the Divine seems to have played a cruel joke on me. Because after one look into those ordinary blue eyes and I now think I understand the inspiration behind Dante and Petrach’s poetry. I want to read Plato once more and determine if these feelings inside of me count as his version of Love.

How can it be? It is not possible. I pull on Minerva’s reins and hop off. I bend down and start to gasp for air.

It is not allowed…

I take several deep breaths and push my budding feelings down. As deep as they can go. I push them further than the pain of losing my mother, of losing my name. Of losing Giuliano. I shall not permit these feelings to ever come out again. I cannot go back to see Signore Botticelli and that boy!

Simon…

I hope that my cold, intimidating personality is enough to keep him as far away from me as possible. I hope that I have sufficiently scared him away. I hope I never have to look at those ordinary blue eyes again.

Any other path is not an option.

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rmjagonshi · 5 years ago

Note

You asked for prompts. Will you do mutual pining teen stans as they build the stanowar and imagine whisking thier brother away to be all alone on a ship??? Pretty please?

I didn’t ignore you, anon! Promise! I hope this fits what you were looking for. I have never written a song fic before, so, I hope it’s okay that I did that.

Song by Michelle Branch (All You Wanted)

Stan Pines wasn’t jealous of his brother. Sure, Ford got a lot of attention from teachers and old grannies, and their father, but Stan wasn’t jealous. Ford was interested in nerd things, like math and chemistry and monsters…well, monsters were cool. But still, Stan had other things. He had…well…he had…

What did Stan have?

Ford had his smarts and Stan just kind of tagged along for the ride. But that was okay. He had Ford. They didn’t have much else, but they had each other. And that was enough. That was enough for years.

When the schoolyard bullies came to throw rocks and shove dirt down their pants, at least they were together and they could help each other up. And when their father decided he’d had enough of their shenanigans and wailed on Stan with the metal end of a belt, well…Ford was there. They were never alone. They always had each other. And they always would.

~I wanted, to be like you. I wanted everythingSo I tried, to be like you, and I got swept away.~

But still, it bothered Stan sometimes that Ford was obviously the epicenter of their dynamic duo, and Stan was the poor helpless planet caught in Ford’s orbit. Ford was smart and creative and always had the answer to everything. So, Stan started trying to be like him. He picked a book at random from the library shelf and tried reading it. But the words blurred and he didn’t understand half of what he was reading. And it was so boring. I was talking about shapes or ��faces’ or bonds…Stan didn’t understand. The book cover showed a picture of a rock and some weird drawn shapes where you could see all the sides.

When book reading failed, Stan moved onto experiments. Experiments were more fun than reading because he got to mix things together and watch what happened. But one too many explosions and one used fire-extinguisher later, Stan was banned from doing experiments without Ford’s help. That only left school. So Stan tried doing well in school. But school work was even harder than book reading. Math was just a jumble of numbers and symbols, and history was all memorizing facts and dates. None of it was interesting, but his grades did improve, if only marginally. He was so excited when he’d studied all week for a test and got a B-. A B-!

That was the best grade he had ever gotten EVER! He was so happy he raced home after detention to show it to Pa, finally something of worth to show him. But Ford had gotten there first. Of course he had. Ford didn’t have detention. Ford had gotten an A+, as usual. All of a sudden, the lousy B- didn’t mean much. He didn’t bother showing it to his parents.

Stan went back to just tagging along and helping out his brother. He wasn’t jealous, but he did kind of wish Ford was so horribly bad at something, so Stan could be good at it. After one bad run in with Crampelter, Stan dragged himself and Ford home to their mom to get bandaged up. Through ringing ears and two black eyes, Stan heard his father tell him he was signing them both up for boxing lessons.

Boxing lessons were more horrible than Crampelter. At least with Crampelter, they could run away or hide or something. And they didn’t always cross paths with the bully. Boxing lessons were every other day and you couldn’t run. Both Stan and Ford came home sore and beaten more and more, but their pa never let up. No friends but each other, no support from family but each other. They clung together tighter and tighter.

~I didn’t know that, it was so cold, And you needed someone to show you the way.~

But boxing lessons paid off in the end. Stan was getting stronger. He stuck close to Ford and together, they stayed mostly out of trouble. Stan on his own would always wind up in detention, but Stan with Ford was able to weasel his way out of most things. Sticking with Ford made Stan aware of the crap Crampelter pulled when Stan was in detention. They both got bullied, but Ford had it bad. He had tried to hide the cuts and bruises and missing notebooks, but Stan saw them. Ford didn’t stand a chance. The next time they were cornered in the field behind the school, Stan fought back. He tackled the lard-butt and wailed on his face with all his strength until Crampelter kicked him off and rode away on his stupid bike. Stan got detention and was grounded for a month, but he didn’t care. When he’d held out his hand to help Ford up, Ford had looked at him like was was some kind of hero. From then on, Stan was the muscle, and he would protect Ford at all costs.

~So I took your hand and, we figured out thatWhen the time comes I’d take you away.~

It wasn’t long after that they found the boat, and the dream of sailing away on the Stan O’ War, just the two of them, was born. Stan threw himself into fixing the Stan O’ War. If no one else wanted them, then they would go somewhere else. Bullies didn’t really pick on Stan anymore. He was popular, exactly, but he was left alone enough that he was a 'pseudo’ jock. Ford wasn’t so lucky. Sure, people liked him, he was smart and could help them with their homework, but they weren’t interested in being friends. It became apparent when Ford had asked Lucy out for drinks after he’d helped her study for the upcoming Physics exam. She’d laughed in his face so long, he’d just gathered up his stuff and left, her laughing echoing down the empty school hall. Stan had gotten pissed when Ford told him about it. She didn’t deserve Ford, and Stan said as much, but Ford was still felling shitty about the whole thing.

“Why do people hate me?” Ford was curled up with his face pressed to his knees on Stan’s bunk. He’d stopped crying (not that there were many tears, but still, he was embarrassed about the few drops that had worked their way from between his eyelids), and was now just sitting, moping and wondering if he’d ever find someone who actually liked him.

“No one hates you! Okay, maybe Crampelter and Sonia do, but they hate everyone. And I think Sonia doesn’t like you because you’re associated with me. And that bitch haaaaaates me.” Stan had sat beside Ford with a bag of toffee peanuts and had refused to move until Ford cheered up.

“Okay, fine. They don’t hate me, but they sure as hell don’t like me.” Nobody liked him. They were only interested in if he could help them, then they were more than happy to drop him. Ford was too weird. And not just his hands, though they were part of it. Ford liked weird things. Shrunken heads and six-legged cats. Sea monsters and the Jersey Devil. Ma did her best to connect, but she didn’t understand his interests, and Pa…well, it was best not to engage Pa with anything that might be considered 'weird’. They only one that had ever tried to understand and take an interest in him was…

“Hey, you don’t need them. I like ya. And once we sail away on the Stan O’ War, it doesn’t matter what these bozos think.”

Ford grinned. Maybe Stan was enough.

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here.So lonely inside, So busy out there,And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

Stan doesn’t know when it happened, or what caused it. Like growing up, you know it’s happening, but each change is so gradual, you don’t notice it until you compare it to where you were before. And that’s what he was doing, comparing himself now to how he used to be. Because he never used to think like he does now. At least…he doesn’t think so. He’d always been trapped in Ford’s orbit, and he never really thought much about it before. They were inseparable. And that never used to be a problem. But Stan finds himself thinking about Ford more and more. His brother invades his thoughts more often than anything else, and if he isn’t thinking of Ford exactly, then he’s thinking of something in tangent to him. Thinking about how boring math class is makes him think about how excited Ford it to learn new things. Thinking about his favorite snack reminds him how much Ford hates toffee peanuts. And, of course, thinking about the boat makes him think about sailing away from all the shit they deal with. When Ford starts making an appearance during his dreams in place of Carla, well, it really isn’t all that surprising, if a bit disturbing.

Middle school passed in a whirlwind of working on the boat and keeping out of trouble. Sooner than they realized, they were in high-school. Classwork got harder and Stan was struggling. Stan throws himself into working on the boat. He even takes welding and woodworking when they’re offered. He might not be great at reading a map or doing math, but he can work with his hands to make things and fix things. He gets a part-time job and works down at the dock when he can. He spends more time in the library than Ford does some days. It’s hard. All of the work. He tried and tried and it never gets easier. Sometimes he thinks he ought to leave things alone. Ford had potential to be something. And he wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings. He did his best, lifting porn mags from the corner store and keeping a pin-up calendar tacked to his wall, but it felt hollow. It also didn’t help that Ford had picked up on his acting. Who was he to try and hide something from the person who knew him best? But he still hid. And still thought about letting go even as he wanted so desperately to hang on. Some days, he wants to throw his hands in the air and say 'Fuck It" and give up. But then he sees Ford come home with bruises and busted glasses, or maybe it’s just a smile or a belly laugh at one of his jokes and he’s right back, putting everything he has into making this work. In the end, it’s all for Ford. It always was.

Ford is all too aware that Stan is struggling. And he hates it. He hates seeing Stan like this. There are days, sometimes, where Stan doesn’t smile, at least, not a real smile. Days when he cries because he just doesn’t understand the work. Days when he does whatever he can to prove he’s a man because someone or something convinces him that he isn’t. He does his best to help. He tutors Stan when he can and works out homework problems with him. Stan is trying. He really is, but he gets confused and forgets things easily. He could read a page and not remember anything he’d just read. Every day, Stan would be ridiculed by their father, be constantly told he wasn’t worth anything, constantly told he 'was being a girl’. Every day, Stan would chases skirts and flirt with any woman who looked at him, got into more fights than he had any right to, and tried harder to prove himself worthy.

Ford knew the dream about sailing away on a ship was a childish one. He knew Stan was holding onto that dream with everything he had. But their future was so vague. They needed money to live, jobs paid money. Sailing around the world on a boat wasn’t going to get them there. It was just a matter of fact. But when Stan would get excited about progress on the ship or would tell stories about all the adventures they would go on, Ford found it harder and harder to admit that it was all just a fantasy. When Ford found Stan coming home with a chip on his shoulder and a black eye from getting in a fight with some chump that called him a fag, Ford found himself wanting to take away all the pain and misery. And the dream of whisking Stan away from everything on a ship felt all the more real.

~I’m sinking slowly, So hurry hold me. Your hand is all I have to keep me hanging on.Please can you tell me, So I can finally see Where you go when you’re gone.~

As senior year drew closer and closer, so too did their dreams. Ford was convinced they could sail away on the Stan O’ War to somewhere else. They could live on the boat while they worked and saved up money to get a decent place to live. And if something happened, then they would always have the boat. But they couldn’t just be treasure hunters. It wasn’t possible. He was drawing up a plan to figure out how they could manage. As soon as they were old enough, they were out of Glass Shard. But there was still work to be done to get there. And he still wasn’t sure how to break it to Stan. Stan was so dedicated to the idea that they would be treasure hunters, the he was blind to the reality they were facing. But Ford still wanted to get them away from there. He still wanted to rescue his brother. And maybe��maybe, if they were away from this, Stan could just be himself. Maybe Ford could…

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from hereSo lonely inside, So busy out there,And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

But things got harder. The science fair came, and Ford saw an opportunity. He could build something that would he could patent. He could sell it and they would have a nice nest egg to get started. But then, West Coast Tech was interested. And the promise of millions. Millions. What would he do with millions? They could do anything. They could sail away for months or years at a time and they would never have to come back to this shitty ass town. Finally, some success. Finally, something good. Ford would make some discovery, make a fortune, and he would come back for Stan. They would escape. He was so excited! He didn’t want Stan to get discouraged. It wasn’t forever. It was only until he was able to make something that would secure their future. And maybe it would give Ford time to process his…desires.

All you wanted was somebody who cares.

Everything fell apart after that. Ford spent years throwing himself into his work, and Stan spent the same time doing everything he could to make it rich.

If you need me, you know I’ll be there…

But when the post card was sent, Stan came without a second thought. And when the call came to correct his mistake, Stan stepped up to the challenge.

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here.So lonely inside, So busy out there.And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

And in the end, after more hardship than either one had ever thought, in the end, they found themselves on a boat, with more money than they needed, and no more need to run away. No more need to hide. In the end, none of the past really matters. Because Stan has a family that cares. Ford found a way to use his sills to help. And they finally decide, to hell with all of the fear, to hell with the self-denial. Standing aboard their ship, lost in the middle of the ocean after having hauled up an actual crate of lost pirate gold, Ford and Stan share their first kiss.

#gravity falls #stancest #stanley pines #stanford pines #teen stans #mutual pining #prompts #fic prompts

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Choice ― IV.ii. A Gilded Cage

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Though the Trinity would rather the death of Viscount Edwards fade into obscurity, an impassioned detective from Scotland Yard seems intent on opposing them. The favor of London’s elite is easily swayed and Cynbel has never been able to stand by while his beloveds suffer.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“The Lord Cynbel Montes for you, detective.”

It doesn’t bode well that Detective Moray stands to greet him. It means he sat while he waited; it means he was patient despite the late hour. It means even knowing he could have been waiting some time for Cynbel’s arrival he chose not to behold any of the artefacts on display across the shelves or peruse the various books in their various languages all around him. Symbols of their age, their journeys and adventures.

All of that and Detective Moray chose to sit and wait. The reason for his visit far more important to him.

“Your patience is admirable,” says Cynbel; and perhaps Valdas might have done the civilized thing and apologized to the man for even needing it — but he is not Valdas, “to what do I owe this utterly spontaneous visit, Detective…?”

“Detective Moray, my Lord.” He takes off his hat and offers Cynbel a hand that isn’t taken. “I hope you’ll forgive me for the hour — but I was told the evening would almost certainly find you home.”

“Indeed. If mildly inconvenienced.”

If he’s shocked at Cynbel’s abruptness he hides it well. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Again, Cynbel mutters an “indeed” of acceptance.

Moray looks as if to speak but his eyes fixate on something at Cynbel’s back — he turns to see Tobias lingering, uncertain about fully closing the door.

“It’s all right Tobias. Perhaps you could make sure the kitchen has tea set for the guests. They should be finished soon and you know of the Lady Isseya’s appetite after such entertainment.”

With a curt nod and bow Tobias takes his leave of them; closes the library doors and leaves Cynbel and the Detective very much alone.

Which seems to be all Moray was waiting for.

“It’s an unfortunate business, this. Certainly I would rather we meet under kindlier circumstances.” Though, and Cynbel is quite certain of this, he would rather they never met at all. “But I assume you are already aware of the reason for my calling.”

Moray remains still so Cynbel seeks to show him exactly why that is a terrible idea. He begins circling the man; steps almost lazily around the space he knows so well and that makes it all the more easier on him when he has to hide the recognition that slips through his mask.

“Let’s assume I am not. What would you say then?”

“I would ask you not to lie to me, Lord Montes, since lying now might imply you’ll lie to me when we stop these games.”

Had Tobias not mentioned the man’s unusual aura Cynbel might not have thought anything of it. But now the thought is there and against all of his better judgment it festers; digs talons growing by the second into his doubts. Does he know? Does he see?

His eyes fall on a particular trinket, one with a memory that eases the tension in the Golden Son’s shoulders. He strokes the very tip of his finger over the curved brow of Isseya’s masque. “You’re here regarding the death of Viscount James Edwards.”

“I’m here regarding the Viscount’s murder, yes.”

There’s a victory in correcting the enemy. Moray wears it with every word. “Care to explain how you came to know the Viscount was deceased?”

Cynbel snorts; throws back a simpering, pitying smirk. “When you accrue a certain amount of wealth, Detective, the only thing worth any value becomes information. That and England’s aristocracy are a bunch of horrid gossips.” When he laughs, he laughs alone.

“I don’t find the murder of a personal guest of Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria to be a laughing matter, Lord Montes.”

“You never had the displeasure of meeting the man, then.”

“What makes you think that?”

“If you had, you’d be laughing too.”

Moray’s nostrils flare. He’ll hand it to the mortal; he’s doing remarkably well at keeping his composure.

There’s a reason more often than not Valdas is the one handling any sort of negotiation or debate. Cynbel just prefers to insult.

“That seems to be the general opinion of the late Viscount, unfortunately. But this is the Queen’s Realm and even men such as he… those who seem to prefer status to moral character, that is to say, are deserving of a life. And when that can no longer abide, I am duty-bound to seek justice for him.”

Pretty speech — wasted though.

“That’s how you have spent the day — building a case on his lack of character?” he asks.

“Nothing so bureaucratic. What I’ve been doing is piecing together his last night seen alive.” And imagine the vampire’s surprise when he looks to glare at the back of Moray’s matted dusty hair and instead finds them face-to-face. “And judging by your reaction, my Lord, you have a good guess as to when that was.”

Without looking, as though his hand was seeking home, Cynbel feels the texture of a rusted hilt and allows himself to grasp it firm. Well within view of Detective Moray; who finds himself torn between looking at the intent in his eyes and the weapon that could seek it out.

The quickening of a heartbeat is music to his ears. “What are you?” He whispers soft, curious still and not yet demanding. “Really, what?”

The detective chooses incorrectly, as if he hopes to stare down every year that gazes upon him. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Now who’s lying?”

“Lor—”

“Once more; what. are. you? That you would vex a creature like Tobias so, that you would care so much about a man who was, truly, so very little.”

But even when Moray puffs out his chest and brings himself to his full height he still has to look up. “I still can’t quite grasp your meaning… but it is my duty to carry out the Queen’s laws.”

“And that would include…” He looks the mortal up and down, takes in every fragile piece of him and he’s hot, scalding, burning on the inside. Red-faced with his blood boiling and it makes Cynbel want to cut him open just to see if he can leech out some of that warmth for himself, for his beloveds. He could — it wouldn’t take but a twitch — just one muscle and he could… “apprehending his killer — no matter the cost.”

Moray exhales. Cynbel drinks in the vindication on his breath.

“Yes.”

Funny how the Queen’s laws were so contradictory to the laws of nature; of the hunt. About as funny as it is that the Queen’s laws were very much in place and yet there was still a murder and still a killer to be found.

Dress a monster up all you want… he will still be monstrous.

Cynbel releases his grip on the dagger slowly; tucks a few strands of golden-spun hair away from his temples and behind his ear. “You’ve pulled me from my guests long enough, Detective Moray. After a long days’ efforts you ought to rest your head. We all have to sleep some time.”

Is that a threat?

Why, of course. Was I not being clear?

“I’ve yet to even begin my questioning,” Moray protests. But there’s no reticence to it. The rabbit that dives into the fox hole and wants free.

And even if the man found the dark corner to where his confidence had scurried it didn’t matter. Cynbel already has the service bell ringing in hand. “Trust me when I say your life will be longer for it.” One of the numerous benefits of an elven butler — Tobias has the library doors opened before Moray can even open his mouth.

Cynbel nods him along. “Tobias the hours seem to have caught up with Detective Moray. Call up the driver to take him home, will you?” Tobias already has Moray’s coat on his arm. Delightfully efficient.

“Lord Montes I don’t really think that’s your —”

“On the contrary I would hate for a new detective to return seeking your justice. Though… perhaps he might surprise me. Perhaps he might send word before he comes to call.”

With natural fae charisma Tobias eases the detective into his coat; even takes the man’s hat from his hands and fixes it proper on his head. “If you’ll follow me sir,” not that Moray’s being given much of a choice — it doesn’t stop him from shuffling his feet as he departs.

And Cynbel is there up until the last step. He’s there when Moray turns around as if to catch one last glimpse of his own grave.

“Expect me tomorrow, Lord Montes.”

“Good night, Detective Moray.”

He closes the door in the man’s face.

“YY-You can’t do this!” Whittaker squeals not unlike swine; which is fitting. He looks around with spectacles askew desperate — hoping one of the constables patrolling the streets outside the building will hear him; save him.

They don’t. In fact — one even turns slightly from his post to catch glimpse of them. His eyes glint in the shadow from the lamppost overhead.

Whittaker waits for rescue on bated breath. It doesn’t come; the patrolman resumes his post as though it never happened.

And because Cynbel is, has been, and always will be a hunter he can’t help but take the opportunity to revel in his victory.

“See, worm? I can do what I want with you.” Unwilling to tempt fate, however, he quickly resumes shoving the stumbling man down the steps and out to the waiting carriage on the street.

“This is illegal! I h-have rights!”

The revenant’s struggle is fierce if in vain. Black-veined hands scrambling desperately at the flesh of Cynbel’s hands. He even manages to take a chunk of skin with him but it grows back before the sensation even registers. And Cynbel lets him; finds this side of the normally cowardly thing to be the only thing about him worth respecting.

“Have some fucking dignity man, and calm yourself,” the vampire grumbles as he gives Whittaker’s lowered head one final shove into the vehicle before he steps in himself, “you’re scaring the bloody horses.”

The ride back to the Estate has never felt longer but at least there’s entertainment in it. He leans back and watches every attempted spell, hex, and display of physical force that the mortician tries to open the cab doors but one by one they fail. Each new attempt is less fulfilling than the last, and eventually he sinks into his seat despondent; forced to do nothing but accept the uncertainty of the night’s events.

At least it makes for less of a struggle once they arrive.

“Welcome back my Lord,” Tobias greets them at the door; works quickly to take his coat but refuses to touch the foul black magic that keeps Whittaker bound to his withering skin. “I see your outing was a fruitful venture, despite your tardiness.”

“Come now — he’s a slippery creature.”

“I agree, however Lord Montes requested I mention it anyway.”

“This is kidnapping, sirs!”

The look Cynbel and the butler exchange is brief but telling. “Of course it’s kidnapping,” the vampire agrees, “I would have thought that obvious.”

“Detective Moray —”

“— can do nothing for you here.”

They may be running late but Cynbel pauses to take it in. That withering moment when Whittaker no longer just accepts his situation but understands it; the danger he is in.

Succulent, truly.

They’ve switched places in the library when Cynbel enters with their prisoner in tow. Valdas now occupies the couch, cuts an imposing figure with the hearth in full flame behind him. And surely there have been myths woven about the way the lights of the flickering flames catch on Isseya’s face where she sits opposite; the high-backed chair behind Valdas’ desk her throne bound in red leather.

“It’s been too long, Whittaker, welcome back to the Montes Estate.” Valdas closes his book — one of his personal journals Cynbel notes absently — and uncrosses his legs. Settling himself in comfortably. “We appreciate your agreeing to meet with us this night.”

The revenant snarls, makes the mistake of echoing the veil in his words; “I am being held here against my will! If you think this won’t go unpunished, you —”

Isseya cackles wildly and cuts him off. “And who will be doing the punishing, you? Didn’t you already attempt to sick your demonic master upon us once and fail miserably?”

While the mousy man stutters over his threat Cynbel seeks home at his God’s side. He drapes across the length of the couch and lets his head take respite in Valdas’ lap. The fingers that wind into his hair do so without thought and he hums content in gratitude.

The doors close with Tobias on the other side. Whittaker swallows; trapped among them.

“Why have you brought me here?” he asks.

Valdas instead offers a question of his own. “Why do you think we’ve brought you here?”

The revenant glares at Cynbel with resentment in his burning eyes.

“You either plan on threatening me until I cover up the Viscount’s death, or you seek to punish me because I have not already.”

Isseya looks impressed. “Good to know not all of your brain has rotted away in your death.”

“You know I am fully preserved.”

“So long as you provide flesh for your demon master, yes,” Valdas combs through his lover’s golden tresses absently, “I wonder how quickly such circumstances would change were that no longer the case.”

It makes Whittaker blanch. “You—You would, what, have me sacked?”

“Does the city police sack those who go missing?” Isseya asks. “That seems a tad unprofessional of them.”

Go missing. She says it so casually while the look on her face is anything but. Whittaker looks like he might faint.

Where his head rests Cynbel can feel his Divinity’s legs tense; the moment before the cobra strikes. “You have already burned your bridges with us, revenant. My only regret is that our arrangement wasn’t consummated by signature.”

It makes the Golden Son look up, drawing Valdas’ attention. “You have nothing to regret my Holy One. We held up our end of the bargain.”

“You’re right, Cynbel, we have,” to Whittaker; “haven’t we? Poor little Hamish Whittaker, the worm who falls in love with the bodies he penetrates, who fancied himself a necromancer only to run afoul of a soul devourer on an eldritch plane.

“You would happily caress the dead but taking a life was too much for your delicate constitution. Did we mock you for it—perhaps. But did we turn our back on you? Did we leave you to be consumed for all eternity by your demon master? Or did we offer you a mutual exchange of services in all our generosity?”

The worst of it—and this the whelp knows—is the Made-God speaks nothing but the truth.

“He asked you a question.” Isseya says — and will expect nothing less than an answer.

“I… did believe, at first, that our arrangement was equitable.”

“You accuse my Divinity of deception?”

“The balance has shifted. The Viscount — you were sloppy! I shouldn’t be punished because you were sloppy!”

That’ll do it. To no one’s surprise but Whittaker himself he ends up mewling on his back, the desk’s contents strewn across the floor and a vengeful vampiress crouching over him in determined bloodlust. There’s something extremely attractive about seeing her carnal side still in her evening gown with bustle and all, Cynbel thinks with a smirk.

“Isseya, darling mine, please,” comes Valdas exasperated voice over his head, “those books are irreplaceable originals… a little care never hurt anyone.”

“It’s hurting me!” Whittaker wails. A nasal, grating sound that has Isseya squeezing his throat for silence.

“You want sloppy? I’ll give you sloppy. I’ll paint the walls with your blood and stretch your skin into a new canvas. Pluck those strange little eyes of yours and wear them as baubles around my neck. That seems sloppy.”

But she paints a pretty picture.

Valdas clarifies for her; “The late Viscount is not among our dead, revenant.”

“Learn the difference between sloppy and careless, worm… quickly.” She backs off, though, and when he recovers Whittaker scrambles back onto his feet.

“You’re…” he’s dangerously close to losing his glasses to the momentum of his turning head as he tries to take in the Trinity as one, “You’re lying.”

“We have no reason to lie.”

“You have plenty reason! The—The investigation! The detective; the Queen! His killer has a noose at the Tower all ready and knotted.”

“Funny that he mentions the detective…” Cynbel’s words are broken off by exploratory fingers seeking his lips, his tongue; he gives all that and more and is rewarded with Valdas’ proud smile, “you know… he said something—Moray—that I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

“What was that, beloved?”

“He said that someone had suggested to him the hour best to find us here at the Estate.”

His next words Cynbel says only when Whittaker dares meet his eyes. “I wonder who told him that.”

If he held any final, limp shred of hope that he would be leaving the Montes Estate, Whittaker spends the silence that follows coming to terms with the futility of it.

The are the Trinity; the lovers known as Les Trois Amants, the Children of the Made-God Valdemaras, their reputation spread in languages no longer spoken.

And they show no mercy.

Whatever creature Detective Moray is—if any at all—he is not the kind that can smell Whittaker’s blood lingering on Isseya’s hand when he takes it politely.

Her lovers can.

“Rumors of your beauty have been greatly understated, Lady Montes,” he says. And they both play their roles expertly; he the polite and charming Englishman, she the lady he charmed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she lies; and takes Valdas’ hand to bring him forward too, “may I present the Lord Valdas Montes.”

Moray is as quick to falter as he is to recover. Looks between Valdas and Cynbel with a growing confusion; a kind they are all too familiar with. “A pleasure, my Lord. I — forgive me — I was under the assumption…”

Valdas who cuts him off before he can say any more—as he always must. “You are forgiven. Shall we, detective? We have a rather pressing engagement tonight.”

“But we always have time for Scotland Yard,” Isseya adds, though whether or not he believes her is unclear.

While Detective Moray may never call it such it is an interrogation, plain and simple. He meets them in their home because he thinks it will bring them comfort; lull them into security among familiar possessions and company. It is a move as bold as it is tactical, and makes Cynbel’s suspicion of him grow all the more.

He asks them to recount the events of the last time they saw the Viscount. Clearly he would prefer they do so separately but he has none to blame but himself in that they do not.

“And when your guests left for the evening, what happened?”

Cynbel shifts; covers it up with a crossed leg. Isseya reaches and meets Valdas’ hand in the middle. Moray notices, but makes the smart choice and says nothing of it.

“It had been a… tiresome affair. We called it an early night.”

As vague as Valdas’ answer is… it’s enough. Enough for Moray to round on Cynbel—at a speed which he seems to have just been waiting to do—and asks him the same question.

They always assume. That Valdas speaks only for himself and his Lady. But she is not his. She is theirs.

“Would you believe me if I said I went to confession?” is Cynbel’s snide remark; one he will certainly pay for later if the look Isseya gives is anything to go by.

“Is that what happened?”

“Of course not.”

“Then —”

“If you could instead indulge me this,” comes Valdas to his rescue, “how exactly was the Viscount killed?”

At first Moray seems ready to decline answering. Makes sense, really, that he wouldn’t want to give those he suspects of committing the crime the answer. But the children of Valdemaras exchange soft, almost secret glances and know it isn’t so.

Valdas has always had a way with the world. A magnetic personality; they would call it these days. And indeed he is charming when he needs to charm, threatening when he needs to threaten. But it is certainly more — more than Cynbel and Isseya could even possibly understand. More than they could resist.

He has complete control of self. Something not even his lovers have achieved in their long lifetimes. And when one masters themself utterly it is but a matter of time before one can master others.

Their Lord and Light—shining fucking beacon of composure and predatory propriety that he is—eases his features into a smile. And Moray is lost.

“The late Viscount’s autopsy didn’t reveal any signs of a physical attack.”

“Yet you just told us he was murdered.”

“He was.”

“Then how?” Valdas asks again, “Unfortunate as it may be I would not be surprised if Edwards went for a swim on his own.”

The very implication of it seems to bring the detective back to himself, bring him back into the room and out of the will of the Made-God from sheer repulsion. “What you suggest is blasphemy, Lord Montes.”

Cynbel shrugs. “A little blaspheming is good for the soul.”

“Not at the risk of eternal damnation.”

“He was damned already.”

The library goes intimately still. With no fire in the hearth and no wind to make the lamp candles flutter it very well could have been — the four of them frozen. Titled A Woman’s Weapon.

But three sets of ears pick up on the quickening of Moray’s heart, how his blood pounds through the body. That he looks so vindicated, his eyes seemingly with a new hunger as he takes in Isseya, takes in her words… Cynbel readies himself to strike.

“What makes you say that, Lady Montes?”

“All men are.”

“You mean to say ‘all men who cross you’ are, do you not,” The look she gives him is sharp; seen before in the deaths of millions, “and would you extend that to your husband or your… companion?

“I should hate to think that the lives of a young and affluent couple — or anyone, truly — would be sent into disarray by an… impassioned mistake.”

Valdas holds her back. She loathes him for it to be sure but they all know it’s the right thing to do. He is always, of the three of them, able to remain calm at moments like these.

Until he doesn’t.

“Detective Moray I do believe your stay in my home has run its course.”

Moray’s mistake isn’t getting up and fleeing right then. “I would think that a member of the House would only want to aid me in my investigation.”

“So you would think.”

“Are you claiming you do not?” The men exchange cool looks — maybe Detective Moray is a skilled man of his practice; but that matters little now. He’s practically branding himself for murder.

“Detective.”

“Yes, Lord Montes?”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

The growl of his voice is felt in their bones. Even when he threatens things like their tongues or their lives — both of which are his, have been his utterly from the moment they met — the Children of Valdemaras do not fear their Made-God. Not in the traditional way of fear. But there has always been an almost indiscernible difference between fear and holy reverence.

Tobias shows the detective out this time much in the same way as before. Clipped and curt, everything but shoving the mewling mortal creature out onto the steps and into the cold.

They hear his protests through the walls but do not leave the sanctuary of the library. They fold their Made-God between them and ease him in the ways only they know how. It works and it doesn’t. Valdas is eased and he is not. A tension straddling a dangerous edge all the way until Tobias comes to alert them of the approaching dawn.

“Come,” they ask of him, “rest.”

And the smile he gives is as forced as it is weary. They do not blame him for it. “I have much to contemplate. I’ll join you soon,” when he kisses their knuckles his beard tickles their skin, “I promise.”

Though they can do nothing but obey Cynbel and Isseya don’t find the luxury of sleep. Not without him.

Moray does not return the next night, or the night after that. The Trinity know they are not rid of him; they aren’t fools. But the idea of easing back into their lives is an appealing one. They’ve grown complacent.

But word of Viscount Edwards’ murder spreads. Times are prosperous, the Queen is well-liked; there is nothing else for the wealthy of England to do but speak of that which they do not know.

“He was always a kindly man.”

“I heard it was an unsavory affair — that he was caught bedding the help.”

“The poor Viscountess…”

And the irony of it is the Viscountess Edwards — a woman rather soft around the edges; no doubt built up from all of her years having to weather the harsher bits of her husband — is the only one who seems the least bit disgruntled at her husband’s passing.

“Where has she been hiding all this time?” asks Cynbel over the morning tea.

“No one knows for certain; the Viscount was a private man.”

“Unless he was in public.”

The look Valdas gives their darling girl is chiding but with no heat behind it. Not like she’s telling a lie. “All I know is she’s finally come to London under personal invitation of Her Royal Highness.”

“For what,” Isseya looks up from her careful notes, “a period of mourning? The poor woman has the rest of her life to feel the weight of that on her. She should be grateful.”

“But who towards?” His lovers frown at it but they know they can’t call him out for it; Cynbel is only speaking the mind they all share. “Whittaker is dead and his master has paid no retribution to us. In what little time I had to engage the corpse I found no bite marks or wounds.”

“Had bruising settled in?”

“None that I could tell. Who at your college took over his place at the Yard?”

“Some cockwipe of a man — the Viscount and he would’ve got on.”

And while keeping their revenant urchin alive would have been the most beneficial course for their current predicament of unknowns… some things they simply could not abide. The flagrant disobedience of a lesser creature among them.

Still… Cynbel finds himself regretting such retribution so swiftly the longer this goes on.

Because the longer it goes on the more Detective Moray proves himself an adequate tactician indeed.

He confronts Valdas in person — follows him out of the carriage and up the steps to the House and does not waver even when his questions go unanswered. It is enough for a detective of Scotland Yard to continue interrogating a man with business among the chief political minds of the nation. When they kindly (wavering voices hesitant and unsure but they have to, they have no choice in the matter) request that the Made-God sit idle until such a time that the investigation has ended, well, no one is surprised.

“Fools — obstinate cowardly fools!” Valdas calls them with a wrath that threatens to take the Montes house and half their block in London with it, “As though I did not sit with Cassius, with Brutus and Antony himself. They fear him more than they fear me? Their gravest mistake.”

And it keeps the Trinity on edge. It is meant to.

There’s a certain kind of anger that comes with always looking over ones shoulder; ready for the breath that comes down on the backs of their necks to turn into cold hands.

A fortnight following he comes for Isseya.

Lucky then that Cynbel has learned his lesson with her once and need not again; when she begins clawing through their boudoir of ancient belongings he knows to step far back.

“Beloved, what happened?”

“I want to fillet him. String him up on ugly fraying rope and make him watch my work!”

Valdas is at his back, Cynbel can’t help his relief at their Maker’s touch. “Your words, darling, your words.”

She rounds on them with red eyes and shining cheeks. Immediately they take her into their arms and she does not resist because this is where they are safe; this is where they cannot be hurt. And outside of them here the world has hurt her so gravely.

“He took the college from me! Issued some—some fucking order and they have suspended my lessons until they are certain my name has been cleared. I’ll hang them too. Ugly, rotted fruit hanging in the Queen’s fucking gardens!”

This is her cause — something she has been denied for far too long — and Moray didn’t even have the dignity to show his face as he stole it out from under her.

Whatever plans he had in store for Cynbel; Cynbel the lonely one, Cynbel the outlier, Cynbel the young bachelor whose place no one quite understands… he doesn’t get the chance to enact them.

Cynbel does not let him.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices #choices bb #choices fanfiction #oc: isseya #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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