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tommyspeakycap · 4 years ago

Note

I love your work! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something about (toddler) baby Shelby having Alfie help her bake a cake for Tommy

omggggg that’s so so cute!!

A Bakers Help

The burly Camden Town ‘baker’ was nothing short of completely shocked when he heard a soft banging on his office door in the mid afternoon. His eyebrows had furrowed and he had kept his hand readily on his weapon so he was prepared in the event of an enemy being on the other side of the door. He was surprised to say the least when he tugged open the door and had to look down multiple inches to spot she who knocked on the door.

There stood a little girl. One he knew fairly well but who’s appearance outside his office was still a shock. That little girl was notorious around most of England, especially in heavily gang populated territories where the “Shelby” was a household name and everybody who knew that name knew the littlest member of the family was something akin to a jewel in Tommy Shelby’s crown. Alfie had been curious as to whether or not she was actually attached to Thomas Shelby’s hip in consideration to how much time she spent right by his side, teetering along on little legs so he knew she was safe right by his side. It wasn’t often that Tommy entrusted others to watch over his youngest sister, so it would be safe to say that Alfie was incredibly confused.

“Good morning.” The little girl greets, her lips plastered with a bright smile as she lifts a hand to wave at him. Alfie braces himself on either side of his doorway with strong hands so as to lean out of his office to look out into the ‘bakery’ to both the left and right before stepping back in. “Mhm yes it was actually. Where’s your brothers?” He asks, turning his eyes back to the girl in the doorway who fights to pull her wool coat back up from falling off her arms due to the fact it hadn’t been buttoned up. The girl shrugs, “Dunno...Can I come in?” She asks politely, “It’s very cold.”

Alfie Solomons squints his eyes and forms a crease between his brows, but even he can’t deny the chill in the winter breeze through the unheated factory and the shivering of the child, and so he steps to the side and gestures her in the door. Alfie hums, or maybe something more akin to a grumble, in thought as the five year old wanders around his office to take in the whole surroundings. “And where are your pikey brothers then yeah?” His voice rumbles deep and gravelly the same way it always does, not missing the chance or thinking twice about dropping an insult to the Shelby men as he speaks. The youngest of the clan shrugs her little shoulders. “Dunno,” she says again, “I’m with Ada. Told her i was going out to play.”

The words most definitely do worry Alfie Solomons after the girl with Tommy Shelby’s striking blue eyes and his heart in the palm of her tiny hand finishes speaking flippantly. It occurs to him that she’s simply too young to understand both risk and consequence. She knows that Tommy Shelby dotes on her like the little princess he believes her to be. She knows he loves her, he tells her every day. However, Alfie knows the far darker side to that love. He’s heard of people brutally murdered with remains unidentifiable after coming close to her, and although Alfie has no desire to harm a child who probably doesn’t even understand what it is the rest of her family do when she’s not around, that doesn’t reassure him even in the slightest that Tommy, Arthur, Ada and John Shelby along with Polly Gray wouldn’t rip him to shreds if they knew their little princess was stood in his office for whatever reason.

“Right,” Alfie states, “Better get you home then,” He strides easily towards the door to hold it open, but the little girl simply quirks one eyebrow and remains where she stands. “It’s Tommy’s birthday soon.” She declares, looking up at the hardened London gangster as if he poses no threat nor fear to her in the slightest bit. She smiles at him, big and bright. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know if he was violent, didn’t know if he was supposed to be scary. She just knew she had met him before, he was relatively funny as the 5 year old obviously did not pick up on the thinly veiled threats hiding beneath the verbal back and forth between her favourite brother and the man she stood with now, and more importantly than anything; she knew he was a ‘baker’. “You need a cake on your birthday, you know.” She adds very matter of factly, and Alfie Solomons doesn’t fight the little grin he gives. “And you’re a baker, so you can make good cakes. I need you to help me make Tommy’s cake for birthday cake time on Saturday.”

There’s virtually no way this little girl had just come up with this by herself. The way she acts, her generosity, her sweetness and her absolute insistence of cake for her brothers birthday was not something she had adapted by herself. Children don’t just come up with these things. That thought, for Alfie, means that those who have raised her have drilled a certain kindness into her. Thomas Shelby has raised his little sister to be the kind of kid who will find a man she thinks is a baker just because her brother told her he was, so that he can help her make a cake. That makes Alfie want to laugh. Tommy Shelby acts the part, but Solomons now knows he’s the type who taught a little girl about the importance of cake and birthday fun.

“Fine.” Alfie responds, out stretching his arm to gesture the little girl out into the factory. He did actually have a designated area for the ‘bakery’ just in the event that someone came looking or investigating and he needed to show there was actually a bakery there. He was thankful for that now, because he got the feeling that there was little to no chance he would have gotten away from the very very persistent little Shelby trailing behind him. It becomes apparent very quickly that little (y/n) will have no luck when it comes to seeing what was going on up on the counter, considering she wasn’t even nearly the same height as it, never mind tall enough see over it. Alfie has to get creative in that respect, eyes flicking around until they lands on a a stack of crates that he grabs a couple of to pile them next to the counter so that the youngest Shelby can contribute as she pleased to the cake making.

All things considered, Alfie was actually a fairly good baker. He didn’t come up with the idea of a bakery to cover his illegal business work for no reason. He knew he could bake if it was necessary (which it sometimes was to smuggle alcohol), so this ask from the little girl who had a list of ingredients and an exact image of how she wanted this cake to look, wasn’t a huge task for him.

In the process of the bake, Alfie learned a lot. He learned that little Shelby couldn’t quite pronounce her L’s (which Tommy was apparently working on with her), so she called him Afie. He learned that Tommy’s favourite cake was vanilla sponge, which was why it was a four tier vanilla sponge with extra strawberry jam that his sweet little sister had chosen. He learned that the little girl got here by very discretely tripping up her cousin, Karl, so that Ada was preoccupied giving him a plaster for his knee and stopping his tears and (y/n) snuck off from Ada’s London home in the direction she felt like she remembered Tommy going when he had taken her to Alfie’s bakery once, albeit leaving her in the car with Arthur and John. She had to ask for directions from confused strangers a few times, but ultimately she found the place on her own. Alfie learned that little Shelby talks a lot. She’s very clever, can follow instructions a lot better than most children of a similar age. It had become increasingly clear she didn’t see any problem with talking about the fun things she did with her brothers. The way Arthur and John like to throw her about to hear her giggles, how Tommy tucks her in every single night that he can. How he tickles her, how he still carries her around even though her aunt Polly protests it. How good her aunt Polly’s cooking is. How much she loves her family. She sees no problem with divulging these soft family moments, although Tommy would probably be absolutely appalled that people knew these things about him and his brothers. It made the head of the Peaky Blinders seem so incredibly mundane.

Alfie could see now why that sweet girl was so loved and held so dear by the family. He also had to wonder if she truly was one of them. She was funny and bright, she giggled with him and babbled on about sorts of rubbish. Alas, she was bossy as Thomas himself. She was loud like Arthur, sarcastic as John, self assured as Polly, as independent as Finn and opinionated as Ada. She made sure to tell Alfie exactly how to stack the first layer while she mixed ingredients for the next layer and he was kept on a very short leash, reminded every so often that he was not to dip his fingers in any of the mixtures and leaning over as he worked to tell him Tommy liked more jam than what Alfie had put on.

“Wait!” She yelps out, leaping off the makeshift kitchen stool made from those bottle crates to chase after Alfie until she reaches the man who was carrying the cake towards a box. “Finishing touches,” she insists, ever so slightly dusting the cake with powdered icing sugar to give a final decorational appearance. Alfie smiles subconsciously as the small girl stands back with a proud grin, turning her eyes to man holding the cake, “Thank you Afie,” she beams, her cute little way of saying his name never lost on him as his heart flutters. “Welcome, baby Shelby.” He responds as he slips it into the cake box he’d ordered one of his men to go and get without question.

Alfie was certain he would step outside his bakery and London would be burning. He expected to have Shelby’s killing people on the streets searching for their baby, their sweet little princess. He assumed (and rightly so) that Ada hadn’t told Tommy that she had absolutely no idea where his most precious little love was for genuine fear of his reaction and so she had mobilised some friends and acquaintances she had made while in London to try finding her little sister. Albeit they were evidently unsuccessful and absolutely no one expected little (y/n) to be baking with Alfie Solomons for her gangster brothers birthday because she just loves him so.

Ada literally burst out the front door frantically when she saw the car headlights pull up outside her house, wrapping herself tightly in her coat as Alfie Solomons lifts her little sister down out of the car. The 5 year old stands innocent as ever next to the man who Tommy never truly knows if he can trust or not as he reaches back into the car to lift out a white cake box with two strong hands. “Better keep a closer eye on this one yeah?” He gestured his head to (y/n) who runs towards Ada and jumps into her open arms to be squeezed incredibly, almost painfully tightly. “Never run off like that again!” She hisses, her concern and anxiety clear behind her words as she speaks into her sisters soft hair, stroking it with her hand for some form of reassurance.

“Sorry Ada,” she hums cutely in response, “We made Tommy a cake though, for his birthday!” Ada let’s go of (y/n) and turns to the little girl. “Go inside and find Aunt Pol, i’ll be in shortly.” She says as she eyes Alfie Solomons with the stoney faced glare he assumes she learned from Polly Gray and her often stoney resolve. “Bye bye Afie!” The 5 year old chimes, scuttling up to him to wrap her arms around his legs for a moment before turning and running off with a wave at the doorstep with Alfie a little bit to stunned by how kind she was to him despite the bad man he was to do much else than wave after her. “You,” Ada snipped, cutting him out of his thoughts and crossing her arms firmly over her chest, “Baked a cake with my little sister?” Her words leak with confusion, eyebrows furrowed with her head tilted in question as she continues to be unable to think of any reason why Alfie Solomons hadn’t turned the little girl away or even used her as a bargaining chip with threats of harm to the child if Tommy didn’t do as Alfie wanted. Instead he baked with her a cake for Thomas and she was returned without a bump, not even a hair on her head harmed. He had returned the little Shelby who was uncharacteristically clumsy for a Shelby without her falling off of anything, burning herself on any ovens or accidentally eating something she was supposed to.

“Yeah.” Alfie responds, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Ada steps closer to him to try in some way to read what he’s not saying, her heels clicking with each step. “And you want nothing for it?” She presses, her eyes narrowed as he shrugs. “Birthday gift innit yeah?” He grumbles, handing the cake to Ada. “She’s the best of you lot,” he states firmly as he turns his back to climb back into his car, “Keep her that way yeah?”

Ada’s frown turns to a soft smile as she nods, watching as Alfie Solomons pulls his door shut firmly and turns on his ignition.

“Mr Solomons, Oi!” She calls after him, forcing him to roll down his window to hear what she has to say. “Thank you.” She breathes, “For looking after her and bringing her home. And for the cake.” Alfie nods his head in acknowledgment. Ada isn’t sure what else to say. She still feels fairly nauseous at the fact her little sister was missing for virtually the whole day and littered with further nerves at the fact Tommy would be around to pick her up in a half hour and it wasn’t like little Shelby to keep quiet about anything, especially not when it came to Tommy and especially when it came to her adventures that her favourite brother hadn’t been part of, so assuredly she would let him know all about her baking day with Alfie after the cake was revealed tomorrow afternoon for his birthday. Alfie knew this too and he imagined he’d get a visit from the head of the Peaky Blinders relatively soon after he found out.

Tommy would probably be as confused as Ada as to why Alfie looked after little (y/n) the way he did. Alfie couldn’t even really explain it himself, she just warmed up his heart and the sweet little girl showed Alfie truly why Tommy loves that little girl so much. She brings laughter and happiness and fun. She brings light into a very, very dark life and Alfie appreciates that dedication Tommy had to keeping her safe a lot more now. He himself now had a soft spot for the kid and there was a part of him that knew for a fact he too would be making sure no one in his circle was breathing words of harming that little girl who had promised she would bake with him again, and had his birthday written on her hand so she could bake for his birthday.

Maybe the Shelby’s weren’t so bad after all.

#tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x sister reader #shelby sister #shelby sister reader #shelby!sister #shelby!sister reader #shelby!reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders blurb #(y/n) shelby #little shelby

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anna-hawk · 3 years ago

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JB Spring Fling – Flower Friday

Relationship: The Mute x GN!Reader (the relationship isn't clearly defined, but it's more friendly than anything) Fandom: Pilgrimage Word count: 821 Rating: Not Rated Summary:The Mute gets a present. Prompt: Crown

You can also read it on AO3

The weather is warm and sunny, the spring fighting away the frost left from the harsh winter. Nature is waking from its long sleep, animals coming out of hibernation and flowers and plants blooming all around.

You love this season, for its beauty and for its warmth that helps to keep sickness at bay. Standing outside the heavy doors of the church, you smile as you look at the orphans that you help the sisters to take care of running around the botanical garden. You haven't lost any children this winter.

Staring a little further ahead, you see the large figure of a man squatting over a patch of garden and pulling out weed and leaves. It’s barely half day, and yet his brown tunic is already soaked in sweat, letting you guess that he had been working for long hours. It isn’t surprising you, the man working hard to earn his keep every day.

One of the girls had found him, half dead, on the shore. With the help of the sisters, you had managed to carry him inside the hut behind the church and seen after his numerous wounds. Since the day he had been able to stand again, he had made sure to show his gratitude. He had first tried to leave, feverish and swatting at the sisters’ healing hands, but you had convinced him to stay at least long enough to heal. It had been the children who had made him stay for good, the youngest of them taking a strong liking to him.

You had endeavored to lure a few words out of his mouth, but you had failed. At first, you had believed that he didn’t speak your tongue, however, the way he would react when you spoke to him, clearly showed that he did. You had abandoned finding out where he had come from, or even something as simple as his name. His tongue still being in place, and you had understood that something important and probably painful hides behind his silence. The cross marked on his back as well as the way he carries himself had told you enough about what he might be. Have been.

Smiling to yourself, you now approach him slowly, while deliberately making noise as you walk. You had learned, through your own mistake, that the man isn’t someone that you should take by surprise. You have a light step and had wished to bring him his meal, but he hadn’t heard you arrive. He’d had you at the end of his long knife in an instant, the sharp edge at your throat. The poor man had looked so incredibly guilty, regret filling his kind eyes, after realizing who he had attacked.

“You should drink,” you speak as you reach him, holding the bucket from the well and handing him a big, wooden ladle filled with water.

His face lifts to yours, sweat running down his tan face and making the hair at his nape and forehead curl more than it already does. He takes the ladle with a low rumble of gratitude and drinks deeply. You fill the ladle twice more, before kneeling at his side and looking at his work.

“Sister Agnes will be pleased, she will be able to plant several new herbs now.”

The silent man smiles faintly, but you can tell that he is pleased that he was able to help out. There is some happy yelling from the children that makes the both of you look into their direction. The oldest of the girls is sitting in the circle of her adopted brothers and sisters and weaving flowers through green leaves and into a crown. The younger ones sit closest to her, entranced by what she is doing, while the others exclaim happily every time she adds another flower.

“Is it done? Is it done?” One of them asks, barely able to sit in place.

“Yes, Alice. It’s done,” the oldest girl says with a wide smile and stands.

“Oh, please, may I do it?” Little Alice requests, bouncing on her toes.

With a fond smile, the oldest girl hands it to her, the little girl running in your direction with an elated cry.

“It’s for you,” she tells the man, who’s eyes grow large when she carefully deposits the crown on his curls, raising on her toes since he is still too tall for her despite his hunched position.

Your heart squeezes as you smile brightly at his awed expression. Alice hugs him tightly, before she runs off towards the other children again, who are clapping and waving at the stunned man. The man turns to you, before a hand lifts to the crown, and he runs his fingers delicately along the flowers and leaves. His face is already flushed from the physical exertion, but you catch the sight of his wet eyes before he lowers his head over the flowerbed again.

#bernthirstspringfling #day five #the mute #pilgrimage #jon bernthal #reader fic #the mute x reader #gender neutral reader #writing #fanfiction #the mute fanfiction #pilgrimage fanfiction

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atpaftmoom-bily · 3 years ago

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Thoughts about Erik, why Wilhelm wasn't allowed to come out, and more.

Be warned, this is long, confusing, and I'm not even sure if I made any valid points. But I had thoughts on Young Royals, with no one to talk to, so here you go.

I've seen various different takes on Erik and what people thought his reaction would have been if Willie had come out to him, most of them being positive, and some as well saying how sad it was that Willie never got to come out to his brother. I have a different take, but bear with me it's gonna take a second to get there.

Something that I found interesting in the first place was that when August found out it was Simon and not a girl, he just seemed shocked, but not in a homophobic way that I had kind of been expecting.

Additionally, let's take a look at the comments on the video, I've split them up into three different groups. General comments (disbelief, surprise, pity, etc.), comments sexualizing them, and negative comments. (I've translated these as well as I could as they were not all captioned, but if I've made a mistake feel free to let me know!)

General Comments "OMG Have you seen this?? The Prince is gay!!!!" "Who's the other guy?" "I'm dead" "Finally some news to put Sweden on the map!" "Poor boys, I feel sorry for them" "So clumsy to get caught on film" "I know where he lives!" "I think the video is fake" "Love for the boys"

Sexualizing Comments "Royal porn" "Sexy" "Love" "Sexiest video ever"

Negative Comments "How will the monarchy survive this?" "The end of the royal family, time for Sweden to become a republic!" "Never been ashamed about being Swedish until now" "Class traitor! Your mother cries for your sins"

Now, there are quite a few things I want to point out about Sweden that I feel should be taken into account here. Of course, we don't know the exact dates that the show took place, but we do know it is modern-day, and though it is a work of fiction, I am going to assume that anything that is currently true in Sweden at the moment, give or take a few years, would also be true in the Young Royals universe.

The first point I would like to make is that Sweden is one of the most LGBT-friendly countries, even being named the most friendly country in 2019. Looking back in history, 1944 was when Sweden decriminalized sexual relationships between consenting adults of the same sex, though it was still thought to be an illness. However, in 1979 it was no longer considered an illness. Fun unrelated fact, but Sweden was the first country to legalize gender change in 1979. (If you'd like to read more on LGBT rights in Sweden here are some resources. One. Two.) If Sweden is that progressive and is that LGBT-friendly, then I wondered what the problem was with Willie coming out, so I dug some more.

I'm American, so my understanding of many parts of the world is unfortunately skewed or incomplete, but I'm working on changing that. However, because of this, one thing that surprised me in my research was that the monarchy in Sweden is more of a unifying symbol than anything else. They have no political affinity or formal powers, but rather "the King’s duties are mainly of a ceremonial and representative nature." Of course in the case of Young Royals, the Queen inherited the throne, and Wilhelm would after her.

Something else I found interesting about the monarchy in Sweden is that the current Queen, Queen Silvia, did not come from a line of nobility, so when Queen Silvia and King Carl Gustaf married in 1976, it was highly unusual. (See more on the Swedish monarchy here.)

There is one last thing I want to point out about the current King and Queen. "In summer 2000, King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia of Sweden made history when they ate under the rainbow flag at Djurgårdsterrassen, a Stockholm restaurant owned by gay owner Arto Winter. At that time, the decision was seen as controversial, and played a valuable role in moving conversations forward – while making the royals’ position abundantly clear." (Source)

Now, of course, I understand the difference between a fictional work and real-life situations, but at least in my opinion, these same ideals should carry through to the show that we see. If the King and Queen in real life have been openly supportive of the LGBT community since at least 2000, then although specifics might not be the same, some of those ideals should carry through to Young Royals, so what is the problem, right?

I'm not trying to erase the reality of homophobia altogether, because of course, that exists. We even see in the show through comments that there are some people who are worried about the state of the monarchy, are disgusted, or downright still think that not being straight is a sin, but we also see other comments as well. If Wilhelm were to come out, what would happen? Would there be some backlash? 100%. Would there be people who would support him? Also 100%. Would it make his life harder? Probably, but would he be happier? In my opinion, yes, but I guess that's a question that Wilhelm would have to gauge on his own.

Now I want to look deeper at the conversation that Wille has with his mother, the Queen, in the car on the way home so he can give a statement to the media. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

---

Wilhelm: Why can't I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.

Queen: You're the crown prince. And that's a privilege, not a punishment.

Wilhelm: Yes, but I didn't ask for this!

Queen: Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this! You are the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don't you understand that? You are so young. When you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the whole world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance. That was before I met your father. What I mean is, is it worth it? If you feel that the attention you've been getting so far is unacceptable, it's nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up, I urge you to take that chance. You may not get another."

---

Something I find interesting is how much Willie just wants to live a normal life, which I get. He is under so much pressure, from being a role model, his brother's death that he hasn't even had time to process, preparing to be king someday, and (kind of) being outed to the entire world, but at least his school. It's enough to make anyone want to live normally. I think the biggest thing we have to think about here is the Queen's question as well. Is it worth it? She is right of course, the attention he will get will always be there, but I do think that Willie would be able to find a way to be happy along with being King. It shouldn't have to be a case of either-or, and ultimately I don't think it is.

Now I'm going to move back to Erik, and really, this ties everything back to the start where I mentioned I had a different take on Erik's reaction to Willie being not straight. I think that Erik already knew. It would make sense for a variety of reasons. In the show, it is obvious that the two of them have a good relationship. We also hear Erik tell Willie, "you can trust him, he's like a brother," in episode one when speaking about August, showing that trust is something strong between them as brothers. I'm not exactly sure how old Wilhelm is meant to be in the show, but I estimate somewhere around sixteen. I would like to assume that sometime before attending Hillerska, he may have had a crush or felt some attraction to a guy. We also can see from their phone call in episode three, that they're not afraid to joke around with each other about such things, meaning that Erik would most likely be the first person that Willie would go to about such things.

Another thing that makes me believe Erik already knew has to do with people assuming that Simon is the first guy that Willie has liked. Now, I know things are not the same for everyone, but if we consider what happens when the video is posted, and Willie had to deny it is him, we can conclude that being anything other than straight in their family is not okay, simply because they are royals, and the media attention will be too much. Imagine you've known your whole life, you can't be something, the first instance you encounter that, you're probably not going to give in right away. I'm talking at least some minor internalized homophobia here or something.

So put that into the context of Simon and Willie's first kiss in episode two. Simon kisses Willie twice before Willie says "Well, I'm not... I'm not... Stop! Wait, wait, wait!" and immediately pulls Simon back towards him. Let's reflect back to episode one where Willie says "I’m not… I’m not allowed to speak about political issues." I'm not allowed. Of course, there are TONS of restrictions on what he can and can not do, kissing guys, probably being one of them. But if he was going to say I'm not gay or I'm not like that, why would he instantly pull him back in, contrasting what he was just going to say. In episode three, Willie does say, "I'm not like that," which makes sense. He's had time to think and isn't in the heat of the moment. What other explanation can he give? Sure, he could say he's not allowed to be like that but saying that would admit that he is. It's a circle, a very messy circle, but it is a... loop.

Going back to what I'm supposed to be talking about here, Erik. This isn't Willie's first rodeo, but Erik was there for the first. One last thing I want to talk about is the phone call that Erik and Willie have in episode three. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

---

Erik: You've met someone.

Wilhelm: I, uh... Yes, okay, but I... I don't think we're a couple or anything. I don't know what it is but can we just...

Erik: I get it. I get it. You don't have to tell me any... I don't wanna hear any details. Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions and-

Wilhelm: They don't care about me. 'Cause you're the Crown Prince that they have opinions.

Erik: I don't get it. Why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?

---

Firstly, Erik refers to Willie's crush as completely gender-neutral. "You've met someone" could very easily be "you've met a girl". The same goes for "you have a crush to hang out with". Very well could have been "you have a girl to hang out with". Sure, it could be completely coincidental, but we live in such a heteronormative society that it would just make sense for Erik to use female-gendered words. Unless, of course, he knew.

Secondly, "Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions". This sounds very much to me like, enjoy your time while you can be yourself without backlash because soon you won't have that privacy. While I feel that, yes, the same may happen with anyone Willie was to date, him having a same-sex partner multiplies that, by a lot.

In conclusion, Erik knew Willie was not straight, Willie should come out, but when he is ready, and August is a really deep character that people don't give enough credit to. Gosh, I hope I covered everything, I probably forgot so much, but it's fine. Please let me know your thoughts if you've made it this far into the post.

One last thing. I hope you'll notice how in this post, I never referred specifically to Wilhelm's sexuality, and I did that for a reason. I often see gay used to label him, and though I am unsure if that's being used as an umbrella term or specifically as in he only likes men, I think it's really important to realize that they're specifically making him unlabeled. In this youtube video Edvin Ryding, the actor who plays Wilhelm, says "What we're trying to do... We're not labeling Wilhelm's sexuality. I think that's good because it's like, it portrays that it's okay that way too. You don't have to. You shouldn't have to come out. It should be allowed to be a bit fluid, a bit out there." I just think that it is important as it's another type of representation that is not seen often.

#young royals #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #wilmon #simon x wilhelm #young royals netflix #wilhelm yr #simon yr #august yr #erik yr #netflix #edvin ryding #omar rudberg #malte gårdinger #ivar forsling

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crystaljins · 4 years ago

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Equinox

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 7.2K

Synopsis: When it first was announced that the King of Spring was to marry the Queen of Winter, shock and outrage poured across the nation. Now, six months later, Jimin can’t help but feel maybe the Queen of Winter isn’t as evil as she seems.

King of spring!Jimin x Queen of Winter!reader

Notes: This is NOT the huge fic I’m working on LOL. It’s a drabble that turned into a BIG drabble, in dedication to my good friend, who wanted to see a fic where both main characters are royalty.

Well, here we are.

Warnings: Not really any? Pining, maybe, mentions of death and tragedy, and maybe one big kiss?

Jimin has spent an entire three months of the year in the Central Palace every year since his coronation as the King of Spring. Yet, despite his familiarity with the luxurious building, this year it feels particularly unbearable.

It isn’t the palace itself that is unbearable. After all, the Central Palace fulfils any need he could have for luxury and then some, with expansive grounds and an imposing throne room and a ball room that many have only dreamed of seeing. It almost reaches the point where he’s sick of it sometimes- the gold rimmed pillars and the intricate carvings of the stairwell railings and the other numerous unnecessary and excessively decadent detailing.

It’s just... He much prefers his small cottage and the lovely little orchard he looks after. Sometimes children from the local village will sneak in and steal fruit but he merely smiles privately to himself when he hears the peals of laughter filter through the open windows of his home. And ever since he received a letter a week ago informing him that you had made his cottage your current abode, he has been inexplicably eager to return home.

The end of his current stay (which has actually been a six month stay this time around instead of the usual three) draws near, with Spring just on the precipice of Summer. As the reigning King of Spring, it is his duty to oversee the entire kingdom during the season where his powers are strongest, to manage the season and ensure his people prosper, and then prepare the way for the Queen of Summer to take his place for the next three months.

Today is one of the days where his duty feels particularly tedious- he has never particularly minded Haeun and her chatty nature, but today she just seems absolutely asinine. Perhaps it is the fact that she seems uninterested in discussing anything aside from the current status of the Queen of Winter when there are so many more important things to discuss, like the crop maturation this year and how much sunlight would best benefit their ripening, or even the Equinox Ball tonight which marks the official changeover between his season and her’s. Instead, the only words that have been coming out of her mouth are with regards to you, and him, and your fairly recent wedding.

When he had been wedded to you on the Winter Solstice, many had been shocked, but none more so than the Queen of Summer. After all, for the last few hundred years, the one who bears the crown of Summer had always been betrothed to the ruler of Spring. It was only natural, as Spring prepares the way for Summer, and such a pairing enhances the powers of both parties. The kingdom had faced many centuries of prosperity thanks to what was essentially a match forged in the heavens. No doubt in Haeun’s mind, her rightful place was as his bride. And Jimin can’t blame her- for many years, he had thought the same thing. He had assumed his life would follow a similar path to those of his predecessors and that he would inevitably end up marrying Summer. And yet, here he is, married to the evasive, mysterious, and apparently cruel Queen of Winter.

It had been the Elders to make the call to arrange such a shocking match up. To have the Queen of Winter marry the King of Spring was unheard of- ridiculous, even. But you were unlike the rulers that had gone before you- your powers were endless, unstoppable, and the Winters brought by you were unforgiving and cold, and many lost their lives. Something had to be done- your powers had to be balanced since you couldn’t seem to reign them in. And since it has always been Spring to conquer the cold aftereffects of Winter, to warm the earth and coax life back into places where frost had chased it away, it fell to Jimin to take the place as your husband and to prevent disaster striking the Kingdom. A duty which he had taken up with a resigned sense of obligation.

At least at first.

“So are the rumours all true about her?” Haeun enquires. Her question seems innocent enough. For whatever reason, you had always remained frustrating allusive to the others. Locked away in your wintry fortress (or at least, everyone assumes that’s where you must be despite the fact that no one has ever confirmed the presence of a fortress within your domain), everyone reports that you must be ruthless and cold-hearted. Perhaps even evil- after all, when you are seated upon the throne, the harshest and most brutal Winters ever seen in history terrorise the lands.

But the question has Jimin on edge, for he has found that you do not fit nicely into the box of icy and cruel that he had thought you would.

“I would say those rumours do not hold an ounce of truth to them.” Jimin offers mildly, pausing from where he strolls along Haeun to observe a rose bloom that has begun to wilt. Normally, the palace gardens are impeccable, and the gardens thrive during Jimin’s reign, but things always seem to get a bit messy at the transition between seasons. This particular bloom must be the victim of his and Haeun’s powers clashing as she prepared to take the throne for her season. He gently runs his fingers over the drooping petals and instantly the rose brightens, petals curling upwards as it finds new life in response to his presence. It reminds him of the first time you had borne witness to the effect of his powers and the quiet awe on your face. Not for the first time since Spring began, he feels a strange ache in his chest at the thought of you. You’re at his cottage right now, surely. What kind of expression are you wearing as you gaze upon his carefully kept orchard?

“Really? She’s always so haughty at the Equinox ball that I was sure she thought she was better than us. Just because her powers are stronger- does she not know that people die because of her?” Haeun sniffs, clearly displeased by the way Jimin has not joined in her obvious attempts to complain about you.

“I think she is aware of it.” Is all Jimin offers to Haeun, but internally he recalls the way you lock yourself in your quarters for the night whenever word reaches you that another innocent has died at the cold hands of Winter, and the way you spend most of your free time pouring over books and texts trying to learn how you might control your powers and soften your Winters. Haeun makes an annoyed scoff and folds her arms across her chest.

“Being aware of it isn’t enough, Jimin.” She says, and Jimin does not miss the way she uses his name when it is customary to call him by his season. “She needs to control it. We all do! It is the whole reason we take the throne. What use is she, if she cannot manage her own season? If I had were Winter, I would-“

“Haeun.” Jimin says firmly, and her eyes widen because even though she often takes liberties and calls him by his name, he has always been respectful and referred to her as Summer when it comes to the transition meetings between seasons. “It is not my place to discuss the personal life of Winter. And as her husband, I respectfully ask that you do not speak so liberally about my wife again. Unless you have anything further to discuss about the Equinox Ball tonight or about the occurrences during my season, I’ll be taking my leave now.”

He bows deeply, demonstrating the respect her position demands, before turning on his heel.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She calls out. Jimin pauses, glancing over his shoulder. The sun peeking through the pillars of the pathway catches Haeun’s hair and highlights the softness of her features. Across the land, she is known as the sunlit beauty- warm and gentle and pretty, like the Summer season she reigns over. When he was young and still a prince and everyone had thought she was his future wife, he had even harboured a crush on her. “That you’re stuck with her? All she brings is coldness and death. You were forced into it- I know you were! Doesn’t it hurt to be wedded to her?”

The unspoken sentiment that Haeun does not voice is “when you could have been with me”. Looking at her now, perhaps her sudden interest in you has more to do with Jimin than any real sentiment towards your actions.

And perhaps, Haeun’s words are closer to the truth then he wants them to be. Initially, it had bothered him. Why had the Elders had forced him to marry you? Was there not an easier way to subdue your immense powers? Why could you not just... control them? Even Autumn, free-spirited and lazy as he was, kept his season well-managed. And why did it fall to Jimin to fix something that was your own fault? Haeun was a much better match for him in terms of strengthening his powers, and he absolutely loathed the season of Winter- marrying the ruler of his least favourite season is certainly not something he had ever imagined doing.

He had spent the first three months of his marriage staying with you in the Central Palace fuelled by that sentiment and at first you had made yourself very scarce. It had suited Jimin just fine- after all, he did not bear any particular affection towards you- perhaps he even detested you a little, and if the rumours were to be believed, he’d be better off interacting with you as little as possible.

And then things had changed, for whatever reason. He can’t be sure what prompted you to do it, but one morning you had been sitting across from him in the dining quarters, enjoying your breakfast in silence as had become customary for the two of you, when you had decided to speak.

“Winter isn’t as bad as you think.” You had said softly, taking a long sip of your drink, before fixing Jimin with a level gaze. He had glanced up in surprise- at that stage he could probably count on one hand the number of times you had spoken in his presence.

“I never-“ Jimin had begun, ready to defend himself but you had cut him off.

“You didn’t have to.” You had said, though your tone had not been unkind. You actually have a very sweet voice, one that contrasts with your icy reputation. “But, today I have nothing scheduled, and I wouldn’t mind showing you a few things. It must be better than wondering aimlessly around the palace.”

Against his better judgement, perhaps, Jimin had accepted. Whatever his feelings were towards you, he was sick of wondering aimlessly. He missed his little cottage and he was beginning to grow sick of the giant, draft-y Central Palace. Any change to the lethargic rhythm of his days, even if it meant spending the day with you, was a welcome one.

And you were right. Wintertime is more than coldness and death. As the ruler of Spring, he had always thought of it as such- after all, it has always been his duty to remedy the devastation left behind by Winter. But Winter is also a time of festivities- of huddling in the warmth of a fire along side your family. Its catching snowflakes on your tongue and children laughing as they skate over frozen lakes and form little ice sculptures from snow. He hadn’t known it until he spent those three months with you. And after that first day where you had taken him out to a frozen lake close to the palace and shown him how to ice skate, spending time with you had become more of a regular occurrence.

Which brings him to today.

“I’m not stuck with her.” Is what Jimin finally says to Haeun, who deflates, just slightly. He does not explain any further- he’s not sure he can. He certainly doesn’t feel the burden of obligation that had weighted his every step when he first married you. He perhaps even misses you, after three months of separation. It’s all a little scary and confusing but all he knows for sure is that being married to you is no longer the offensive chore he initially viewed it as.

This time when Jimin turns away, she does not stop him. He is relieved- he is sick of hearing Haeun speak so disrespectfully about you. He’s sick of the way servants whisper in the halls when you walk past. He’s sick of the way travellers tell stories of evil Winter, who takes lives for fun and revels in the cruelty of her blizzards. He doesn’t know why, given that it has only been six months since he married you, and three whole months since he even last saw you in person, but he feels a strange protectiveness towards you. Just the thought of those whispers when he knows of you, curled up beneath the security of a warm blanket on the hearth, with the fire’s glow highlighting your features, still studying away even after a full days’ worth of royal duties so that you can learn to control your powers makes his heart ache. He wishes, just once, that he had been brave enough to curl up beside you and to listen to the steady sound of your breathing, the rhythmic turn of a page, the crackle of the fire’s warmth. Or brave enough to hush the terrible whispers. Anything to wipe that expression you get on your face when you know people are thinking unpleasant things about you. That guarded, reserved expression that he knows is concealing a broken heart.

“My Lord!” Jimin hears a voice call, and he almost curses. He wants nothing more than to return to his quarters and begin packing up. It has now been six months since he has been in his actual home, and when he received that letter from you a week ago informing him that you had taken up residence in his home, he had only been more eager to return. He wants to know what his home looks like with you in it. He wants to know what you look like in the brightness of Summer, away from the grief and cold of Winter. He wants to see you again to the point it is almost alarming. “My Lord!” The voice calls again, and one of the servants skids to a stop before Jimin. It is Namjoon. Jimin recalls his name because Namjoon is one of the few servants you are rather fond of.

“Hello, Namjoon.” Jimin greets warmly, and Namjoon looks surprised and delighted at the sound of his name. “How can I be of service?”

Namjoon is slightly out of breath, and he reaches for the pocket of his trousers, fishing around until he produce a single crumpled piece of paper.

“It is a letter from Winter.” Namjoon says. “She asked me to relay to you that she will not be attending the Equinox Ball and that she shall see you tomorrow at the your domain.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and he quickly snatches the paper from Namjoon’s hand. He does not mean to be quite so aggressive with his movements, but he is shaken at the way you have abruptly cancelled. Without even realising it, he had hyped himself up at the thought of seeing you again after a long three months.

It’s a lengthy apology, neatly written and well-articulated. It basically gives an entire, eloquent list of flimsy excuses as to why you should not attend.

But Jimin sees straight through it. Perhaps in the past, he would have let it be. Let you sit at home and then awkwardly greet you in his cottage the next morning. But now that he knows the way your expression shutters when people mutter rude things under their breath about you, now that he knows the way you lie awake at night, haunted by grief and guilt, he knows that you are running away. After all, the whispers had only gotten worse after your marriage- the Evil Queen of Winter shackling the charming and kind King of Spring is certainly quite the tale to set tongues wagging.

And while Jimin hates the thought of you spending an evening in discomfort when there are about a thousand better ways for you to spend your time, he hates the thought of people thinking of his marriage to you as a tragic event even more. He wants to stroll into the ballroom with your hand in his, to proudly show off that he is not some tragic heroine trapped in a loveless marriage to an evil overlord. He wants people to see you, your kindness and your sweetness. He wants people to realise that Winter can be even warmer than Summer sometimes, in the right circumstances.

“Is she currently in my domain?” Jimin asks softly, but he knows from the floral, woodsy scent of the paper that it was written in his home. Namjoon hesitates before offering an awkward nod.

“I believe so.” He admits. “The messenger who brought the letter was one of the keepers of your orchard.”

Jimin nods, tonguing thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek. A well-cared for horse would allow him to reach his home within a couple of hours. He keeps his own horses at the cottage who would be able to take the two of you back in time for nightfall. He is to give a speech at the Ball and that will be his last official duty until next year. And for whatever reason, he does not want to give the speech if you are not there, amongst the crowd. It’s still possible if he leaves now.

“Ready a horse for me, Namjoon,” Jimin finally says, shoving the letter into the pocket of his trousers. He’ll have to change into gear more appropriate for a long ride.

“But, my liege, the ball-“ Namjoon protests.

“I’ll be there.” Jimin reassures him, though his expression is grim. “And so will my wife.”

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice.

Jimin has really, truly missed his home. Nothing quite compares to it. When they had first identified him as heir to the throne of Spring, the Elders had initially planned for him to stay in the castle inhabited by his predecessors. After all, since he did in theory bear their spirit, the castle should technically be to his tastes.

But he guess he differs to his previous incarnations, since he only lasted a few weeks before he moved into the cottage his parents owned close to the castle. It’s not unusual for tastes to change like that with different incarnations of Spring- though he feels that he can recall their previous lifetimes if he thinks very hard about it, they are different people and incarnations. The only traits he shares with those who had gone before is his power over the season of Spring.

Perhaps that is why, despite the fact that previous Springs have deeply loved Summer, he cannot stop thinking about Winter. Especially as the edge of the orchard draws into view.

Oddly, you aren’t in the cottage when he enters. There’s evidence that you’ve been staying there- some of your books are scattered over his work desk and the gardening implements around the back of the cottage are shifted around as if someone has been sorting through them. But it does not take long to locate you deep in the orchard, crouched beneath the orange tree. You don’t seem to have registered his presence yet given that you continue to mutter to yourself as you stab aggressively at the soil with a tiny hand shovel he recognises from the implements he keeps around the back of his cottage.

He’s about to confront you, but the sight of you, crouched down and wearing oversized trousers and an ugly, soil covered shirt he recognises from the very back of his wardrobe, has him completely frozen. It’s hard to explain the emotion- a powerful, roaring wave crashing down on the peaceful shorelines of his heart.

“(Y/N),” your name comes in a exhale of his breath, one that’s not entirely voluntary. It’s his mistake though, because you were absolutely not anticipating his presence, and you leap about a metre in the air in your shock.

Stumbling back a few steps in a sort of awkward crab walk, revealing your handy work. A small hole you had been digging and a handful of withered, lifeless daffodils.

“J-Jimin,” you stutter, and your accidental use of his name when you had previously only referred to him as Spring has his heart racing in his chest for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. “T-this isn’t what it looks like!” You cry. “I was just...”

It takes a moment, but Jimin manages to shake himself out of the trance long enough to realise that the withered and lifeless daffodils just so happen to be his favourite flowers from

his front garden. Immediately, whatever mysterious emotion that had overcome him prior is replaced by abject horror.

“My daffodils!” He cries, stricken with grief. And they had been so young, as well! Such lovely, bright blooms, withered and dried up! Abruptly, you scramble to your feet and dust the soil from your hands and knees, scrambling towards him.

“I was just trying to water them!” You cry, hands outstretched in an attempt to calm him in his distress. “I don’t have any flowers in my domain since the ground is not very fertile and I was just trying to tend to them!”

“They’re dead!” Jimin points out. “How much did you water them?”

You pause, shrinking under his gaze, before holding up ten fingers.

“Ten?” Jimin asks, and you nod. “Ten what?”

You mumble something he doesn’t quite catch. He steps closer in an attempt to decipher your sheepish mumblings.

“What?” Jimin asks, and you sigh before fixing him with a steady glare.

“Ten buckets!” You cry. “I asked your gardener and she told me that these are fickle plants that require constant moisture!”

“So you watered them with ten buckets of water? You drowned my daffodils!” He cries. You deflate, just slightly, glancing forlornly at the fallen remains of his beloved babies. He’d so carefully tended to them as well! They were just reaching the point where he could lift the buds and replant them. There’s a nice sunny spot at the back of the orchard that they would have thrived in, and now... and now...

“I’m sorry for your loss.” You finally offer, stepping forward to comfortingly pat at his shoulder. “They lived a good life, under your care,” you continue. “And once you finish off your duties at the Equinox Ball tonight I’m sure you can...” You trail away slowly, and the hand stroking his shoulder slows its pats. And then you gasp in horror when you register that Jimin is here, in his orchard, grieving over some dead daffodils instead of finalising preparations for the Equinox Ball. “Jimin!” You cry. “The Ball! How can you be here? You’re supposed to be preparing for the Ball.”

“Well,” Jimin snaps, perhaps a bit more grumpy than the situation really warranted, but you also killed his lovely daffodils. “I am supposed to be there, but my lovely wife decided she’d much rather kill my daffodils and hide the evidence instead of attend the Ball as is her duty!”

You flush, a shade that he can’t help notice is a rather endearing shade despite everything. Dimly, he recalls that overwhelming feeling he’d experienced when he first saw you earlier, but he pushes it down. There are more pressing matters to attend to- his daffodils can be given a proper burial later.

“Yes, well, as you read in my letter, I thought it would be far better for me to-“ you begin, clearing your throat awkwardly as you often do before giving a formal address. It only irks him further that you’re placating him as if he’s a random parliament member who needs coddling or a foreign emissary you have to charm. He’s your husband and he’s sick of people- you included- pretending otherwise.

“You’re running away.” He offers quietly, and your eyes widen. Perhaps you had been expecting him to dance around the bushes. After all, three months ago during Winter, though you had grown undeniably closer, there had always been the feeling of treading on eggshells around each other. Like neither of you really knew how to react together. But a lot has changed, in three months. Jimin has had three months to overthink and to pretend he doesn’t know the name for the feelings of longing he can’t shake off and to deny that he misses you and now that you’re finally here in front of him, he does not want to waste another second.

That crashing, roaring wave in his heart will not quieten, and finally he gives it a platform to pour out.

“You’re scared. I get that. You don’t know what you’re feeling and everyone and their mother seems to have an opinion on our marriage and maybe you think it will be easier if you stay out of the public eye,” Jimin tells you urgently. He steps forward as if he is approaching a startled deer. “But it won’t be. They won’t ever stop. So why let them dictate what makes you happy?”

You just stare at him, speechless, and he takes your silence as permission to step a little closer. Every movement he makes is slow and steady- you have to option to pull away at any moment. He stretches out a hand, wraps his fingers around yours and then raises your hand slowly towards his heart, letting you rest your palm flat against the thrumming rhythm.

“I missed you.” They aren’t the words he intended to say. He’s not even entirely sure what words he had planned to convince you to come with him. But those words are the ones that burst forth. He can’t hold back anymore. He feels like he’s spent three whole months trying to prevent a volcano from erupting, and he’s exhausted. He can’t hold back anymore, he can’t keep up the facade that he’s ok, when you took his heart with you when you agreed to move out of the Central Palace at the request of the Elders three months ago. “I want you to be at the Ball with me. If we leave now, we can make it. Please- do this with me.” He begs.

He’s met with silence. The longer it stretches out, the more dread slowly filters into his heart. It takes him a long few moments, but when he finally gains the courage to gaze upon your expression, his heart drops into his feet.

Tears pour over your cheeks. You’re normally so put-together, but with your guard down in his absence, dirt smidges your cheeks and the sun gilds your skin. You’re so heart achingly beautiful. It’s like the sensation of stone giving way, the way he feels a crevice form in his heart at the sight.

“Jimin,” you finally say, and your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t...”

You trail away, but it’s enough. He feels a bit like you’ve slapped him. He’d thought... he’d thought it had been the both of you struggling in your separation, but it seems it was only him. He’s a fool- how could be have ever thought he was strong enough to thaw the frozen heart of Winter?

“Right.” He says, humiliated by the way his voice cracks. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Duty calls.”

He turns on his heel so that you can’t see the way tears sting at the back of his eyes.

You don’t stop him as he leaves.

The Queen of Winter is a dignified woman. Tucked far away in her fortress, the common folk speculate that she does not have a heart.

For a long time, you’d thought maybe it was true, but this constant ache in your chest is proving otherwise.

“Are you just going to watch him go?” Yoongi, your personal guard, asks lazily. He is reclined in one of the cosy arm chairs in the centre of Jimin’s cottage, munching away at one of the apples he stole from the tree at the front of the cottage. You spare him a glance over your shoulder, before returning your gaze to the cantering horse that moves further and further away with each passing moment.

“What else can I do?” You finally ask, tearing your gaze from the window and settling into the chair opposite Yoongi. Unlike him, you sit neatly, with your knees pressed together and your ankles tucked delicately to the side. Yoongi shrugs, crunching through another mouthful of apple.

“Well you could have said no one was home when Summer knocked on your door last week like I suggested. But no. You had to invite her in and make her tea and let her get under your skin and now here we are, missing the feast of the year so that you can sulk.” He grumbles, crunching a bit more aggressively. Normally, Yoongi is a placid, lethargic sort of guy, but he’s been grumpy ever since Haeun showed up unannounced last week. Well, actually, he’s been like this ever since you received the order from the Elders to vacate the Central Palace in case you disturbed the prosperity of the oncoming Spring. After all, their plan had worked- having Jimin stay with you in the Central Palace had been enough to curb your Winter, but they didn’t want to offset his powers of Spring.

“Yoongi,” you begin tiredly, ready to feed him the same ridiculous lines about your duty and your out of control powers that you’re sick of saying, but he cute you off.

“No.” He snaps, the most forceful he’s ever been with you in perhaps his entire life. “You listen to me.”

You’re too surprised by his aggression to retort, which gives him the opportunity to launch off in a furious tirade.

“You finally had a good thing going for you. Finally someone who didn’t blame you for your Winters, someone who was kind and made you smile for the first time in literal years, and now you want me to sit here and accept that a cantankerous, overheated she-witch has the power to take that way with a couple of weak and not very witty jibes?” He demands. “What happened to the Queen of Winter? The woman who ate hearts for breakfast and drank the blood of her victims as wine?”

“She never existed.” You frown. “I faint when i accidentally kill a mosquito-“

“But you let those rumours circulate. You never tried to correct them because you never gave a damn about the small fry, so why are you letting some over-baked half-wit get to you?” He demands, pointing an accusing, half-eaten apple in your direction.

You are silent as you recall the encounter the previous week. You had just finished penning a letter to Jimin to inform him you were looking forward to meeting with him when he returned to his cottage, when there had been an unexpected banging on the door.

Haeun and you have never had a good relationship. Instinctively, Summer and Winter are on opposite ends of the spectrum, but she’d also always loathed the way your powers ran wild. After your cold, unforgiving Winters, she always had to burn hotter, and more intensely during the Summer to compensate, and it probably took its toll on her. And to add insult to injury, you had married the love of her life at the request of the Elders. The knowledge that you had taken something so important from her had been why you couldn’t just slam the door in her face even though Yoongi had gestured for you to do so just out of her view.

He’s usually right though, since he’s quite gifted at reading people, and he was right that you should have kicked her out then and there. Haeun had nothing but poison to spill forth from her lips.

Logically, you know the things she was saying were said with the intent to hurt you. Jimin had proved his kindness and warmth again and again during the three months you had lived together and it had even started to reach the point where it felt like he was your real husband. Not just an assigned keeper with the legal right to receive your belongings if you one day died. It felt like he actually cared- the way he sat with you on long, cold nights, the secret smiles he offered over breakfast, the way he left tea outside your bedroom door when he knew you had been up late studying.

Jimin had done the impossible, warming the cold, frozen tundra your heart had lived in, and what you long for in return is to be the person who brings warmth to his Winters. Who holds him in the cold. Who rejoices with him in the bright months of Summer. You’d spent the whole of Spring in a joyful, happy cloud, remembering the way your Winter had been gentle and soft for the first time in your whole life.

And then you’d heard what Haeun had to say.

“I’m just concerned.” She had told you, dress in a dainty Summer dress that allowed the warm Spring sun to warm her shoulders. She always wears loud, cheerful colours and on that day she had worn a bright yellow to match the daffodils you had desperately been trying to keep alive. “I’m only saying this because I know you care about him too, and I would want to know this if I were in your shoes.”

Yoongi had been watching the whole exchange with an expression on his face like he’d swallowed a sour lemon and he had rolled his eyes when she’d said that. And yet, you hadn’t been able to approach her words with the same disdain.

“You know how beloved Spring is. For him to be wedded to you is causing a lot of distress within the kingdom! And the things people are saying about him- that he’s bewitched by your enchantments, that he’s weak-willed and unworthy to lead.” She gazes at you with a glare and the hardest part of all this is that she’s telling the truth. She really came here out of a sense of duty to Jimin because she wants you to stop interfering with his life. “Why couldn’t you have just learned to use your powers instead of turning his life upside down like this?”

And hadn’t that been the final nail in the coffin. Even now, a week later, you are still reeling from her words. It had been with a heavy heart you had decided not to make an appearance at the Ball.

But you hadn’t expected this to happen- for it to hurt just as much to refuse Jimin’s request to go with him. Why does it hurt both way? Why is it that if you have him, you ruin his life, but if you reject him, he looks at you like that? Like you’ve betrayed him? Like you’ve set fire to his orchard before his very eyes?

“Because I love him.” You admit to Yoongi. He chokes for a moment, surprised by your admission, before staring at you with wide eyes.

“You what?” He demands, and you offer him a weak smile.

“I love him, Yoongi.” You say again, and Yoongi’s gaze softens because he’s known you since you were a child in the Central Palace for the first time and he’s never seen such warmth in your eyes. You aren’t the Queen of Winter for nothing. “I love him so much I don’t know what to do and I just feel like no matter what choice I make it hurts.”

You hate the way your voice chokes, and Yoongi lifts from his chair, walking over to you to rest a warm hand over your own.

“So if your choices are being hurt and miserable and being hurt and happy, why not choose the path that has at least a little bit of good in it?” Yoongi asks you gently. You stare at him, surprised, and he offers you a grin. “There’s a dress in your wardrobe with your name on it and if we leave now we should make it in time for Spring’s Official Address.” He tells you, straightening and stretching out with a yawn. “Better go get my riding boots.” He sighs.

For a moment, you are frozen at Yoongi’s words, but then slowly a grin splits your face.

He’s right. Both choices hurt- so why not choose the one where you get to be with Jimin?

You gaze out the window at where the Sun is just beginning to sink into late afternoon.

You have a Ball to get to.

Jimin isn’t sure how he’s made it this far into the night. He feels like he’s just hollowly going through the motions and it’s a wonder that no one has picked up that he feels like he’s walking around with a stomach full of glass shards. If he’d known a broken heart hurt this much, he’d have long ago cast aside his heart to save himself the pain.

“Are you excited?” Haeun questions cheerfully. She wears a long, golden dress that shimmers and catches the lights of the chandelier overhead as she moves. Her hair is carefully braided over her left shoulder, leaving her collar bones and delicate throat exposed. Yet the sight of the daffodil flower crown woven into her hair atop her head just seems to mock him.

“I suppose.” He answers, with an empty smile. Haeun beams in response. She’s in an awfully good mood today and it only seems to worsen his own mood. “I’m ready for a nine month break from my duty.”

She offers him a bright laugh, and the two of them are interrupted by a firm clap against Jimin’s shoulder. He winces and turns to find Taehyung beaming at him.

“Hello, brother!” He says cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you since the start of Spring! How is your lovely wife? I was just thinking I should pop over to visit her and then I learned that she wasn’t in her domain. Imagine my surprise when I head that she’s been staying in the Spring domain for the past three months. I trust the marriage is going well?” He questions, with a suggestive waggle of his strong brows.

Jimin is unable to stop his expression from falling. All night, he’s managed to at least keep up a facade that he’s ok, but those words hit just a little bit too hard. He just and quickly slips the false smile back onto his face, but the King of Autumn has always been quick-witted, and he does not miss the devastation on Jimin’s face.

“Jimin?” He asks slowly. Haeun looks a little confused at the slow, careful tone of Taehyung’s voice and at the use of Jimin’s name. “Is everything alright?”

Jimin offers him another hollow smile but he is saved the effort of lying when his advisor comes rushing over.

“My Lord!” Seokjin cries. “It is time for your address! Please hurry to the stage.” He clicks his tongue a few times, corralling Jimin towards the stage.

He supposes it is now or never.

The tradition for the handover of Spring to Summer is fairly straight forward- at the Ball, Jimin is to deliver an address, celebrating the prosperity of Spring and wishing Summer well for her season. It’s usually one of his favourite duties- to gaze upon the faces of his subjects, to know that his words kickstart a weeklong festival where people will dance in the streets and sing with joy at the arrival of their long awaited Summer. But today, he feels as if he is made of wood as he takes the stage.

“I thank you all for coming,” he begins. A simple spell cast upon the stage allows his voice to be amplified so that everyone can hear him. “As you all know, this particular Spring has been a big one for me. I have spent not three, but six whole months in the Central Palace, overseeing the seasons.” He offers a fake cheeky smile. “Safe to say I’m a little homesick.” That earns him a little chuckle for he is infamous for his simple and modest home. “But it has been my most triumphant Spring yet, because I...”

No one is more surprised than him at the way his words seem to fail him.

“Because I...” he tries again, but the words are choked off and the audience starts to murmur in confusion.

He can’t do it- he can’t fake happiness and merriment. Not when you aren’t even here. Not when you had been the source of his happiness for the last six months.

“Because...”

And then the doors to the ballroom swing open and he gazes upon the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

You wear a floor length gown. As is custom, your dress matches your season, shimmering blue with diamonds cast upon it that catch the light and dance like floating snowflakes. You hair falls around your face, flushed with exertion and your eyes are bright, even from across the room.

An eerie hush falls upon the room. No one has ever seen Winter so dishevelled; and yet she is by no means ugly or unappealing. No, in fact, for years after people will sing songs about your beauty this night- how your eyes shine brighter than the stars in the sky and how your smile holds a joy no one had ever thought you capable of.

Slowly, you step towards him. The crowd parts around you, and yet it is like you are the only person in the room. Even if he had wanted to speak, he would have been incoherent. The roaring feeling in his heart is now a tsunami- he’s swept away. He’s in love beyond what he ever thought was capable. He loves you- he loves you!!

“Jimin,” you say, smiling sweetly when you finally stop in front of him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

And then you kiss him, bold and happy, in front of the entire ballroom and Jimin feels his heart may explode.

There is, of course, much to discuss after your arrival to the Ball. Haeun’s words- your fears and insecurities- Jimin’s own feelings. There is so much to discuss and yet that night, Jimin is only capable of one thing. After his address finishes, he holds you in his arms as the two of you sway in a gentle waltz. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and he feels you smile into the crook of his neck.

There is so much to say, and so much to do, but the two of you have your whole lives together to discuss it.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fluff #jimin fluff #park jimin scenarios #writing

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innocentbi-stander · 4 years ago

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I had a wild dream last night and an urge to write this out

Okay but... a pseudo Witcher Anastasia au that’s actually completely different?

The Romanovs were a prominent family on the Continent, royalty known for their wealth and good natural towards in-humans

They served all people well and were beloved by many

It was even rumored that they had fae blood running through their veins, and held royal position in fae courts as well

Members of the Romanov family possessed a powerful magic, usually based in nature

It was this powerful magic, their possibly inhuman status, and sympathy and kindness towards other inhuman people that caused some people to fear them

In the wake of the Great Cleansing the Romanovs realized they’d have to go into hiding

However they were ambushed while traveling to a safe house and the entire family was brutally slaughtered. All of their bodies were found, except for one of their youngest sons, 3 year old Julian Romanov

The slaughter of the Romanovs became a great source of tragedy even though their deaths were said to have been for “the good of the Continent”

Unbeknownst to the rest of humanity, a band of elves had discovered the carnage of the Romanovs long before anyone else, and more importantly, had found the young Julian Romanov hidden between the roots of the elm tree where his mother had shoved him moments before her death

The world was left to believe that all of the Romanovs, Julian included, were dead

Little did they know that the young prince was in fact alive and well in a secret settlement of elves and other inhumans who had felt the kindness of the Romanovs and would protect their own

Little Julian gained the nickname Jaskier and was raised fiercely in the name of his people

He was taught to fight in all matters of weaponry, the ways of the court and nobles, how to speak with a silver tongue and smile sharper than his throwing knives

Jaskier was taught how to be a warrior, but also how to be gentle, how to play a number of musical instruments, to weave flower crowns, and cook with little

Jaskier learned the ways of his powerful magic and how to control it, though it was something he often struggled with

He was raised knowing his name and his status, and members of the settlement who had known his family were all too willing to share tales of those fallen

Jaskier had lost a family, but managed to gain another

Eventually he was grown (as much as he would, the Romanovs had proved an ability to be rather immortal, or at the very least long lived) and Jaskier decided to set out into the world and explore it on his own, knowing the important of keeping his identity hidden

And so he left to Oxenfurt and became a traveling bard

Everything went to shit when Jaskier met Geralt in that tavern in Posada

He followed him around for twenty years like a loyal puppy, completely and utterly in love and knowing nothing would ever come of it

Geralt was unlike anyone Jaskier had ever met before, and the adventure that surrounded his life called to the bard like nothing else

Twenty years with Geralt and the witcher still thought him human, mortal and powerless and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to admit to his lies (well not lies per say, but he was definitely guilty of allowing assumptions)

Jaskier loved the witcher like he had never loved anyone else, even when he abandoned him in favor of the purple eyed witch, he knew he could never tell him about his true status without scaring him off forever. Geralt hated nobles and all matter of royalty, human or not

And then the mountain happened

Jaskier decided to give Geralt his blessing, and so he left

The bard wandered the Continent on his own, dancing around the threats of oncoming war and trying his best to ignore the rumors whispering around him

About the White Wolf. The White Wolf, and the princess of Cintra, and a witch that traveled with them

He didn’t belong to any of that anymore

So Jaskier kept his head down, kept his throwing knives close, and made his way back north, towards the settlement where he grew up

The settlement had a magic barrier to conceal it from the view of unsuspecting humans, the only people that could raise it were those who possessed a powerful magic

He trudged to the entrance, exhausted and travel weary , lifting the spell with a tired wave of his hand

The familiar hustle and bustle of the settlement met his ears with a sigh of relief and he walked through the opening feeling at home for the first time since the mountain

Only to stop short

Because who was directly in front of him, in his fucking home mind you, but Geralt of Rivia himself, staring at him with a look of awfully concealed shock across his face

At his sides were Yennefer and Ciri, both of them looking at Jaskier with similar expressions

Well fuck him

Jaskier opened his mouth, preparing to give the most awkward hello ever seen on the Continent when Oscar, an older elf who had been one of his teachers growing up rushed over to sweep him up in a crushing hug

“Ah Jaskier, you’ve returned at last!” the man smiled without abandon, completely ignorant to the tension between the group. “I see you’ve encountered some of our guests, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerburg, and young Cirilla. We’ve offered them sanctuary from Nilfgaard for however long they need”

Jaskier loved the kindness of his settlement family, but fuck if it didn’t terribly inconvienence him at the worst of times

Oscar turned back towards Geralt and the others, “This is who I’ve been speaking about, may I introduce to you High Prince Julian Romanov, last of the Romanov family and descendent of the Winter Court.”

Geralt’s mouth opened and closed, if he was shocked before he was dumbfounded now “What?”

Jaskier coughed awkwardly, patting his mentor on the shoulder “We’ve actually met before Oscar. Though…. they didn’t exactly know that last part.”

“My apologies, Your Highness!” Oscar looked beside himself “I didn’t mean to overstep-”

“No it’s fine,” Jaskier interrupted, “I suppose it would have come out eventually anyways”

Oscar parted ways a few moments later, leaving only silence between them all

Yennefer was the one to break it. “Julian Romanov, alive after all this time. A great mystery solved.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I guess you could say that”

Geralt seemed to have finally found his words, “You never told me you were a Romanov”

Jaskier looked him straight in the eye. “You never asked. And besides the fact, I didn’t think Geralt of Rivia, Mr. ‘nobility is just a bunch of pompous idiots’ would be interested in me interrupting with ‘Hi, lost prince of a famously slaughtered family here. Also I’m not completely human and have magic!’. Didn’t think that would go over very well”.

Geralt took a moment to process Jaskier’s tirade. “I didn’t know you weren’t human”.

“It seems there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Good thing you’re stuck here for a while so you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out. If you’ll excuse me?”

Jaskier shouldered his way past the witcher because he was fucking tired and in desperate need of a hot meal and a bath. He could feel Geralt’s gaze on his back the entire way back to his tent. Figures he’d finally give him his undivided attention after he told Jaskier he wanted nothing to do with him.

Things weren’t perfect. There was still a mountain between them, words to be said, apologies to be made, explanations to be given, and feelings to unravel. But right now, as Jaskier slumped onto the soft furs of his bed and prepared to pass out for an undetermined amount of hours, he felt something that seemed like a lot like hope. And for now, that was enough.

Wow this turned out to be a lot longer than I intended. Thinking of maybe extending this into a fic, let me know what you think!

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oohnoniall · 4 years ago

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The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter One (Anastasia)

WARNINGS: cursing.

The Grisha were puppets. She could tell that from the way her father had them paraded before him. No one should be treated the way they were and yet, it was the safest they had ever been. She had not grown up in a time before the Darkling. She had only ever known him to reside over the Little Palace. He kept the Grisha safe.

That didn't stop them from having to perform great feats at the winter fete every year. She had been in attendance every year since she was six.

She still remembered that first one clearly. It had been the first time she had been presented to the court. Her mother had actually come to her room, getting her ready to be shown off like a prized horse. It was the first time she had been allowed to wear a tiara.

Nikolai had teased her for it the entire night. He still teased her for it.

"Annie," a voice hissed to her right. Her eldest brother looked proud in his jacket, his medals pinned to his chest. They showed that he had claimed something in his year of service. Even if she was certain that it was not a brain. "Get your head out of the clouds."

Vasily had never exactly been close to Anastasia. He had always been more focused on learning how to run Ravka, how to be the king that their country deserved. He had never paid much attention to her as Nikolai had. He hadn't paid Nikolai much attention either. Vasily was less their brother and more an acquaintance.

Yet he was all that she had.

Nikolai had left three years before to study and to serve in the military. Anastasia had written him daily letters for the first year, weekly the second. Now, she was lucky if she wrote him monthly. He didn't answer the letters. Too busy with his studies, with forgetting all about the life he had lived back home.

Forgetting Anastasia.

"My head is never in the clouds, Vasie," she huffed as she straightened her spine. She found it somewhat hard to breathe in her gown. Her corset was too tight, her mother had said her waist needed to be smaller and her maids had apparently agreed. Despite the lack of oxygen, there was no denying that the gown was beautiful. It was a shade of cream that matched Vasily's jacket perfectly with sky blue lace detailing on the bodice and matching blue flowers embroidered along the hemline.

It was not the prettiest gown she owned, but it was one of her favorites. If only because she liked that she stood out just a bit from her family. Her mother's gown would be plain, letting everyone focus instead on the Lantsov emerald that would rest on her left hand. Her father and brother would both be sporting their military jackets, the pins and medals gleaming in the light. If Nikolai had been there, he would have at least been the one to escort Anastasia.

Instead, her arm was linked with Vasily's. A bored smile crossed her features, taking away the seventeen-year-old's normal vibrancy. She despised the winter fete. The past three years had all been more disappointing than the last.

It had nothing to do with the Grisha. But it had everything to do with the fact that she had no one to speak with. No one to confide in or giggle with when the night grew boring. Life without her brother had become stale, boring even.

She sighed softly, trying to push out all those negative feelings as Vasily began to gently pull her out of the small antechamber. Her heart pounded in her chest. A four-eighths rhythm that seemed to skip the second beat. She wondered what it would sound like as an aria.

"Presenting His Highness Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov and Her Highness Princess Anastasia Lantsov," a booming voice announced to the waiting crowd of nobles and rich merchants that surrounded Os Alta.

A small smattering of applause greeted them, as it did every year. They were not the show though. They were merely just important guests, visitors to the show of something amazing. Something that none of them were entirely prepared for. At least, not yet.

"Mingle," Vasily murmured in her ear, not bothering to bend. The two were only mere inches apart. A fact that Vasily hated and Nikolai had found humorous. "Just don't wander far from my sight."

"And if I don't?" She did not move to raise a brow or do anything that might cause alarm. She barely moved her lips as she spoke. Speaking with Vasily just meant keeping it quiet and not allowing anyone to hear.

"Then you'll never make a friend that isn't Nikolai." Despite their lack of a relationship, he did care for his younger sister. He cared for his brother as well. Although that relationship was far more strained. Not even Vasily could ignore the rumors surrounding his siblings. Anastasia, however, would never be a threat to him getting the throne upon their father's death.

She gave a very slight nod of her head. If one happened to see it, they would merely assume she had just shifted her stance or something of that nature. They'd never realize that she had agreed to do something for him. Even if it was as simple as mingle with those who gathered with them in celebration of the second army.

Her brother released her arm, allowing her to slip free from him and into the crowd. She would not leave the room. She knew better than to cause Vasily a heart attack. Had Nikolai been there, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of it. She would have been able to do as pleased. He'd just follow after her, his charisma hiding the fact that he was threatening people or watching over the sister he'd never asked for.

Soft laughter, low tenors mixed with high sopranos, filled the air with a gentle melody. One that Anastasia could feel tingling in her bones and in her heart. The melodies of life in Ravka had always seemed to flow through the princess. She just hadn't said a word about it to anyone. Her mother had only ever been told she excelled in music lessons.

She had strived to excel in everything though. Anything to avoid being sent off like her brother.

"Princess," a tall young man stepped in front of her, blocking her from moving forward. He bowed at the waist to her, his left arm going behind his back in a sign of respect. His dark, blue-black hair fell into his face in the softest of waves. Briefly, she thought about reaching out to run her fingers through them. "I was certain we wouldn't be graced with your presence this evening."

"And why exactly is that?" Her tone was soft, lilting and pretty. If she added a bit more breath it would sound more like a song.

"There's a rumor that your parents sent you to Fjerda a week ago," he admitted as he straightened his spine. His eyes were bright, only a few shades darker than the Lantsov emerald. She wondered how many women he had enchanted with his eyes alone.

Anastasia forced a gentle laugh to leave her lips as she looked at the man. "I'm afraid I will not see Fjerda for a few more years. Although, my departure date is not to be common knowledge." Her eyes glinted in the light, matching the sky blue detailing on her dress.

"Of course, your highness," the man nodded his hand once. "Might I have this dance with you?"

She considered it for a moment. A dance didn't mean they'd be courting. Nor did it mean she would be respected. Everything was so political nowadays. If she did not do the right thing, she would create a scandal. However, most of the time it felt as though if she breathed wrong she would cause a scandal or trouble of some sort. It was all quite exhausting if she were being honest.

Slowly, Anastasia took the man's outstretched hand. "Of course."

He led her towards the small dance floor. The winter fete was not a place for dancing. But her mother had thought that it would be nice to have a bit of a dance. She was certain that it had only been in case Nikolai or Vasily had caught sight of a woman that might one day become a queen. Or at the very least it made for a good chessboard.

"What is your name?" She asked as he placed on hand on her waist. She could feel eyes on them. She was certain his family was watching closely, certain that her brother was preparing to protect her honor.

"Dima Antonov," he said as the music began to swell. He led her through an intricate waltz. One that she had danced a million times. It was practically drilled into her feet.

The music spoke to her in a way that nothing ever had before. She loved the way it made her feel as though she were floating on air. Every rest was like holding her breath, the crescendo was the beating of her heart as Dima twirled her across the floor. Her gown floating around them as though there was nothing holding her onto this plane of existence. She could fly away, farther than any bird.

"You're an incredible dancer," his voice brought her back down to the earth. Gravity pulling against her limbs and her hopes.

"Oh?" An amused smile crossed her features. "You're not so bad yourself."

A glint of something was in his eyes. She could not tell if it was amusement or something darker. She prayed to the Saints that she would not have to deal with a pining lordling with dreams of becoming king. It wasn't as though the throne would ever fall to her. Yet, some of these lordlings seemed to believe that they would inherit the throne upon marrying her. Her betrothal didn't seem to matter to any of them either.

Why would she marry a backward Fjerdan when she could have a good, honest Ravakan? Honestly, the whole thing was rather dull.

There was nothing that could be done about her marriage. Contracts had been signed long ago. Although, the Fjerdans were not holding up their end of the bargain particularly well. It seemed as if they assumed they could do whatever they wanted to the Grisha and get away with it. It seemed as though all they cared about was getting another country to trade with them. Something that her parents also wanted.

"Thank you, your highness," Dima broke her out of her thoughts as he dipped her in time with the music. Her long flowing hair nearly touched the floor as strands began to fall from the mess of braids that her maids had put it up in. Her heart skipped another beat as she stared up into his eyes.

Love was such a trivial matter to her and yet, she found it hard to not be wooed by bright eyes and a dazzling smile. She was just a girl after all. A girl with hopes, dreams, ambitions.

Dima's dazzling smile just happened to be distracting enough to keep her mind off of her ambitions.

"I've heard that the Princess of Ravka was a sight to behold, but I didn't expect the rumors to be true." He admitted as he gently pulled her back up. She found that she was pressed rather closely to the young man.

"I take it that this is your first winter fete?" One of her eyebrows rose just a fraction of a centimeter, barely enough for anyone but the man standing in front of her to notice.

"I've been spending my time with the First Army. My father is a general," he admitted as he stepped back enough to make their dance proper once more. "I've finally been allowed leave and thought I would spend my time is Os Alta."

"And this has nothing to do with our new Sun Summoner, does it?"

"Nothing at all," Dima's lips quirked in a handsome smirk. One that sent heat racing to Anastasia's cheeks. She fought down her blush, not wanting a soul to know her feelings.

Her mother had once told her that she was an open book. Her emotions were easy to read and easy to figure out. Her mother had made sure that she knew it was not a good thing. Beauty was what mattered. At least, until she had done what she needed to. Then she could worry about falling in love and being in love. Until then, she had to focus on the Fjerdan prince and providing an heir when the time came.

Anastasia's life was nothing more than a game of chess. She just didn't know if she was the pawn or the queen.

The music slowed to a stop, her heart still kept the steady beat of the waltz. If only to keep it inside of her for a few hours more. Dima stepped away from her, bowing his head politely.

"Thank you for the dance, your highness," he took her hand in his and raised it to his knuckles. He brushed his lips against it once, before he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and out of her life.

She knew better than anyone that it was easier to dance with royalty than actually spend time with them. It was one of the reasons why Nikolai had been her only friend for so long.

Anastasia did not allow for this to keep her sedated for long. Instead, she slipped away into the crowd. Her eyes searched out Vasily, who was drinking something that was not water while flirting with a lord's daughter. One that he had been speaking with for nearly a year now. She was expecting a courting announcement any day now.

Vasily being preoccupied was a blessing to her. She could escape from his supposedly watchful gaze and find something to do that was not fawn over the Grisha and what they could do. It wasn't like she hated the Grisha. She just thought that they didn't need to be put on parade. There was no reason for them to be a sort of sideshow.

Anastasia slipped out of the throne room of the little palace. The noise of the music and the endless chatter allowed for her to be silent, despite the harsh clicking noise of her heels on the tiled floors.

She could not lose herself completely in the crowd. Others moved out of the way for her, occasional bows were thrown her way while others tried to speak with her about some piece of political jargon that she didn't particularly care about. She was certain that they were only speaking to her because they thought she had her father's ear. It would be quite a shock to them when they realized that she didn't. She had no say in anything political. She was not allowed in council meetings.

All she was was the pretty princess. The one they could trade for marriage and gain political allies through. It was quite aggravating if anyone were to ask for her opinion. Which they more than likely wouldn't. No one ever did.

She kept her head held high, her chin pointed just slightly to show she knew who she was and what power she held, as she walked down the hallways and through the crowds. She rounded a corner, her brow furrowing as she noticed something out of the ordinary.

A man in a guard's uniform. A man that she did not recognize.

Anastasia knew every guard in the palaces. She had trained with much of them under Nikolai's orders. They had treated her with respect and constantly allowed her to win while also ignoring her horrid aim. Seeing someone new at the winter fete? That was quite unlikely.

"Excuse me," her voice was soft, barely carrying above the noise of the music and idle chatter. Yet, anyone who knew the royal family would have stopped at her voice. The man kept walking for two steps before realizing his mistake.

Something was very wrong in the Little Palace. None of the guards should have continued walking. Not even the freshest of faces would have made that mistake.

She could tell that the man was cursing his mistake as he turned on his heel. There was a look in his eye. A glint of rage, of anxiety even. She would never wish to be the one that rage was directed against. His blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul, drowning her as though it were the depths of the sea or the Fold. His cheekbones were high, sharp enough that they might cut her if she were to touch them.

She ignored the thundering in her chest, her four-eighths time had become a sixteenth. Fast, quick, ready to jump into her throat.

The fact that his rage soon melted into the look of one of a new recruit did not help. His features still made him deadly, despite the innocence that he had schooled into his features. Anastasia was someone who wore a mask every day of her life. She had gotten rather good at figuring out who was faking things. She had found different ways to discern who wore a mask and who wore their true face. It was normally in the eyes, in the quirk of their lips, the slightest motion of the eyebrows. There was always a tell.

It didn't matter who wore the mask.

"Your Highness," he bowed somewhat awkwardly. It was almost as though there was something wrong with him. Like he had been hurt before or like he found it difficult to bow before anyone. Perhaps he thought himself a king in his own right. "May I help you?"

His Ravakan was somewhat harsh, the syllables not coming out as easily as they would for a native speaker. She didn't think that was a warning sign. If they had needed more guards, they would have looked to recent immigrants. They'd be too happy to work for the palace and send money back to their families. She just wondered where exactly he was from. The accent didn't seem to be anywhere she could place.

It was too prim for Kerch and too gentle for Fjerda. Maybe he was from Novi Zem, but he didn't have the air. She figured she would find out later. Now was not the time to question anything as simple as where his accent stemmed from. That would be a conversation for later.

"You're new," she said as she stepped forward. She did not step close enough to be within his personal bubble, just enough so that he could hear her without straining himself. "I haven't seen you on the grounds before." She had not sparred with him before. It was just improper for her to say so with the entirety of the court present.

He cleared his throat once, as though he was unsure how to approach her. Or maybe just the topic at hand.

”They’ve had me preparing for tonight for the last few weeks,” he said it casually, as though it were nothing but the truth. It should have been. No one would have been fool enough to break into the palaces on the one night when everyone was on high alert.

At least, that’s what they had all been led to believe. There was no telling if this was the truth or not. No telling if they were actually safe or if they were all just pawns in someone’s chess game.

Anastasia was prone to believing one over the other.

”I see,” her eyes blazed as she looked at him, not daring to back down from his soulful gaze. “Well, in any case, I like to be well acquainted with my guards, Mr?”

”Vanzin,” he said quickly. He no longer looked nervous, the name fell smoothly from his lips. “Nikolai Vanzin.”

”Nikolai?”

”My mother thought it would be lucky to name me after a prince,” his cheeks heated slightly, enough to make her believe the excuse.

”Very well then, Mr. Vanzin. I will see you later then.”

“I’ll be here all night, Your Highness.”

A small smile crossed Anastasia’s lips at that, a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with mischief and everything to do with the new handsome guard. “I expect to see you on the training field tomorrow.” She did not wait for his answer as she turned away.

Anastasia did not notice the scowl that crossed Vanzin’s face, nor did she notice as he slipped unnoticed into the crowd. Vanzin soon becoming nothing more than a ghost.

A ghost who went by the name of Kaz Brekker.

#six of crows #shadow and bone #grishaverse #kaz brekker #kaz x oc #mobster x princess #kaz x princess #kaz steals an emerald #nikolai lantsov #lantsov emerald #vasily lantsov #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #grisha netflix #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #i'm not sorry #brought over from my quotev

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moonchildsaurora · 4 years ago

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Running in Circles

✤ guard captain!Mingi x thief!reader ✤ genre: Guard AU // smidge of fluff, (semi)enemies-to-friends. (feat. Yunho) ✤ t/w: sfw, none - except very brief mentions of some fighting, rated PG ✤ count: 3k ✤ [ part 3 ] of Lacuna miniseries

a/n - huge apologies for keeping Captain Song in for a so long but alas, he’s finally freeeeee. I really need to pick up the pace with continuing on with this mini series 😅 this idea sorta played out better in my head than out in words - I’m not 100% happy with this, it’s defs not my best but I shall practise writing more Mingi fics in the future! This is also probably the tamest of the lot in terms of cry-level. Just preparing you guys with an easy read before the shitstorm that awaits in the next member on the list one shot hahahahahahaha. @hereisleo & @barsformars hope you both enjoy this for ya man 😉 I couldn’t bring myself to hurt this giant teddybear too much in writing. Also everyone, let’s welcome back a familiar face within this one shot :P

In all of his years of being a royal palace guard of Aethevintis, nothing would cause his body to seize up with tension instantly and hasten the greys that threaten to come through his still youthful auburn tresses than when he was requested at the interrogation chamber.

Heavy steps echoed off the dark granite stone floors, the sharp clinking from an array of medals that hung proudly to signify his prestige were in sync with his tense pace. Song Mingi had no problem exercising command and authority when it was needed, in fact, he prided himself in doing so.

He was good at his job, and he knew that.

Otherwise the title of Captain wouldn’t had been bestowed upon him that four winters ago. The real struggle was when his confidence in being assertive was mistaken for the ability to intimidate, broad body physique to further fuel that common misconception. And so Mingi often found himself sat in that bleak chamber with some poor unfortunate soul, who had been frightened into admitting nothing more than petty crimes.

He’d argue such tactics were unnecessary. Running his hand frustratingly through his hair for the umpteenth time, Mingi mentally braced himself for whatever...or rather whoever awaited for his arrival.

Rounding the corner, his brows arched up with surprise upon seeing the King standing in front of the chamber doors. The troubled look that replaced the King’s usual ebullient features prompted Mingi to straighten his posture immediately; this was sure to be a serious matter. “Good afternoon Sire…”

Yunho turned towards the rich baritone voice of the Guard Captain and rigid shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sight of one of his most trusted.

“Captain Song,” Yunho nodded in acknowledgement, “Although I’m not sure if it’s entirely good at all.”

Mingi’s forehead creased but remained silent to allow the King to further elaborate about his plight.

“The Queen’s aquamarine diamond parure has been stolen, and I suspect a selection of other jewels too. Those I care not for as much as the diamond parure…it’s got high sentimental value as it was passed down within the family from my great-great-grandmother.”

“That certainly isn’t good at all. Has the perpetrator been caught yet, Sire?”

“As luck would have it, yes actually. And I’ve been told that you would be the perfect person to know how to handle this….situation,” at saying this Yunho fully turned to face Mingi. The falchion in his belt’s scabbard felt heavy and a million and one thoughts were running through his mind at once.

“Mingi…”

Mingi could see the sincerity in Yunho’s eyes and the hesitation in spilling out the words that needed to be said.

“I hope you know that in any other circumstances, I would not be requesting you to deal with such matters that you have immense dislike for. I apologise for putting you in such a position. This…certain individual has crossed paths with you before and I’m hoping with that familiarity you may be able to coax them to reveal where the diamond parrure is. How you do so, I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”

Oh.

Well that wasn’t what Mingi was expecting to hear. A certain individual he’s familiar with?

He straightened his back and gave a determined nod of his head, “I shall do my best Sire. That room may be the bane of my existence but this matter is clearly of importance to you, let us hope the thief can be convinced to comply.”

“You have my utmost gratitude Mingi,” Yunho said, reaching his hand up to give Mingi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before making his way out of the grim dungeon hallway.

Mingi waited till the King was out of sight before turning to face the chamber. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his heart and pushed open the doors with slight force.

“Well, well if it isn’t my favourite Captain of the guards. Come to keep me company for the evening?”

If he wasn’t already sweating before, he sure was now. That oh-so coquettish voice he’s grown to recognise almost immediately, fell on his ears.

You sent a cheshire grin to the tall figure, legs propped up on the worn-out wooden table and hands idly fiddling with the heavy brass shackles around your wrists. This certainly wasn’t the first time your paths had crossed but it was the first for you both to meet in a more dire setting.

Mingi feared for the implications of your capture.

Not just a mere thief of the streets but being the leader of Dusk Talons, the Royal Crown surely won’t pass up a chance to make an example of a core individual from the renowned thief guild.

“You ought to close your mouth, otherwise the flies will get in.”

One of the guards closer to you brought his fist down on the table, a mere tactic meant to frighten you. However, all it got out of you was the bored glance you sent to the guard who started berating you for talking back to Captain Song.

Mingi let out a sigh, “That’s enough. I can take it from here, you all are dismissed.” The command was given to the other guards in the room as he settled into the chair across from you. They left without a fuss and silence encompassed the room, though not for long.

“Would you please be a dear and help with this?” you asked, chains jangling as you held out your cuffed wrists towards Mingi.

“It would seem that’s not needed at all,” a ghost of a smile gracing his lips, “your handy work got the job done for you.”

“You’re no fun.”

Not admitting out loud, you were slightly impressed that the guard captain didn’t let your lock-picking slip by him. The shackles dropped on to the table and you made a show of stretching your arms out, body arching lithely off the chair. Your loose tunic rode up just shy of showing skin, causing Mingi to avert his eyes out of respect.

That widened your grin.

Mingi let out an awkward cough, any pre-planned script he had for questioning was abandoned. You weren’t entirely a stranger to him nor were you an acquaintance – if the laws even allowed for that. But Mingi didn’t feel right about making you go through the same interrogation protocol as previous criminals had to. You weren’t like them.

“I can’t tell if you thrive off the riskiest raids or that you don’t fear anything nor anyone. Going after Her Majesty’s diamond parure? Of all things!”

An airy chuckle left you, “If I didn’t know better…you sound awfully worried for me, Captain.”

“Shouldn’t you be at least more careful? What would become of your family if something were to really happen to you?”

The grin on your face disappeared immediately.

Mingi continued when he didn’t hear a response, “I’ve seen you…giving food and gold back to those in the Lower Wrean. I know some of the funds for the city’s orphanages are provided by your guild. And that one time…the only reason why you led the attack on our eastern outpost was to rescue a few of your own and relocate some of the nomad camps away from potential crossfire. You don’t abandon family, right?”

These were the things that convinced Mingi, you weren’t really all bad. Questionable choices? Sure. Morals? A little grey. Although underneath the layers, your intentions have always stemmed from a compassionate heart.

“What’s to the rich if they lose a few here and there? They have far more than enough, so to us, they’re top of the list of contributors.”

Mingi remembered you telling him that when he had first caught you escaping from one of the noble’s house. Your guild only ever stole from the rich and it was a bonus if the corrupted was targeted too. Mingi, who then was still under the command of the previous captain, hesitated to pursue. For his moral compass went spiralling. Being bound to carry out his royal duty or close a blind eye because he empathised with what you stood for.

Empathy.

Nothing more than a weak link, according to his captain. There was little room for that, just as grey had no place among Aethevintis’ black-or-white justice system.

Hence, a thief was still a thief at the end of the day. Even for a good cause, by definition you were on the opposing side.

You continued to observe Mingi in silence, with a neutral expression, as you let his words sink in. Captain Song was much different than his predecessors. An unspoken level of mutual respect had developed between you both somewhere along the way of your encounters. The way he led with his heart rather than blind authority was admirable.

“We do what we must to get by. My family…as you so kindly put it…are capable of adapting to whatever circumstances are thrown their way. Risk is an inevitable norm for us.”

At least, you could appreciate Mingi looking at you without that faux sympathy.

“And I’ve lived doing what I do best…that is to survive. Being careful only gets you so far but being smart, well, you could go just about anywhere with that.”

With a rather loud yawn you broke the tension in the dim room. The grin reappeared back on your face and you slinked backwards on the chair. Mingi was contemplating on whether switching back to the original subject of this…talk…would be a good idea or not. He needed a starting basis, a hint of sorts from you in order to give direction where he’d be searching for the missing parure.

Betting on the fact that you don’t wholly despise him, Mingi tried his luck. “Now I do have a job to complete, and I’m sure we both would rather spend our time elsewhere other than down here…”

“Aww, I thought we were having a good time getting to know each other better. Don’t get to do that as much on the streets now, do we?”

“What have you done with Her Majesty’s parure?” asked Mingi, keeping his tone levelled.

“You sure are set on that huh? What’s in it for you if you successfully retrieve the jewels?”

Tilting your head, eyes sparking a challenge. Only to be met with determination glinting off Mingi’s own pair of dark chocolate brown orbs.

“Nothing more than the satisfaction of returning a precious family heirloom back to my King. It’s of great importance and sentiment to him.”

You wished you could find fault in his resolution. Yet again, Mingi was nothing but honest in answering you.

Surely, you could play a little nicer this time, right?

“Hmm, I’ll think about it. I’m feeling rather parched as well…any chance I could get some fresh water?”

Sensing you weren’t going to give in anytime soon, Mingi drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Standing up he offered, “And I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat?”

“You’re offering?”

“This is an interrogation chamber, not a torture one.”

Mingi left to gather the necessities. Head filled with too many conflicting thoughts, that he missed the growing grin on your lips and the space where the dungeon keys previously sat on his belt.

“THE PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!”

“FIRE IN THE COURTYARD!”

It was havoc.

The thunderous sound of fireworks broke through the tranquil evening. Catching everyone by surprise and confusion arose as to why bursts of colourful sparks were going off within the palace grounds. When some of the flag banners and trees caught fire from the stray sparks, it caused a flurry of panic.

And to make matters worse – the guards had lost you.

Mingi finished over-seeing the last batch of palace staff into the safe area. “All palace guards are to stay by the doors to the throne room and west wing! No one is to leave or enter until my unit and I have done a final sweep of the grounds, “ he ordered.

Part of the team was put in charge of getting the fires under control. He deduced the fireworks were set off as an intended distraction and, a successful one at that too. Mingi’s priority was now to prevent you from escaping.

He heard the commotion and shouting before, “CAPTAIN! THE SOUTHWEST WALLS!”

You held your own and by the time Mingi had reached your location, the guards who were stationed there were knocked out cold on the ground. A minor cut bled slightly from your left cheek and you looked a little more roughed up than when Mingi had last seen you.

“Here I was thinking this would be a clean goodbye…” you said, securing the rope around your waist that Mingi noticed was tied to the stone merlons. He also saw a couple of dark-coloured pouches with you that weren’t present on your attire during the interrogation.

Three guesses as to what filled those pouches.

You followed his eyes to where they were fixated on, “Ah yes, amongst thieves it’s the number one rule to not hide our spoils on ourselves…lest we get caught.”

A series of sharp whistles was heard. The signal that your guild had completed their tasks and was awaiting to reunite with their leader down below at the meeting point. You blew three consecutive similar whistles back in response.

“Wait!”

You paused with one foot up on the stone edge. Turning back to look, you saw Mingi’s hand hover slightly over his falchion.

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

‘No. But I will ask once more, where is the diamond parure? I know the cold season approaches and you’ll need all the resources you can get. Those gold and other jewels you’ve got there should be sufficient enough. So please….”

Having already made your decision the moment you slammed the doors to the chamber out, simultaneously breaking the noses of the unsuspecting guards, you knew what you had to do. But that didn’t prevent you from adding a little dramatic flair.

After all, you want to stay memorable in Captain Song’s books.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”

Your voice dripping with light sweetness, eyes locked on his as you made your way right up to him. Your hand darted out to grab his falchion and on reflex, Mingi intercepted – large calloused warm hand latching around your wrist.

“But maybe that’s what makes so different from the others…” You flipped his hand so it faced palm up, and placed a familiar cobalt blue pouch on it. “You’re a good man, Captain Song. Thinking with your heart doesn’t make you weak…this world needs more of that, more of people like you.”

You watched his shoulders fall with relief and the look he had in his eyes change into something you couldn’t quite discern. Mingi nestled the pouch carefully towards his body, the delicate clinking confirmed its fragile contents within. And he didn’t feel the need to look inside for confirmation; he trusted you.

“If we were to meet in another lifetime, I hope we’d be on better terms then. Preferably one leaning closer to friends.”

A genuine smile crept up from the corners of your lips upon hearing Mingi’s words.

“That sounds rather nice, actually.”

You could definitely use a friend like Mingi in your second lifetime, should fate ever be so kind to give you another shot.

“CAPTAIN!”

The clamouring of guards and blades being drawn drew closer and you could hear the running of feet up the stairs.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave. And I am so sorry for doing this but…”

And you physically winced when you sent a knee to his gut, causing Mingi to collapse and gasp for air.

“…Captain Song wouldn’t go down without a fight and this makes it look less like you just let a scummy thief off the hook.”

Mingi waved his other gloved hand, “I…understand – you ought to hurry…” he managed to cough out the words.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

With that, Mingi watched you leap over the wall’s edge just as back-up from his unit arrived. Not only did you leave him with the Queen’s jewels and potentially a bruise or two, you also left him with a new sense of comfort.

Two worlds apart. Two unlikely individuals who were both willing to cross the bridge that’s been built to fill the gap, to meet in the middle.

Yeah, this was a change he could get used to.

“Thank you Captain Song!” cheered the orphans, watching with admiration at how effortlessly Mingi climbed the tree to recover their kite that got stuck in the tall branches.

He soon found his legs to be attacked with hugs from several pairs of petite arms.

Mingi returned the affections with gentle head pats and a, “Be careful not to run too fast and watch where you’re going!”

The townspeople greeted him as he patrolled his rounds. Even scoring a ruby red freshly-picked apple from one of the vendors. Today would be a breeze. Golden rays of the sun shone down warmly and the morning air was still crisp. Mingi was already planning to finish his shift early and go see if he could convince Yunho to sneak away from royal duties for a round of archery out by the fields.

“STOP! THIEF!”

Just like that, his trail of thoughts were cut short. Mingi snapped his attention towards the direction where the yelling came from. Jogging over to where the crowd had gathered, he was nearly bowled over by a fleeting figure.

Upon making eye contact for that split second, he could recognise your mirthful eyes from anywhere.

Your eyes crinkled with delight and being bold as to send a wink his way. But your feet never stopped sprinting and within seconds, Mingi had lost you among the sea of townspeople who still went about their business on the street.

“THEY WENT THAT WAY!”

Mingi looked back to see some of his unit tailing after a few hooded figures who disappeared into the maze of alleyways. Your guild sure knew the layout of the town inside out.

A sigh escaped him. So much for finishing up early for the day.

But if it was a chase you wanted, then it would be a chase you’ll get. Being the respectful gentleman that he was, he’d let you have a head start of course.

Maybe one day, when he’s old and cranky, worn out to his bones – he’d stop running in circles after you.

Luckily for you both, today wasn’t that day.

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heyyyharry · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 17: The Battle

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which they go to battle. / Warning: DEATH, GORE /

Word count: 4k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N aka Peach)

A/N:

According to plan, we have 2 chapters left.

This chapter is inspired by Train Wreck by James Arthur and Arcade by Duncan Laurence.

Play these songs for a better reading experience!

As the cold rain whispered over the muddy fields at the southern border, Isolde soldiers started setting up tents for their Queen to have a meeting with her council. Outside lay long horse-lines and wagons with fires stretching every direction. Y/N had heard enough stories of her father’s victories so she’d been able to picture what a battlefield would look like before coming here. Nevertheless, it was a lot different to hear of those tales than to pick up a blade yourself and end a living person’s life. Hundred thousands would die tomorrow. One of them could be her. The thought sent chills down her spine despite her best effort to overlook it.

It was almost sunrise when the last men crowded into Y/N’s tent. Wary looks were exchanged. Everyone was heavy with fatigue. Lance wasn’t with them. He had temporarily returned to Attwell and would arrive later with his own army, according to plan.

“The Northerners are assembling here.” Y/N stood beside a map on the table, pointing to a marshy place. “They are waiting for reinforcements from Orioch, mercenaries from Cianna. We must strike before their reinforcements can come up.”

“By how much do they outnumber us now?” asked an old general named Seren.

Y/N didn’t answer. “We will form two lines. Here.” She touched the map again. “And use the forest to guard our flanks. We are at a disadvantage because we’re not fighting in the snow–”

“By how many, Your Majesty?”

“Do not interrupt the Queen,” Harry hissed at Sir Seren.

Y/N put up her hand to ask Harry to stay calm. She could not avoid answering the question. “Twice our force.” She sucked in a breath. “Perhaps a little more.”

Muttering passed around the men.

“Have you had any word of the Attwell army?” another general asked.

“They’re on their way,” Y/N said.

The muttering redoubled.

“It matters not,” Harry’s loud voice silenced them all. “We have enough.”

“Enough?” snapped Sir Seren. ”No disrespect to you, Your Majesty, but you might have survived the North mountain and found the magical lake, but what magic can save us, your subjects, when we’re being slaughtered on the field?”

Y/N rose to her feet. Her glare momentarily shut down the men’s murmurs. “Are you questioning your loyalty, Sir Seren?”

“No, Your Majesty. I would not dare. I’ve served your family for nearly two decades. That is why I believe your father would never have blindly trusted a foreigner in a war with Theros. How can we be sure that Lance Devany would not turn his back to us at the last minute?”

“Perhaps,” said a calm voice from the flap of the tent. “You shouldn’t be here if you’re such a coward, Sir Seren.”

Heads swivelled. A few reached for their swords. Y/N heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Lance at the entrance. Sir Seren’s face burned with shame as he bowed his head and slipped to the back for Lance to take his place by Y/N’s side.

“You thought I’d abandon my queen?” he murmured to her with a smirk upon his face. Harry rolled his eyes yet said nothing.

Y/N cleared her throat, grateful for his presence nonetheless. “Now, where were we?”

“Hold on,” Lance cut her off, his brows pinched together. “Why did I just see Mary outside?”

“It’s a last-minute decision,” Y/N said. “It wouldn’t be safe to have left her at the castle. Calanthe wants her. If she knew Mary was there, she’d send people there and my subjects would be in danger.”

“Fair enough,” Lance said, back straight, hands behind his back. “I just wish you’d told me.”

Y/N didn’t know what he was implying, but she could be sure that he was implying something. Did he think she didn’t trust him enough to tell him everything? She just didn’t think it was important, and he’d been in a hurry to get back to Attwell anyway.

By the end of the meeting, Y/N’s concern had been confirmed by Lance not making eye contact with her even once. She wanted to believe he was just tired from the journey to and from Attwell. However, she knew him too much for her own comfort. This wasn’t as simple as that.

The other men followed Harry outside to assemble the Attwell soldiers, and Lance was the last to stay with Y/N.

“Lance,” she called out as he was about to leave.

He turned, an eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

He regarded her for a second in silence.

She didn’t want to give him a chance to lie. “Did I upset you somehow?”

He averted his eyes, looking quite uneased. “You could’ve reassured them before I arrived.”

“Lance,” Y/N breathed.

“You could’ve just told them you knew I’d not betray the North,” Lance went on. “They accused me of turning my back to you, and you didn’t say anything.” He turned, and they locked eyes. “Do you not trust me?”

Y/N had always assumed that she had always trusted him. Hadn’t she left her kingdom in his hands while she’d been gone for weeks? How could one trust another that much? Still, he was right about her not defending him earlier. She couldn’t explain it herself, and it made her feel even worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Lance’s expression went grim. “I know it’s hard to trust someone after all that you’ve gone through,” he said. “You couldn’t even trust your own family, and I can’t blame you, because I’ve lived that way my whole life.” He released an exasperated breath. “But I meant it when I said I loved you and that I would die for you, Y/N. All I ask is for you to trust me.”

Y/N clenched her fists on the table, her chest heavy with tension. “I don’t want you to die for me.” Or love me, she wanted to add, but didn’t. “I want you to be safe.”

Lance smiled faintly before nodding once.“I’ll try. I promise.”

Try. She hated that he’d used that word, for it implied that there were things that were out of their control. She wished she could say with confidence that all of them would make it back alive ,and Isolde would win the war, but all she could manage to do was...try.

“Your Majesty,” came a voice outside her tent, “we found your lady-in-waiting hiding in a wagon with our supplies.”

Y/N whipped her head to Lance, who looked equally dismayed.

“Jo?” he mouthed to her.

Immediately, Y/N bolted past him as she stormed out of her tent. “Take me to her,” she told the guard. To Lance, she said, “Could you check on Harry and my men?”

“Sure.” He worked up a smile and bowed. “Good luck with Jo.”

Jo jumped to her feet as soon as Y/N stepped in. Y/N waved for the guard on either side of Jo to release her and step back. On the ride here, Jo had prepared what she was going to say to Y/N but now that she was standing in front of the Queen, her tongue was tied and her head empty.

Would this be considered treason?

“Your Majesty, I can explain,” she uttered, hands clasped together against her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked, her expression hardened. “It was safer in the castle.”

Jo twisted the hem of her jacket as she chewed on her bottom lip and hung her head. “You took Mary,” she said. “You promised me you wouldn’t turn her in, but you brought her here.”

“We weren’t going to turn her in,” Y/N replied calmly.

Jo’s head shot up. “Well, where is she?”

“She’s safe,” Y/N said, her voice soft. She didn’t look like she was about to go to battle, which concerned Jo greatly. She wished she could do something to help, but her being here was already causing trouble to everyone. “We keep her here so she can be safe,” Y/N repeated, emphasising the word. “But you are not safe here. I’ll have someone take you home.”

“I want to stay with Mary,” Jo said fast.

Y/N’s brows furrowed a little. “Jo, don’t be ridiculous.”

Quickly, Jo stepped forward and grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Please let me stay,” she pleaded, looking into Y/N’s eyes. “You wouldn’t let Harry go to battle alone.”

“That’s because I can wield a sword.” Y/N slipped her hand out of Jo’s grip. “You cannot. You’d be dead when the enemies arrive. I’m sorry, Jo. You must leave now. This is an order.”

Jo took Y/N’s hand again before the Queen could turn. “Can I at least see Mary first?”

Y/N parted her lip yet she didn’t say no right away. She spent a moment thinking, then the look on her face softened with sympathy. “Sure.” She exhaled, nodding to a guard. “Follow me,” she said to Jo.

The guard took Jo and Y/N to another tent where they kept Mary. “Hurry up,” Y/N said coldly, not looking at Jo. Jo could tell she was angry and disappointed so she dared not speak, only curtsied to her Queen before she entered.

Mary wasn’t being tied up like she’d imagined. The witch was sitting in a chair. Her face taut with shock and worry when she saw Jo. “What are you doing here?” She jumped to her feet and took Jo’s hands. “This isn’t the place for you, Jo! Does the Queen–”

“She knows. She’s waiting outside,” Jo said. “I was worried they’d turn you in. I was trying to stop them.”

The corners of Mary’s mouth raised despite her furrowed brows. “You idiot,” she chuckled, yet there was sadness in the sound. “It’s safer for everyone when I’m here. They’d attack the castle to look for me. The Queen did the right thing, Jo.”

“I know,” Jo muttered. She’d thought once she’d seen that Mary was unharmed, she’d be at peace. But what she was feeling then was the opposite of peace. Her thoughts were all tangled up together. Even though she wouldn’t be able to help, the thought of leaving Mary here was just too painful.

As if she was able to read minds, Mary released Jo’s hands to cup her face, making Jo flinch, for he wasn’t used to having anyone touch her like this beside Y/N. Mary’s hands were cold and unfamiliar and comforting at the same time. Jo didn’t want her to let go.

“You should go home,” Mary whispered. “You can’t protect yourself.”

“Neither can you.” Jo frowned. “You’re the one they’re after. Not me.”

Mary shook her head. “When they’re here, every life is the same. They’d kill both of us.”

Jo’s stomach knotted. Her fingers were trembling so she wrapped them around Mary’s wrists.

Mary’s expression relaxed with a smile. “But did you really come all the way here for me?”

Jo nodded. “Yes. That was so stupid. I know.”

Mary let out a faint laugh. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say what for, but Jo already knew. Even though Mary had made a lot of mistakes in the past, Jo believed she wasn’t a bad person. Bad people wouldn’t feel guilty for being bad.

“You are not going to die. I won’t allow it,” Jo said, bringing her forehead to Mary’s.

They both closed their eyes and stood in silence until came Y/N’s voice from the entrance, “It’s time to go, Josephine.”

Jo pulled back, her heart heavy. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered.

Mary offered another reassuring smile. “Take care of–”

Not caring what Mary had to say, Jo interrupted her with a passionate kiss, both hands cupping her face. She could tell Mary was in shock at first, then she started kissing back as if it would be their firstand last one. That was the best and worst part.

They broke apart, faces flushed both breathless. “I’ll see you later,” Jo said. Mary squinted her eyes, perhaps wondering why ‘later’ and not ‘goodbye’. Before she could come up with what to say, Jo had already walked out.

The thick mist had begun to burn away.

Y/N was already sweating.

This was happening.

Her whole life had come down to this one moment. Different people were born for different fates. She could not believe this day would decide hers.

With nerves and exertion, she’d riden Thunder here and there to rally and settle and encourage her army before joining the first line of soldiers. On her right was Harry. Lance on her left. There was no sound but the horses’ snorting breaths.

Suddenly, there was a single long blast of trumpet from the distance, and Y/N shifted her attention to the great swampy field. Mist still lay in patches between the two sides, but now the enemies could be seen.

Her heart sank.

There were so many. Their line stretched out as far as she could see; the snorting of their horses was like a rumble from afar. Clouds massed in the north. The first drops of rain started coming down.

Lance, at her side, surveying them, said, “This will be your first battle, Y/N. Do not make it your last.”

Y/N made no answer. In her head, she was praying for them all.

Tension lay thick in the air. In a moment, the mist was gone. The battle was about to begin. A hundred thousand men were about to start killing each other.

Lance let out a shaken breath.

Harry sighed, as though in the most profound grief.

Y/N stood straight, her father’s sword in her hand. She kissed it and lifted it to heaven. “The Gods are on our side!” she called to her men. “To victory! Ride!” And then the men of the North started charging, all screaming in the name of their Queen.

A shout came from the enemy. Y/N leaned forward as Thunder raced across the open field. On either side, the armies were rushing up. Rain was getting heavier, but Y/N wasn’t worried. A disadvantage to one side was a disadvantage to the other.

Thunder and Lightning, light on their feet, cut through the battle faster, but the enemies were closer and it was a race between them. Ears flat to his head, Thunder dodged and sprang and galloped. Isolde’s horses were sturdy beasts, used to running on all surfaces, so the muddy ground didn’t sway them. Wind and rainwater blew into Y/N’s face, almost blinding her, but still she rode with determination. Men everywhere, fighting. Arrows flying from all sides. Harry was riding knee to knee with Y/N, keeping arrows from her while she was doing the same for him.

“The line is wavering,” he said. “We’re going to have to–”

Suddenly, she heard Lance’s voice roaring out over the clash of armies. “Fall back!” he cried.

“Where is he?” asked Y/N in distress. She could hardly see through the rain and mist and the thrash of fighting men. Finally, she spotted Lance, still mounted, dressed in black armour, his sword in his hand. Whooping, he ran a man through, used his white horse’s weight to boost another man out of his saddle. There was blood on his cheek, his arm, his saddle, and the neck of his mare. “Fall back!”

The enemy was advancing. Arrows flew all around. One grazed Y/N’s arm but she barely felt it. “Y/N!” snapped Lance. He looked angry that no one was with her. Harry was busy taking down two Theros soldiers coming at him with spears.

“Protect Her Majesty!” he shouted at the Isolde guards nearby. “All this for nothing if she dies–”

And then Lance’s horse was level with her horse, rearing, forcing another attacker back. His face changed as he leaned over and seized her arm, not minding of her wounds or his. “Where’s Jo? Is she safe?” he asked.

“Yes,” Y/N said. Battle had numbed her.

Lance showed no emotion. Y/N knew he was feeling all sorts of things yet battle had numbed him as it’d done her. He turned to his men again. “Fall back! Join the second line, bring them up!”

It was then that Y/N realised her men were breaking, fleeing, hiding in the second line of battle, which was wavering badly. And Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Lance said, turning to her suddenly, “I haven’t seen Calanthe.”

“I’ll go find her,” she said. “Don’t let Harry die.”

Lance only nodded, turned his horse to keep up with Harry. Y/N’s heart ached when she saw Harry fighting on Lightning’s back. There was mud on his face and blood. A long scratch married the neck of his mare. She pushed away the intention to help him. Lance would do that. She had to do her part.

Quickly, she turned Thunder and cut through the advancing line of enemy in search of Calanthe. Rain was beating down on them. Y/N’s nose was full of the smell of earth and rot and dried blood. The whole scene was illuminated luridly by a flash of lightning.

She found Calanthe standing on a rise, safe and sound, watching the battlefield like a spectator of a show. Vossler was standing by her side, amused by the death of the enemy and his own people. Y/N was charging toward them when a man on a tall red horse rode out to stop her. Suddenly came a black shadow on a white horse riding knee to knee with her.

“What are you doing?” she shouted at Lance. He did not speak. Y/N felt her heartbeat strangling-fast in her throat.

The man didn’t slow down, probably thinking he could take down both of them. His horse threw great arcs of mud with each stride as he dipped in the last moment to catch Y/N in the breastbone. Her blade deflected the full force of the blow. Her sword came down with a clang on his spear.

Then came another Theros soldier, and Lance was too busy fighting him off to help Y/N. She could not help but worry for Lance. Where was he? She could hear the ringing of their swords despite being in the middle of chaos. She tried to locate him, but was unable to do that while wheeling her horse and striking and feinting this man who was keeping her from coming for Calanthe and Vossler. She had blood on her face and she could taste it. Not sure whose blood it was.

Suddenly, Lance cried out. Y/N’s heart was in her throat, but she couldn’t help him. Nor would she. She’d promised him that she would mind her own business. He would be fine. He’d promised.

The flying dirt stung her face as she parried another thrust and scored a strike along the man’s ribs, cutting him open. Blood splashed as he was thrown off the saddle. Even from the distance, Y/N could make out the frightened look on Calanthe’s pale face. Meanwhile, Vossler showed no emotion as he studied Y/N’s every move. A corner of his thin mouth lifted. He was smiling.

Y/N turned her head to another cry, this time, finding Lance on the muddy ground. He had fallen off his horse.

No!

She raced towards him.

He was too near yet too far.

There were bodies lying in the way. She could not get there fast enough. She felt a spark of hope as he pushed himself up.

Yes, Lance, stand up.

He stood straight, gripping his bloody sword. She saw him look around as though to call for his horse.

Except that he didn’t.

And that was when Y/N saw it. A blade going right through his black armour.

“No!”

Lance turned as though he could hear her. He fell to his knees. Y/N screamed. She did not know such a sound was in her. She had stopped thinking of victory. The world was silent for that one second and all she could hear was her violent heartbeats and the heart-wrenching scream of his name. She kicked Thunder into a gallop and jumped right off the stallion’s back into the mud. The man who’d wounded Lance was dead, facedown in the black water. Y/N had no thought to spare for him. Her throat closed in when she watched Lance, still kneeling, shake violently as the blood spilled from his lips.

She caught him right before he fell back. He looked up, his eyelids fluttered. “Y/N.”

“Shh,” she told him, holding him to her chest. “Don’t talk.”

“I am sorry. I meant to live. I did.”

“You’re going to live. Get on the horse,” Y/N said through the tears as Thunder silently knelt in the mud, shielding her from harm. The ground shook from the thunder of two armies, but Y/N felt like there were just them in this moment. Lance could not sit upright but slumped deadweight. Nobody was coming for her. They didn’t want to kill her now even though they could. They wanted her to suffer, just not simply in the way she’d imagined. She could feel Vossler watching with his satisfactory smirk. He knew he was winning.

Trying to control her voice, she said, “We’ll take you to the lake. We’ll take you to the lake. It’ll heal you.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re going to be okay. It’s just a tiny wound.”

Lance chuckled slightly, then came the smirk that she used to hate as he shook his head. “This is not a fairytale, Y/N. Guard this land. Win.”

She stared at him. Wild thoughts darted through her brain.

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered and lifted his hand to graze his thumb across her cheek.

“Promise?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Promise,” he said and smiled suddenly.

She nodded, unable to speak. She knew her face was crumbling as she embraced him and felt him slipping away in her arms. She did not know how long she wept while the battle raged on. The sound only flooded back in when she felt a presence behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Harry.

He slid from the back of his horse and gazed down at her. She had no words for him, and he knew that gentle speech or a soft touch would have shattered her so he offered neither. He reached out a hand, still smeared with blood and his own. She grabbed it and got to her feet, tumbled back, and bowed over Lance's unmarked body. Her soul was now full of restless violence. She could not bring Lance back. But the thing they had both wanted, she could do.

“Where’s Vossler?” Y/N asked, fuming with rage. Vossler and Calanthe weren’t standing on the rise anymore. They’d either escaped or joined the army. Y/N doubted it was the latter.

“Doesn’t matter. We must win this battle first,” Harry said. All around the wind shrieked. The cry of a storm. They mounted their horses together and wheeled and galloped back to the battle.

Hour by bloody hour, and Y/N did not know how long it had been. Hours? Days?

It was only when a voice shook her that she was brought back to herself. “Peach,” Harry said. “It is over. They are fleeing.”

It seemed as though a haze fell from Y/N’s sight. She looked around and all around she saw only her own men.

Lance, we won.

The wind had dropped. Steadily, snow began to fall.

Snow? At the border?

How?

Not only Y/N, but every standing soldier was looking up, appalled by the scanty flakes drifting down from the sky. A chill wind raced through the field as the falling snow, slowly, thickly, silently, covered dead enemies and dead friends alike.

The cold that touched Y/N’s cheek caused her to flinch. She turned to Harry. “Where’s Vossler and Calanthe?”

Harry couldn’t answer.

A guard rushed up to them on his horse. “The Monks and the Theros Queen are heading to our camps, Your Majesty.”

“Mary,” Y/N said. “They want the witch.”

But why?

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles imagines

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ofcowardiceandkings · 3 years ago

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Can I get you to infodump about the danelaw because I literally only know about it from crusader kings 3 and much as I love paradox idk how well history gets distilled into a management game

Kthx have a good day

this took me so long to get to APOLOGIES

i've kind of cherry-picked important and interesting bits without writing a whole book or something so here goes lol

first off its important to note that the Danelaw in and of itself was a VERY brief spit of time which was also constantly in flux !! it lasted less than 100 years sandwiched between the start of the Norse invasions and the ousting of a king (and his death), then it was only another 100 years until the Norman invasion, it was a Wild time

ALSO i'll mention too that the term "Danelaw" was probably not a contemporary term. It's first recorded mention as Dena lage in the 11th century, over 50 years after what's now considered the Danelaw had dissolved. It's a term used to distinguish the self-governed Norse-held areas of Britain from those under West Saxon or Mercian law, literally The Danish Law and wasn't used to describe the geographic area until a little later.

It's also worth mentioning that while certain parts of the Danelaw were maintained as kingdoms or client kingdoms of some form (namely the Kingdoms of York and East Anglia), a whole lot of what was part of Mercia or Essex was left to its own devices under Jarldoms of the larger towns (boroughs/burhs). What was called The Five Boroughs of the Danelaw were a very important area in their own right, constituting a strong alliance between the Jarldoms of Derby, Leicester, Lincoln, Nottingham and Stamford. The area south of there was also under various Jarldoms (like Cambridge and Northampton) but they weren't as influential or closely knit as the Five. Technically speaking, the Danelaw is considered a Confederacy under the Kingdom of Denmark, but even aside from the existing peoples, the Norse people living there weren't all from Denmark by any stretch. After it's reunification under Alfred, the whole of England did become part of the Kingdom of Norway for a while under Cnut the Great, before his death split the various territories again, though England was still under Scandinavian influence of some degree all the way up to the Norman Conquest.

one of the more interesting things about the whole affair is that the culture and languages of the Scandinavian Norse and Anglo-Saxons were actually very similar as they had come from the same core groups of people not too long before. the speech was mutually intelligible at a basic level, both parties used a form of the Younger Futhark in some part, a lot of cultural concepts were the same. Aside from the Norse being an outside force, the only big difference was religion. The Saxon kingdoms had been entirely Christian for at least 100 years, despite the Saxons themselves being an interrupting force in the spread of Christianity through Britain even from during late Roman occupation.

Probably the EASIEST thing that made it all compatible other than the language was the similarity between the legal systems of the territories. For example the concept of compensatory damages existed in both places (weregild, literally man-gold), the Norse land division wapentake was more or less interchangeable with the Anglo-Saxon hundred, and so on. A lot of vague traditions held by Saxon peoples were continued in their own fashion, and other than the obvious upheavals of new rulers and raiding parties, not much else actually changed. The descendants of the united Scandinavian armies also made it a relatively peaceful area considering the remaining Anglo-Saxon kingdoms regarded them as squatters, but their closer shared culture and remaining unity actually made it pretty easy for the loose alliances of the Danelaw to stand up to the Anglo-Saxon pushback until it was mostly just Wessex left, with King Alfred in hiding somewhere in the Somerset marshes. It's really quite astounding Alfred bounced back to unify England at all after that on the face of it.

the geographic spread is also an interesting thing ! the first recorded Viking raid is in 793 at Lindisfarne monastery off the coast of modern Northumberland (VERY north) but the first recorded wintering of Norse peoples intending to stay long-term was actually in East Anglia (VERY south). What the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles called "The Great Heathen Army" marched the length of England to go and take advantage of a civil war happening back in Northumbria, where they captured and sacked York (Angle: Eoforwic, Norse: Jórvík) in 865. This established the START of the Danelaw as its usually measured, which spanned from 865 to 954.

It actually took only 10 years from the sacking of York for most of the Danelaw to become the Danelaw as most of its maps depict at its maximum, and for Alfred of Wessex to make peace with yet another settled Norse group in Dorset. Also! its worth noting that Alfred only became the king of Wessex after his brother Æthelred died in 871, well after the Dane forces had already taken hold of the Kingdom of York, the Kingdom of East Anglia, and a significant chunk of Mercia. He was of course already involved in the affairs but he did get chucked in at the deep end lol

Part of the peace keeping the re-established Kingdom of Wessex under Alfred and the Danelaw at large under fairly steady and peaceful borders for its more stable periods (definitely a relative term) from 878 , was down to Guthram and Alfred's agreements. After Alfred came out of his hiding in exile with an army, and forced the Danes to surrender, Guthram agreed to be baptised with Alfred as his godfather, and also agreed to go back to his Kingdom in East Anglia. In 884 Guthram made a run of it again and attempted to take Kent, but in being unsuccessful he signed the Treaty of Alfred and Guthrum, which basically established the formal border of the Danelaw and let them self-rule if they did keep to themselves. It wasn't until 902 that shenanigans started happening again, but considering how generally tumultuous the entire period was, just shy of 20 years of formalised peace wasn't bad going.

Eiríkr Haraldsson (or Eric Bloodaxe) was a pretty obscure guy for a lot of his life considering he was definitely Norwegian nobility. It's thought he may have been King of Norway for a short time, and maybe Northumbria twice over - though definitely for the second time when he was ousted from Northumbria - which essentially brought the end of the Danelaw proper. He's mentioned in a LOT of texts (Egils / Orkney / Icelandic / Norwegian sagas, Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. potentially Historia Norwegiæ, Annals of the Four Masters, Annals of Clonmacnoise), but he's still a bit of a vague figure somehow. He's noted as being a son of Harald, and the Icelandic and Norwegian version of events is that he was one of Harald Fairhair's many sons, although some people think he may have been the son of Harald Bluetooth. He DID definitely exist though, the last Norse minted coins in York are stamped with his name. Norse Northumbria and York was very strongly tied to the Norse Kingdom of Dublin (which lasted a LONG time by comparison), but upon his being removed in 954 the hope of the lands becoming a two-part kingdom fell apart.

The end of the Viking Era itself is often cited as being the defeat of King Harald (Hardrada) Sigurdsson of Norway at the Battle of Stamford Bridge in 1066. He had landed hoping to retake York and the English crown as a whole with the help of King Harald Godwinson's brother Tostig, but the English forces managed to stop them. This actually probably helped out William the Conqueror (also of Norse decendant, Norseman - Norman) efforts less than a month later to take England, since the English armies had already dealt with the same thing and were mostly in the north away from the attacking forces from Normandy. Under William's Norman rule there were a few more attempts by other Scandinavian rulers to retake or at least plunder York, but the efforts never went very far. The last serious raids on England from Scandinavia came from Eystein II of Norway, who took advantage of The Anarchy (a civil war in Norman territories over a succession crisis between 1135 and 1153) to plunder the East Coast.

OKAY i'll stop waffling now but here we go jfkddfjdk

i hope this was interesting enough and something like what you were after instead of just some word puke gjfkdkjfd !!!

#meraxes-of-new-albion #asks #long post #history #rory's ramblings

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reinerispretty · 4 years ago

Text

rotations. bonus!AU (sokka x f!reader)

sokka and rotations y/n being star crossed lovers request!?!?! i saw how u answered that ask abt if zuko and suki both werent in the picture and... i am 👀

do you think you could do a rotations au where y/n ends up with sokka 🥺 the babysitting story killllllled me (i read rotations in an all nighter i LOVED IT 💕💕💕)

HI and thank you to those of you who requested this!! i want to preface that this is NOT canon in the rotations universe (if that’s a thing lmao), it’s just a fun what if that i am writing :) but this is not canon for my fanfic!! i just feel the need to reiterate that lmao

(Y/N) had been no stranger to nightmares throughout her life. Haunting images of ghosts and monsters plagued her occasionally but usually faded away with time. They would wake her in the middle of the night with a start and beating heart, but she would find her way back to sleep eventually.

When (Y/N) opened her eyes, she found her reality to be the nightmare. She turned over in bed and stared at the empty space, perfectly untouched. She shut her eyes tightly and lay there for a few minutes, trying her hardest to suppress the tears that threatened to spill onto her pillowcase.

The door to her bedroom creaked open and her daughter, Izumi, poked her head into the room. She was nine now, the same age that (Y/N) had been when she had met Zuko, and had a hard time comprehending what was going on.

(Y/N) sat up quickly, painting a smile on her face for her daughter. “Good morning, little petal,” She said, outstretching her arms. Izumi padded quickly to her bedside, lifting herself onto her bed and fitting into (Y/N’s) lap. Her head rested against her chest and she could feel her mother’s heartbeat.

“I dreamed about him again,” Izumi whispered quietly. (Y/N) gripped her daughter tightly, pressing her lips onto the crown of her dark head.

“What was he doing?” (Y/N) asked.

“He smiled at me,” Izumi said. “He said he missed us.” (Y/N) held in the sob that threatened to wrack her body. She wanted, no needed, to be strong for Izumi. (Y/N) was all she had left.

Izumi turned, sitting up to face her mother. “You can cry, Mommy. Daddy said it’s okay to cry.”

(Y/N) felt all of her resolve break. In an instant, it was Izumi holding her mother and (Y/N) sobbed into her daughter’s hair. She held Izumi so tight because she feared if she let go, she would fade away. Their daughter was the only piece of Zuko that she had left. She had his dark hair and amber eyes. Every facial expression she made was a near copy of her father’s. It made (Y/N) feel horrible to admit it, but sometimes she couldn’t look at her own daughter.

When (Y/N) had started to calm down, Izumi sat up. Her own tears streaked down her face. (Y/N) wiped them away with her thumbs and kissed both of her cheeks. Izumi did the same to her. “I miss him a lot,” Izumi said, her bottom lip wobbling. (Y/N) hugged her daughter once more.

“Me too,” She said. (Y/N) sniffled and wiped away more tears. “We have to get ready for today. The servants should have placed a white dress in your closet.”

“I don’t want to wear it,” Izumi sighed. (Y/N) gulped.

“I don’t either,” She said. “But it’s the best way to honor your father.” Izumi nodded and hopped off of the bed, walking out of the bedroom and returning to her room. Slowly, (Y/N) slid out of bed and moved over to the window. The sun still rose and the birds still sang in the trees. She wondered how life could continue when something so horrible had happened.

The servants helped her get ready that morning. They fastened her into her white dress and started braiding her hair until she had ordered them not to. Zuko had told her once that he liked it when it was down. “It’s wild like you,” He had said with a smile on his face. (Y/N) could feel the pain stab her in the heart whenever she thought of him.

Once dressed, she left the room and walked down the Hall of Fire Lords. At the very end was Zuko’s portrait. His eyes were kind, his lips painted with just a lilt of a smile to them. (Y/N) reached out and touched the fabric, holding her palm to it before continuing down the hallway.

When she reached the dining room, her friends were sat around the table, entertaining Izumi. She sat in Katara’s lap as Aang amazed her with his airbending. (Y/N) felt a genuine smile raise to her lips for the first time in days.

Sokka was the first one to notice her. He was at her side almost immediately, taking her hands in his. His blue eyes stared into her soul.

“Don’t hug me,” She whispered to him. “I might break down.” Sokka smiled sadly and walked her over to the dining table. Numbly, she sat at her regular seat, to the right of Zuko’s chair at the head of the table. She chewed the food that the servants had prepared for her, but she couldn’t taste it. She avoided to fruit tarts at all costs.

“How was your trip?” She asked, directing the question to all of her friends.

“Pretty good,” Toph said. She hadn’t even sat with her feet propped on the table like she normally would. (Y/N) sat her chopsticks down and wiped her mouth, turning to Izumi.

“Would you please feed the turtle ducks this morning? They must be wondering where we are.” Izumi pouted and opened her mouth to argue with her mother, but Aang grabbed her by the hand.

“I’ll go with you,” He said. (Y/N) flashed him a thankful smile as he led Izumi out of the room.

“You all don’t have to pretend like there’s nothing wrong,” (Y/N) assured her friends as she stared down at her plate. “I’m not fragile.”

“We know,” Katara assured her, resting a hand on hers. “This is...this is hard for all of us. But we want you to know that you don’t have to be strong right now.”

(Y/N) opened and clenched her fist around the sleeves of her dress. The feeling was the only thing grounding her to reality. She laughed bitterly. “I haven’t stopped crying for days,” She admitted. “Izumi wiped away my tears this morning. I haven’t been strong at all.”

“You have,” Sokka whispered. “You’re the strongest person I know.” She turned to look at him. It had barely been a year since he had lost Suki. It had been during a battle and she had died fighting. If anyone knew what she was going through, it would be Sokka.

“I don’t know if I can do it without him,” (Y/N) whispered, her eyes watering once more. She didn’t even know what ‘it’ was, but as far as she cared it could be everything. Zuko had been at her side since she was a child. Everything she had ever done, she had done with him.

��You don’t have to,” Toph reassured her. “You have us to help.”

The funeral was long. (Y/N) stood by Zuko’s coffin with her head raised regally, Izumi at her side. If she couldn’t stay strong behind closed doors, she would definitely stay strong for the people of the Fire Nation. She watched as the people in attendance weeped for the death of their Fire Lord. Barely any of them had known Zuko personally, but it warmed her heart the tiniest bit to think he could have positively impacted them in any way.

At the end of the funeral, (Y/N) kneeled to the ground. The Fire Sages crowned her Fire Lord until Izumi came of age. They placed the very same crown that Zuko had worn in her hair and she had to squeeze her hands together to prevent them from shaking.

Her friends stayed with her for a few days after the funeral, but one by one, eventually they were called away. Toph was the first to leave, having to run her earthbending academy. Aang left shortly after on an important Avatar mission. (Y/N) could tell that Katara missed him, so she assured her friend that she would be fine and that she should be with him.

“Take it from me,” (Y/N) said sadly. “You’ll want to spend every moment you can with him.”

The only one that remained was Sokka. He read to Izumi every night before she slept and kept her company while (Y/N) attended Fire Lord meetings. He ate every meal with them and while (Y/N) enjoyed his presence, she worried that he was neglecting his duties by being with them. She expressed this to him one night, after Izumi had gone to bed.

“I’m not missing anything the Water Tribe can’t handle by themselves,” He admitted. “I get the occasional messenger hawk, but I always reply back as quickly as possible.” He had grabbed her hand and given it a tight squeeze. “I’m not going to leave you anytime soon.”

His room was the guest room down the hall from hers. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, (Y/N) would wake up sobbing hysterically. She rarely dreamed but when she did, they were always of Zuko. She dreamt that he was laying next to her, or that he had disappeared in the palace, but she always found him again. He would take her into his arms, laughing happily, and always he would say, “Do you know how much I love you?”

That was the moment (Y/N) would wake up, her sobs wracking her throat and shaking her body. Tears would stream down her face faster than she could wipe them away. Sokka would then enter her room, half asleep, and hold her as she cried. She’d try to explain to him what had happened in her dream, but no words what come out. He never pressured her to answer. He would stroke her hair to soothe her and rub his fingers up and down her back. Eventually, she would fall asleep from pure exhaustion, and when she had woken up again, he would be gone.

Sokka spent months at the royal palace with (Y/N) and Izumi. He was definitely lying to (Y/N) when he had told her he wasn’t missing much from the Water Tribe, but there was no way he would leave her side. Even if he put his feelings for her aside, (Y/N) had been a constant in Sokka’s life when he had lost Suki. She had traveled to the Water Tribe in the dead of winter to offer her condolences from her family. The least he could do was remind her that she wasn’t completely alone in the world.

It hurt him, knowing she was hurting this much. She had loved Zuko with her whole heart, and Sokka had known that. That’s why he had broken up with her so many years ago. He had seen the longing glances they had given each other over the months she had joined their team. He hadn’t felt right in standing between what was meant to be. But while he hadn’t known then, Sokka certainly knew now that he loved (Y/N) with his entire being. He had for a long time and just hadn’t realized it. And he would take this secret with him to the grave.

(Y/N) stood on the balcony of her bedroom late in the night. The moon was full and cast a bright light down onto the turtle duck pond below her. Sometimes, (Y/N) found it was better for her not to sleep. She knew “better” wasn’t quite the truth, but she hadn’t had a dream about Zuko in a few nights and feared that it would happen tonight. And while she wanted to see her husband more than anything, she didn’t think she could handle waking up and realizing that he was no longer there.

She heard her door crack open and turned back to see who it was. Sokka entered her room, his eyes wide with curiosity. He smiled at her once he laid eyes on her. “Izumi’s asleep.”

“Thank you,” (Y/N) said. He joined her on the balcony. “I’m worried she’s going to start hating me for not reading to her more.”

“She could never hate you,” Sokka said. “You should hear the way she talks about you. ‘Mommy’s so strong. Did you know she’s the best firebender in the world?’“ (Y/N) laughed at Sokka’s Izumi impression. It was high pitched and sounded absolutely nothing like her daughter.

“Best firebender in the world is a stretch, I think. Aang definitely has me beat by a little bit.”

“Nah,” Sokka said, nudging her with his elbow. “You could definitely take him.”

(Y/N) chuckled, staring at her fingers as they wrapped around the railing of the balcony. “I haven’t cried at all this week,” She admitted to him. “I feel horrible.”

“Why?” Sokka asked.

“Because I feel like not crying means I’m forgetting about him,” She sighed, tilting her face up to look at the moon. “And I’m scared that I’ll forget about him.”

“You’ll never forget about Zuko,” Sokka said softly. “And I mean, it’s kind of hard to when his face is plastered all over the palace.”

(Y/N) laughed again and Sokka felt his stomach flutter with butterflies. She turned to look at him, her face softening. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done over these past few months.”

“What are friends for?” Sokka asked, but it hurt his own heart to say it. (Y/N) nodded, just the slightest bit of disappointment evident on her face.

“Sometimes it feels like he’s watching me,” (Y/N) said. “It’s like I turn around and I can almost see him there.”

“I’m sure he is watching you. You were the best part of his life.” (Y/N) blushed.

“He’s one of the best parts of mine.”

“He’d want you to try to be happy.” (Y/N) nodded.

“I know. It’s just hard. And I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“I guess I’m scared to open up again.”

“Oh. I know that feeling.” (Y/N) frowned. She felt like she had said something so insensitive to Sokka. How could she forget about Yue? About Suki?

“They’d want you to be happy, too,” She assured him.

“I am happy,” He said with a big smile.

“Really? You’re happy cooped up in a palace with a widow and her daughter?”

“Honestly, I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I love Izumi and I love you.” (Y/N’s) smile faltered at his words.

“We love you too.” Sokka shook his head.

“I love you, (Y/N), always will.”

“Sokka...”

“And I know you’re not ready and you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready. But that’s okay with me. I just enjoy being around you.”

(Y/N) grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him. Instinctively, his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. When they pulled apart, both their eyes were wide with surprise. “I don’t know if that can mean anything,” She told Sokka. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Sokka assured her. He pulled her close and hugged her. “You don’t have to know. I’ll be here regardless.”

---

Tag List!

@beifongsss @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @itsivyberry , @harryisthesunshine , @coldlilheart , @awesomelupe , @zukosvice , @tomshollandz , @lavendercrystals ,

#the s in sokka stands for simp #sokka x reader #zuko x reader #aang x reader #katara #toph #aang #sokka #zuko #azula #iroh #momo #appa #writing #the last airbender #atla #fanfiction

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ilguna · 3 years ago

Text

Berceuse - Chapter Two

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing. murder plot ?

wc; 10.1k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

It’s a good thing that Alyssum has a high pain tolerance, otherwise she’d be doing a lot more than gritting her teeth right now. The sound of the wax ripping off her skin is enough to bring tears to her eyes, even though it’s not actually taking any hair with it.

The prep team is trying to be gentle, Alyssum can tell by their movements. They’ll warn her ahead of time, tell her when they know it’s going to be particularly brutal. It wasn’t until an hour ago, did she realize that they must have worked on you when it was your Hunger Games.

It must also be why they have this look on their face, like they know Alyssum but are too afraid to bring it up. She already knows Elysia has watched her grow up, so it’s not really a surprise that these people have watched her too. Of course, Alyssum hasn’t been in the public eye for nine years, this is her first appearance in a while. It must be some form of whiplash, from seeing a toddler to a teenager.

At the beginning of the session, the prep team had taken enough time to introduce themselves and what they would be focusing on. Cleo, a blonde girl with artificial curls, focuses mainly on the smaller details; Alyssum’s nails, special effects, and clothing adjustments if they’re needed. She’s talkative but polite and curious.

Leo, the only boy with dark orange hair and freckles like stars across his cheeks, is her makeup artist. He’s got gentle fingers, and a contagious laugh. His accent is stronger than the other two’s, and he always tilts his head when he's done with a sentence. He’s managed to find a way to reshape her face so far.

And finally, there’s Beth. Naturally dark and wavy hair, pretty brown eyes. She’s the quietest, doesn’t talk unless she’s genuinely interested. She does Alyssum’s hair, scrubbing her scalp and carefully washing the soap and other products from her hair.

Alyssum can see why you like them. You don’t talk about them often, only sometimes in the boarding school, and if it’s at home, it’s always regarding parade outfits. Otherwise, it’s always in passing and never in detail.

Well, at least she can finally put a face to all the names she hears so often. It’s one thing to look forward to, to see all the people that had saved her older sister before she went into the Hunger Games. The ones that gave you a bright start and all the right pointers to help you win.

“I think we should hose her down one more time.” Cleo says, her hair is pulled up and out of her face, there’s a faint glisten of sweat across her forehead.

“And we can give her the lotion.” Beth says, giving Alyssum a reassuring smile, “Then she’ll be all done.”

Alyssum smiles back.

They took their time with the finishing touches, making sure they hadn’t missed any patches of hair, ticked everything off their list, and did any special adjustments that were required during the session. Once that’s done, and they’re sure that they’re not going to need her again, they leave to get Laurel, her stylist.

Alyssum vaguely remembers meeting Laurel, and it wasn’t during your Victory Tour when you’d won. No, she was too young to actually realize that she should be taking in her surroundings to hold to her memory. Instead, Alyssum remembers meeting Laurel during Annie’s Victory Tour, when she came to visit during the winter, at the very beginning.

She can’t seem to recall much, besides the obvious fact that Laurel was much, much taller than she was at the time. Alyssum had only been eight at the time, and back then, she was only beginning her training at the boarding school. The reality of what type of world she lives in didn’t quite set in just yet.

Alyssum ties the robe shut, per Beth’s instructions. Laurel trusts them enough to not double-check their work. Not to mention, there’s not much to go over in the first place, she’s still very young.

When the door in front of her slowly starts opening, Alyssum sits up a bit taller on the medical table she’s sitting on. It reminds her of the check ups she has every month to make sure she’s growing properly.

A tall woman with dark hair is revealed, and immediately, Alyssum knows that it’s Laurel. She can’t help herself when she gets off of the table and heads forward, arms extended for a hug.

Laurel opens only one of her arms, but squeezes Alyssum into her side tightly, a slight laugh bubbling out, “How have you been, Aly?”

“Good, if you ignore the reaping.” She smiles, allowing Laurel to direct her out of the adjacent room and into the next one.

It has a few couches, and a coffee table in the middle of them with food displayed.

“Still passing all of your classes?”

“Yes, of course. (Y/n) and Reed make it hard not to.”

Alyssum takes a seat on the couch, hands resting in her lap. It isn’t until Laurel motions to the food in front of her, does she realize that the food is for her, not for Laurel. It’s also at that moment, she remembers that she hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning, which had to have been hours ago.

With no argument, Alyssum takes only the food she recognizes, not feeling adventurous. The food last night on the train was delicious, there’s no question about it. The problem is that, in less than two hours, she’ll be in front of a large crowd who already knows her name, and her entire background. The last thing that Alyssum wants is to get sick all over the chariot.

“(Y/n) requested for me to be careful with what I dress you in.” Laurel says.

“That’s probably for the best.” she pauses between bites, “Reed likes it better if I don’t show too much skin. I think it was the same way for (Y/n).”

A knowing smile crosses her stylists’ face, “Yes, that’s why we had to change her outfit. I have something that’s a little more modest for you, too.”

“He’ll like that.” Alyssum rests her plate on her knees, “What will it be?”

“A dress, we’re going for an underwater princess theme. It’ll cover your skin in the right places, all while making you look appealing to the potential sponsors in the audience.”

“Has (Y/n) seen it?”

“Yes, she’s already approved of it.”

Alyssum lets out a hum as she nods, trying to picture it to herself. It’ll probably be blue, that’s all that District Four is known for being. A vast blue ocean with violent waves, green seaweed that traps the legs, brightly-colored coral reefs that are a sore to the eye, and endless amounts of potential outfits that come from fish, alone.

A blue dress, something breezy because it represents the wind that comes from the ocean. Likely ripped, or maybe wet to give the illusion that she’s just come out of the water, and plenty of jewelry to secure the idea that she’s a princess. This idea has been done before, there’s no doubt about it, it’s Alyssum’s turn to represent the idea.

She finishes her plate, setting it onto the table, then gives Laurel a bright smile, “When do we start?”

A couple of hours later, Alyssum is standing in front of a mirror in the dressing room. The dress she’s wearing is lopsided, with one side being shorter than the other. The short side goes to her knees, the longer going to her ankles. It’s ripped, just as she thought it would be, and layered to make the dress bigger. The fabric is soft against her skin, almost ticklish.

The top half of the dress is halter--no sleeves, the support is in the neck--it’s a little tighter in the middle, but the back is open to make up for it. And then they gave her white no-show socks for her, also white, dress flats. As for jewelry, so far the only important piece seems to be on her head, the pearl crown.

Of course, she has the whole matching set; the pearl earrings, the pearl necklace, and the pearl bracelet. None of it compares to the crown, or even the diamond ring that they managed to find in the drawers.

Her makeup is mild, most of it being rainbow highlights so that the sun rays catch her face the right way. Leo insisted on light blue eyeshadow, blush, and clear lip gloss, Cleo made sure Alyssum had blue nails. As for Beth, she decided on a simple halo braid, with white ribbon woven through. There’s a few loose hairs hanging in Alyssum’s face that were promptly curled once the braid was done. And as if the ribbons weren’t enough, Cleo tucked in a few white flowers.

It isn’t until she sees Paslee at the chariots, does she realize how severely overdressed she feels. So much jewelry, flowers, and makeup. Only for Paslee to look simple, with a suit and a crown on his brow. She does notice the matching flower tucked into the suit’s pocket.

Alyssum has half the mind to glare at you for allowing this to happen. She understands that the stylists’ all have a vision, and in order to stay as a stylist, they need to go above and beyond. She just thinks it’s ridiculous, and embarrassing that she looks like a walking mannequin.

Until she takes a look around her, and realizes that she’s not the only one. She’s far from being the only girl overdressed next to their male counterparts. District One is dressed in glitter, District Two is a little more naked this year, and it’s all the same for the districts to her right.

“It looks like you’re going to get most of the attention.” Paslee says, nudging Alyssum’s arm with his elbow. He gives her a grin, trying to be polite and calm her nerves.

She doesn’t know how he’s so at ease. Everyone back home is going to see them two, everyone from the boarding school will be taking pointers on how to or not to act. It doesn’t matter if they fail or succeed, the two of them will both be examples. Their mistakes picked apart and shamed by the other victors, by the future victors.

And her brothers, and family friends, who have seen you go through this exact same situation, will be seeing all the differences and similarities. Practically experts all by themselves since they experienced it second-hand. Affected, but not directly.

Still, Alyssum manages to muster a smile to give back to Paslee, “I’ll try and save some for you.”

Paslee laughs, not minding the fact that he’s drawing attention. As soon as you and Finnick approach, dressed formally in your own ways, business begins. Laurel circles Alyssum, trying to catch any last-minute mistakes, picking at areas in the dress she realizes she doesn’t like, and tucking any fabric that needs to get out of the way.

When it comes to Pleurisy and Paslee, he just has a few curls out of place, and they fix the flower in his pocket by safely-pinning it so it doesn’t move anymore. Other than that, his shoes are still shined, and he knows better than to make any big movements in the suit, afraid that it’ll rip.

“Okay,” you breathe, “You two already know that there are cameras, so be wary of any facial expressions.”

Alyssum nods.

“Everything will come to you naturally, so don’t worry about doing the wrong or right thing.” Finnick smiles, “Just remember that whatever you do today, will be your personality for the rest of the week.”

Paslee stands a bit taller, “What about the arena?”

“Facades don’t last very long,” you say, “Remember when I showed you my games? Or what about Johanna’s?”

It dawns on him, “Wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“Exactly.”

The anthem begins, silencing any other thoughts. The large doors slide open, allowing light to fill the hall they stand in, revealing them to the crowded streets. This is when Laurel and Pleurisy jump into action, forcing Alyssum and Paslee onto the chariot just as District One begins to move out.

“Turn inwards a bit!” You shout over the roar, hoping they hear it.

Alyssum turns her body so that she’s more towards Paslee, than the crowd. She takes in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds while she feels her heart beat in her chest. When she breathes again, she feels slightly more relaxed, trying to ignore the impending doom feeling that’s stuck in the back of her mind.

The chariot begins moving, leaving her worries behind her. There’s no time to focus on the wobbliness of her knees, or the dryness of her mouth. She tries to suppress the smile sneaking onto her face, but the moment cheers erupt into screams, she can’t help it anymore.

Alyssum is your little sister, she has a big name to live up to. She may only be twelve, but there’s a whole list of people that are expecting great things, inside and outside of the arena. Forget everyone else here, Alyssum is underneath a microscope.

She lifts her hand and waves to the crowd of people on her left, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. How many of them were your sponsors? Will they sponsor her? Do any of them actually like her?

Then she hears her name screamed, head whipping in the direction, eyes searching to see a woman dressed in red. The woman hurls a blue rose at Alyssum, making her jerk to the side to catch it in time. Thankfully, all thorns have been removed from the stem, otherwise there’s no doubt that she’d be bleeding.

With the flower in hand, Alyssum holds it up for the woman to see, breaks a good portion of the stem, and then tucks it into her hair. Just as she moves on, more gifts are being thrown at her. Paslee, who’s begun to notice, can’t help but to laugh with her. It’s all so ridiculous.

Alyssum opens her mouth, leaning over to talk to Paslee, when the crowd explodes behind them. She thought that they’d been loud for her, but there’s another district that seems to have captured attention.

Paslee says something, she doesn’t catch it. Her eyes flicker upwards, looking to find some sort of indication on what’s going on. Should she be panicking or upset? All she knows is that she can’t turn around to look. It’ll just take the attention away from her, and redirect it to the other district.

She sees it on a television screen above her. Her smile slowly fades, she nudges Paslee with her elbow to get his attention. He follows her gaze, and soon, he’s no longer smiling either.

District Twelve is on fire.

Both of them, the girl and the boy, are on fire. They’re dressed in neck-to-ankle black, complete with a cape. They’re so bright, it makes the career districts forgettable. Alyssum tries not to be mad, making a genuine effort to convince herself that she should be happy for District Twelve, they’ve actually become memorable for once.

She can’t keep the thought process going on for long, though. The Hunger Games is a competition, tributes are posed against each other from the start. Those sponsors that could’ve been hers, are now possibly theirs.

District One’s chariot begins to enter the City Circle, signifying that the parade is already halfway over. All that’s left is the president’s speech, and then they’ll be on their way back to the hall that they came from in the Tribute Center.

Knowing that there’s going to be more cameras, Alyssum fixes her stance so that she’s standing taller again, forcing the smile to come back to her face. She can still hear the cheering and clapping behind her, the Capitol isn’t done with getting their fill of the Twelve tributes.

Each of the twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle, on the buildings nearby, Alyssum can see that every window is packed. With how close they are to the president’s mansion, it just means that these people are the most expensive. They are the ones that Alyssum should be wanting to sponsor her.

Since District Four’s chariot is already stopped, and now they’re just waiting for the others to come to a halt behind them, Alyssum looks up to the windows and gives a slight wave. Nothing hurts right now, anything she doesn’t do could set her up for failure. If she does too much, then it’s the same thing.

With the music ending flourishly, she redirects her attention to the balcony, where President Snow has stepped on to make his appearance for the speech. He gives his traditional welcome, but Alyssum’s focused on the television screen still, watching as the camera crew does their usual stop-and-go on the tributes in the chariots. She’s happy to see that she does get a few extra seconds, probably just long enough for Caesar and Claudius to comment, before moving on to the other districts.

They stay on Twelve the longest.

When the speech is finally over, the horses bring the chariots around the circle one last time for a final look, then they bring the tributes into the Tribute Center.

The chariot barely has enough time to come to a stop before the prep teams have surrounded Alyssum and Paslee, clapping their hands and squealing out praise. Alyssum tries to kindly accept what they have to say, but her eyes are on District Twelve, wanting to see who their stylist is. Only a genius pulls something like that out of thin air, and they’re brave to do it for Twelve in the first place.

The first thing that she notices is how she’s not the only one looking. Many, many other tributes around the girl and boy from Twelve are staring, and they’re not friendly looks either. This is enough for Alyssum to decide that she doesn’t need to hop on the train of hate, the other tributes already have that handled.

Just as she goes to turn away, her eyes catch Twelve’s girl--Katniss’--eyes. And it’s in those seconds, does Alyssum realize she’s got this whole thing backwards. Yes, the Hunger Games is a competition, which is the exact reason why she should be trying to get ahead at any possible chance. Even if there’s no guarantee it works, or that it might mess up future plans, it’s worth a try.

This is why Alyssum smiles, and waves long enough for Katniss to wave back. The two of them have got a lot of spotlight on them at the moment, only for different reasons. They could always bounce back and forth, desperate for the most shining airtime, or they could become allies and use it to their advantage.

Katniss gives Alyssum a shocked smile.

A hand is placed on Alyssum’s upper back, drawing her from the interaction she was having. When she looks over, she can see that it’s you, and you’re giving a curious look to where Alyssum was just staring.

“Ready to go?” you ask, once you don’t see anything.

“Yeah.” She beams.

Together, in a group, they all move to take an elevator up to their floor. On the way over, Paslee and Alyssum take a look at the careers while they can, since this is their preview to the training rooms. Of course, they saw them on television, but it’s nothing compared to seeing them in the flesh.

And from what Alyssum gathers in less than a minute, the most threatening district in their career group is going to be District Two. Just like she had figured yesterday, when she saw the reaping recaps. The girl is short but bulky, and the boy is average and strong. He’s been training his entire life, Alyssum knows it.

Elysia calls for the elevator, and holds the door so that everyone can go inside, with the exception of the stylists and prep teams. Elysia presses the button that will lead them to District Four’s apartment, in the meantime, Alyssum stares through the glass walls and watches as the ground gets further away from her.

This is her first--and probably last--time in an elevator.

In the apartment, Paslee and Alyssum suddenly have free reign until dinner. Elysia shows them their rooms again, and they’re bigger than the ones on the train. Alyssum figures that she may as well shower, not really wanting to stay in her costume until dinnertime.

She hums to herself as she picks out a comfortable evening outfit, jeans and a shirt, and gently picks up the shoes to lay by the door. The shower in the Capitol is much more complicated than the one on the train. She sets everything down on the counter, and messes with the control panel on the shower until it turns on, and it’s a respectable temperature.

The makeup runs straight down the drain, easily forgettable. She doesn’t need to wash her hair again, it’s been done plenty of times today already, so she just keeps it in the braid. The most she does is take out the flowers and toss them in a nearby trash can in the bathroom. After that, she’s left to scrub dirt and sweat from her skin, thinking how it’s such a waste of time to spend hours preparing her for just one chariot ride that doesn’t even last thirty minutes.

Just as Alyssum’s finished getting dressed, Elysia is knocking on the door to let her know that dinner’s ready. She slips on the shoes that she set beside the door, and then heads out of the room.

The first thing that Alyssum notices is how the stylists are here, which means they must be joining supper. It’s perfect, actually, because Alyssum has a question about District Twelve’s stylist, not really over how they gave Katniss and her tribute mate such a big debut.

You’re sitting at the table with Finnick, Laurel and Pleurisy, the four of you being engrossed in conversation. Elysia is nowhere to be seen, presumably retrieving Paslee. Alyssum almost feels like she’s intruding on the moment, until you’re motioning her over to join.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, giving her a side hug.

She smiles slightly, shrugging, “Good? I don’t know.”

“You’re not nervous or anything?”

Alyssum pauses long enough to realize what you’re implying. It isn’t about what she’s feeling at the moment, it’s any worries that might have come up from this morning to now. For example, the tribute parade.

“Oh, well,” Alyssum moves around the table to take an empty seat near to you, “I just wanted to know if Twelve’s stylist was new, since it’s a different approach to the district, instead of the usual coal miner stuff.”

Finnick nods, a smug look on his face when he looks at you, “I told you.”

You briefly glare, “I said I wasn’t sure because I saw her waving to the tributes, I never said you were wrong.”

“Your tone of voice did.”

“That’s--” you start.

“--not the point.” Laurel finishes smoothly, looking over Alyssum carefully, “And you’re smart for picking that up, because he is new.”

“Should we be worried about the interviews?” Paslee asks, coming down the steps with Elysia. He’s also changed into something more comfortable, taking a seat next to Alyssum.

“It’s all about personality and becoming memorable, as always.” Elysia tries.

“That’s not what I meant,” Paslee shakes his head, “I meant outfit-wise. If he pulled that out of nowhere, then what else will he be able to pull?”

If Alyssum was worried about Paslee not picking up on things earlier, she isn’t anymore. She knows that he’s older than her and all, but sometimes people skip over the small details because they don’t think it’s important.

“We’re going to try and find a way to make you guys pop too,” Pleurisy says, “We just have to change the outfits that we had originally laid out.”

“That’s comforting.” Paslee mutters, it’s hardly audible, and it looks like the others didn’t pick it up, with the exception of Alyssum.

It’s silent in the room for a long moment, allowing the tension to settle in further. Alyssum knows that all the outfits are supposed to be the stylists idea, which is the exact reason why they have so many outfits planned for the future. In a situation like this, though, planning ahead does nothing but screw you over.

Well, Pleurisy did just say they have to change the original outfits, anyway. It doesn’t hurt to try and throw out some ideas.

“What if the outfits changed pictures?” Alyssum asks Laurel.

She sits up taller, “What do you mean?”

“Um… well, like an optical illusion but if I moved my body, the scenery on the dress would change to something else because of how I was standing.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Alyssum begins to doubt the idea, maybe it wasn’t smart after all.

“Oh,” Elysia says, “Oh, I get it, like those Valentines cards that kids hand out in school.”

Laurel shifts her attention to her, “Is that what she means?”

“People hand out cards?” Paslee asks.

“It must be a Capitol thing.” Finnick tells him.

The light goes off in Pleurisy’s head too, “Lenticular! It’s called lenticular, I was just talking to Esmeray about it.”

“Do you think it’s possible to pull off?” Laurel asks, “Besides the materials, I think we could order it all tonight.”

Pleurisy is nodding quickly, “Yes, we just need to figure out the pictures--”

Paslee pats Alyssum on the back, “Quick thinking.”

Alyssum smiles, “Thank me later.”

Dinner kicks off after that, the Avoxes serving the meals one at a time. It’s just like how it was on the train, starting lightly with savory soups, and slowly moving into more of the heavier, more filling, foods. About halfway through, Alyssum decides that she’s full and would like to give her stomach time to settle before continuing.

The conversation keeps on the interview outfits for a while, Laurel and Pleurisy allow everyone to chime in and ask questions. Every now and then, they’ll actually ask for input on what the dress should look like. Like base color, where the pictures should go, what the top half of the dress should look like--it’s already decided that it should be puffed out and end above her knees.

Or with Paslee, what type of suit, if the pants should be the same material or just a plain base color. If his pictures should resemble something different or similar to Alyssum. It even goes down to the question of whether or not Alyssum and Paslee should match during the interviews, it’s common but not exactly liked by tributes.

For now, the two of them agree to it, because they haven’t found a need to say no just yet. Maybe later on, if the two of them have suddenly lost interest in an alliance and found two different groups to stick with. Alyssum has a feeling that Paslee is going to naturally drift towards the careers, which isn’t a horrible idea for him. He’s seventeen, built like the rest of them. Alyssum is still small, she’s twelve, and she’d be the youngest out of all of them.

Then again, there’s no one else to really form an alliance with. Of course, there’s always the other twelve year-old girl from Eleven, or the occasional other young tributes from the less popular distracts. That’s a whole problem by itself, though, because they’re typically not prepared for the Hunger Games, and therefore become a danger the more that time goes on.

And Alyssum can’t forget about her interaction with Katniss just a few hours ago. She’s an older sister, Alyssum saw her volunteer over the younger girl. Alyssum knows it could mean a number of things, like Katniss just wanting to protect her. But out of all the Hunger Games that Alyssum has watched, she’s never seen an older sibling volunteer over the younger one, because either way it’s a death sentence. Both of them will die.

No one is driven to volunteer that quickly just because they want to protect their younger siblings. There’s always a part of them that knows that they can win the Hunger Games. And for that exact reason alone, makes Alyssum think that Katniss can be a good ally. It’s just a matter of getting close enough to see what she knows.

Also, if Katniss does end up showing promise before the Hunger Games, the last thing that Alyssum would want is to be an enemy of some kind. Even a little bit of friendship between two tributes can go a long way. She’s seen it happen before, and it typically pays off in the end. Even if that means to sacrifice certain alliances.

After dinner, the Avoxes bring around a tall cake, painted a light shade of green. When they cut it open, candy pearls spill out the middle, clattering against the glass plate. They dish out a healthy serving for everyone to have, but with how rich the cake is, Alyssum can’t get through half of it before feeling full.

Once they’re all done at the table, they move on to watch the recap of the tribute parade. Honestly, Alyssum doesn’t like having to watch it over, it just means she gets to see the Capitol freak out over Twelve again. She’s tired of talking about them, at least until tomorrow.

The good news is that Alyssum and Paslee had been the center of attention until they had come out. If there’s anything to build off of, it would be that. But she already figured that was the case.

“It’s been a big day,” you start, looking over to Paslee and Alyssum, “I’m sure you two are exhausted.” You reach over, tucking one of the loose hanging hairs out of Alyssum’s face and behind her ear. There’s a gentle smile on your lips, “Finnick and I damn near passed out after our parade.”

Finnick places his hand on your upper back, a smile beginning on his own face, “We skipped dinner entirely.”

“Rest.” your attention diverts to Paslee, “Meet us here tomorrow morning so we can help you with the training session. The first day always means the most, the two days that follow are just as important. We’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“I’ll wake you in the morning if you don’t get up yourself.” Elysia pipes, sitting up straight.

It’s clear that they’re queueing them to go, so Alyssum doesn’t argue. She looks at Laurel, “Thank you for the tribute parade. And if you see the others, can you thank them too? I appreciate them being gentle.” she turns to you and Finnick, “Goodnight, love you.”

“Love you too.” you say, Finnick’s voice echoes yours.

Just like that, Alyssum heads up the steps, leaving Paslee to say his own goodnight. She doesn’t go into her room immediately, though. She stands in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans while she waits for him to catch up. When he does, he notices her and stands on the other side of the hall to make it look like he’s gone to his room.

“Do you want to try out the career group?” She asks.

“What else do you have in mind?” Paslee asks back.

Alyssum tilts her head slightly, eyes drifting from his face when she hears you and the others start speaking to each other again, “Katniss and her friend have made a pretty good impression.”

“They’re from Twelve,” he says, tone disinterested.

“(Y/n) and Finnick were fifteen and fourteen when they won together, an occurrence that the Capitol hadn’t allowed in like--thirty years!” she brings her hands out to motion, “I’m not talking about odds here, because they’ve always been wonky with my family. I’m saying we pool sponsors together if they end up showing some promise.”

Paslee doesn’t look convinced, his face twists and he’s shaking his head still. Alyssum’s only heard stories about what happened between you and Finnick during your time in the Capitol. There’s one story you tell to all the newcomers of the boarding school to give them an idea of what it’s really like. And the big lesson that normally derives from it, is that alliances don’t last.

You and Finnick had been allies until the two of you split, you to the careers and him to a group of lesser known tributes. In a way, it worked out in the end because the two of you did end up back together. The only problem is that’s not always the case.

While Alyssum was watching the tribute parade, she noticed something very specific, and it’s that out of all of the districts, only two of them were friendly to each other. And she means that she and Paslee had looked at each other, and Katniss and her friend were holding hands. Out of the other ten districts, neither of the tributes even bothered to acknowledge each other.

Alyssum may not be perfect, but she’s not stupid enough to ignore the facts. She knows that it’s not often that tributes are going to like each other, especially coming from the same district. So, why not try and create an alliance that’ll actually work? Not even Districts One and Two were talking to each other.

“Okay, well, you don’t have to like the idea,” Alyssum gives him a funny smile, “It’s just there in case it’s the better option.”

“I don’t…” Paslee trails off.

She’s backing away toward her room, eyebrows raised, “You don’t what?”

He doesn’t answer her, she goes into her room. You’ve said it many times inside of the boarding school, that only the tributes that have been drawn to go into the games can assign their fate. No one else can make these decisions for her, and dwelling on just one person can very well ruin her plan.

She gets ready for bed, changing into a pair of shorts and a shirt before curling into bed. The bed is soft and comfortable, the room cold enough to enjoy, and the blankets keeping her warm, she falls asleep in no time. Even though there are nightmares waiting in the days coming.

Elysia’s insistent knocking wakes Alyssum, she stands in the doorway, waiting patiently until Alyssum can finally comprehend what she’s saying, “First day of training, you’re not going to want to skip breakfast.”

Alyssum yawns, using the heels of her hands to rub her eyes.

“All uniforms are pre-picked by the stylists, yours should be in the closet.”

When she lifts her head, she sees a blurry image of Elysia standing at the door, one hand resting on the frame, the other on her hip. Alyssum has to blink a few times in order to see better.

“Okay, thank you.”

Elysia nods her head once, and then whirls around to leave. The door slides shut automatically, and Alyssum is left to get ready by herself. She silently makes her way around the room, throwing any blankets that might have ended up on the floor, back onto the bed.

The closet is still unnecessarily big, so it takes her a moment to scan the shelves to see which clothes Laurel had laid out for her. There’s a sports bra, a tank top and leggings all folded together on the shelf. She picks it all up, and grabs any extra items she’s going to need while getting ready.

She spends a good minute staring at the window that takes up the entire wall, not liking the idea of the people below seeing her sleeping--and changing. She groans and heads into the bathroom instead, changing into the training outfit. It’s white in most areas, the accent color being black. Her leggings are entirely black, and the shoes are a repeat of the shirt.

Alyssum takes her time trying to brush her hair, knowing that there’s going to be snarls. The blow dryers that the shower comes with were extremely good at getting it all out last night. Today, it’s Alyssum’s problem. And she ends up tying it out of her face, anyway, not wanting to be bothered by it all day.

It isn’t until she’s finished getting ready, does she realize that she’s missing something very important. She stands in the bathroom, staring at herself for a long time, going over each body part individually, thinking that she’ll catch it that way. She’s right, her eyes stop on her neck.

The necklace isn’t there.

Alyssum straightens up, the sleep completely leaving her body. Did she leave it on the train last night? You even went out of your way last night to ask to make sure she wouldn’t, and here she is. Then again, it could have happened this morning when the prep team had jumped at her for the grooming.

Did she even have it this morning?

Alyssum leaves her bedroom, going into the dining room. You’re already sitting out there with Finnick and Elysia, Paslee nowhere to be seen. He’s probably still getting ready, or searching for his training outfit, since it wasn’t in any obvious spot like Alyssum thought it would be.

“Good morning,” You hum, giving a smile to Alyssum, “How’d you sleep?”

Alyssum shrugs, “Pretty good, actually.” She takes her seat at the table, “Did you take my necklace off the train?”

Your smile widens into a grin, and Alyssum immediately knows that it’s the case, “Yes, and I already gave it to Elysia. The Gamemakers will have a look at it, and if it’s approved, Laurel will give it to you before you go back into the arena.”

“Okay,” she falls back against her chair, relieved that she’s not going to be in charge of it for the next couple of days.

“What about you?” Finnick asks Paslee, “Any tokens?”

Paslee nods a little, bringing up his wrist to show off a silver bracelet, “It belonged to Marsh. He forgot to take it into the arena with him.”

Finnick hold his hand out to take it, “Does it have any poison, knives, needles, anything that might get you in trouble?”

“No, it’s just this chain.” he drops it into Finnick’s palm.

“It should pass inspection, then.” Elysia takes it from Finnick, placing it into a pocket on the inside of her jacket.

Breakfast is then served by the Avoxes, taking away the chance to continue the conversation any further. Alyssum eats the assorted dishes, being careful to avoid foods she knows that she doesn’t like, and anything that might make her feel sick inside of the training room. Not to mention, she will be able to eat lunch in a few hours.

You and Finnick finish much faster than they do, and don’t wait for them to finish eating before Finnick begins, “You have to remember that the Hunger Games is a competition. Save your best skill for the private session with the Gamemakers, that happens in two days.”

“Your goal is to impress the Gamemakers, not the tributes around you. Everything you do inside of the gym from today to the private session will be observed and noted. You are careers, they’re expecting great things from you. And there’s no use in saying ‘no pressure’ because the pressure is on.”

Alyssum’s nodding along, so is Paslee. They understand, the two of them have spent years in the boarding school for this reason. They have trained for years, and in doing that, have found the skills that they’re good at, and honed the ones that weren’t as good, they’re prepared. Especially Paslee more than Alyssum.

“Don’t force an alliance with the careers.” you say suddenly, eyes on Alyssum, “I’m talking to you, Aly.”

“I know you are.”

“The careers don’t like tributes younger than them because the younglings are hard to control and sometimes unpredictable. I’m not saying you are, but the more you force them, the more they’re going to deny.”

“Actually, now that you say that,” Finnick looks at you, “Maybe she shouldn’t try at all.”

Alyssum sits up in her chair now, mouth falling open. She wants to object, because that’s not fair at all.

“If she’s good in the training center and scores high, the careers will target her and take her down because they know that she’s weak to some capacity. I mean, look at her and tell me you wouldn’t be able to take her down in a fight.” Finnick explains.

“Well, of course I can.”

“No, I mean look at her from a tribute perspective…” he looks back at Alyssum, the room is silent for a while.

And then you blow air out of your cheeks, “The Twelve tributes we went against.”

“Exactly.” Finnick says, happy that you’ve figured out what he was thinking about, “We were young then too.”

You hum, “She still needs sponsors.”

Elysia clears her throat, “How about you try at eighty percent and not one hundred?”

“Yes, don’t make an actual effort to be noticed.” Finnick agrees.

Alyssum nods slowly, her mouth has since closed. She’s still not exactly thrilled by the idea of hanging back, because it could cost her the training score, but then she remembers that if it doesn’t work out with the careers, she has a backup plan.

“Okay.” Alyssum smiles, “Easy peasy.”

Elysia checks her watch, “We have fifteen minutes before we have to leave. Meet me at the elevator by ten.”

She stands from the table, gives a pointed look to Alyssum and Paslee, and then leaves to the back room. You and Finnick also take this as a sign to get up, knwoing how much work has to be done before the games. And the interview outfits!

“We’ll be here when you get back.” You smile, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum says, heading back to her room.

She brushes her teeth first, making sure that her mouth hurts by how much toothpaste she uses. After, she searches the drawers for some type of body mist that she can put on, on top of the deodorant and everything else she applied before breakfast. She doesn’t want to smell horrible by the end of the day, so she’ll do anything possible to prevent it.

She spends her remaining time trying to find tomorrow’s outfit so that she doesn’t have to search. She places it in the same spot where she found today’s clothes, and hopes that no one will come around later to move it. By the time she’s done reorganizing the closet to her liking, it’s time for her to go.

Elysia is waiting at the elevator, just as she promised she would be. It’s a minute or so later before Paslee is joining them. She presses the button, the doors shut, and the only noise that fills the silence is the sound of the elevator going down. And right when Alyssum is prepared for it to stop at the base floor, it continues.

“The gymnasium is underground.” Elysia says, as if she’s reading their minds. When the doors open again, she starts off first, “I can’t go inside of the room with you, I’ll walk you as far as possible.”

And she does, taking them halfway through the hallway before she decides that they need to show some independence. If the other tributes see her in the doorway, then it’ll be obvious that they had her walk them up. Besides, it’s not really much of a problem, they can see the door now.

“Thank you!” Alyssum shouts, waving goodbye to Elysia before they both head inside.

The doors open automatically, allowing them to get their first look at the room they’ll be training in for the next three days. Alyssum can’t help but to look at each individual station, noting what they are and which ones she’d like to visit before the day is over.

They aren’t the last to arrive, and they aren’t the first either. That’s the good news, because punctuality is important, just not enough to be the first people inside. As long as they come inside some time during the middle, then they won’t be remembered. Even though the other tributes are looking at them now. She wonders what’s on their minds.

Paslee and Alyssum are stopped a little after the doors, being told that they need to wear a mandatory number. They don’t specify why, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that it’s because the gamemakers need a way to keep track of them. There’s going to be twenty-four tributes inside, she’s almost certain that the gamemakers just think of them all as a blur by now. So many faces, only one of them will survive.

Once the patch is placed on their backs, it’s time for them to pick a place to stand. Her eyes wander, dancing over the different Capitol personnel, glancing briefly at the gamemakers in the box above, and the tributes standing in a circle. Alyssum laces her fingers together, trying to keep level breathing.

These are her opponents. No one here right now is a friend.

She doesn’t even see District Twelve.

The only thing that matters is that the other careers are here, standing together in a group. They’ve already formed their alliance, and they seem pretty friendly for the most part. At first, they pay Alyssum and Paslee no attention, continuing their conversation, filling the air with their laughter.

It isn’t until the blonde girl from One glances, and does a double-take, do the rest of them follow.

“Smile.” Alyssum murmurs, trying to be quiet as she looks away, “If they smile back, then join them. I’ll see you later, grab me if they’re interested.”

“Good luck.” Paslee says.

“Same to you.”

She moves away from the careers, choosing to stand in the back so she isn’t up front near the Capitol trainer. Her mind begins to run, starting slowly and speeding up the more time goes on. Is this the same head trainer that you had nine years ago? What about the people standing at the stations? Or the Gamemakers?

It takes everything in her not to hyperventilate, taking deep breaths through her nose. She’s walking in your shadow, everything she does will be compared to what you had done. Reaping, tribute parade, training score, interview outfits, first day debuts in the arena. It’s beginning to make her sick to her stomach. She shouldn’t have eaten so much this morning.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple more minutes before more tributes begin to trickle in. When District Twelve finally shows up and joins the circle, the head trainer is allowed to begin. Alyssum moves forward to see her, now.

Her name is Atala, she’s tall and clearly athletic. She says that each tribute is free to move station to station as they will, but the experts standing at each station aren’t allowed to move. Tributes are also not allowed to fight each other, which is why combat experts are provided if requested. It’s preferred that all items stay in their respective boundaries, but it’s not enforced.

Once the formalities are over, Atala begins going down a list of the stations available. Starting with survival, and moving on to combat. Alyssum can hardly note the names long enough to remember them. By the time Atala’s going down the combat list, Aly’s decided that she’ll just try and go to each station at least once.

Finally, Atala releases them, allowing everyone to move. Alyssum doesn’t move from her spot so that she can see exactly where everyone goes. The Careers, and Paslee, unsurprisingly head towards the weapons. She turns her body away from that direction, although she knows that she’ll have to go over there eventually.

It just leaves all the survival skills, like fire starting.

She knows all of this already, the most she can do is a basic overview of it all. Ten minutes, at the very least, should be enough to refresh her memory. And hopefully the experts can give her new and improved ways of doing things. District Four’s boarding school is very good, you and every other victor have made sure of that. Sometimes the Capitol can pull tricks out of their asses.

So, Alyssum starts with the fires. The expert is clearly delighted, letting her sit around the ring of rocks before beginning. When they ask if Aly has any previous experience with starting fires, or any clue on how to, it’s an easy answer. She lists off three different ways, and demonstrates all three, before moving on to different ideas.

Since she clearly doesn’t need help, the expert settles for small talk. It’s polite, but they dance around questions, obviously wanting to ask them but are too afraid to go through with it. Alyssum gives up some information willingly, she just keeps the personal stuff to herself.

Once she finally grows bored, she bids the expert goodbye, moving on to the next lucky expert that gets to watch her do their job for them. It’s just as she expected, she knows all of these stations already. The most she can do is refresh her memory every couple of minutes.

Until she gives up the rotation entirely and just stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips while she tries to make her next decision. All of her logic has secured itself on the idea of the weapons, since she hasn’t had full training with them yet. Even in the boarding school, she was only allowed to dabble in it. It was next year, and the year to follow, where she was supposed to fully begin to understand it all.

The problem is that’s where the careers are, where Paslee is. She doesn’t want to just go over there and make it seem like she wants their attention. If anything, she wants to get some practice of her own. All they do is hoard that area and intimidate anyone who thinks of going over, it’s unfair. And they’re supposed to do that all three days.

The only other option she’s seeing is actually settling on the survival stuff, but it’s pretty clear she doesn’t need to.

She takes in a deep breath, staring at the ceiling for a moment, and then begins to make her way on the far side away from the careers. Which starts her at axe practice, a top-heavy weapon that she doesn’t see herself willingly using inside of the arena. She’s not strong enough to lug a weapon like that around the entire time, something smaller--a knife--would be much easier.

The expert straightens when they see her approach, and are more than happy to begin her on basics. Immediately, Alyssum can see her mood uplift as she begins to learn new techniques, thinking that this is what she should have been doing the entire time. She spends a whole hour just testing out different sizes, and swinging them to get a feel for it.

By the time lunch rolls around, she’s learned how to wield an axe, carry heavier weapons, and only touched her toe to the water when it came to the spears. She knows how to throw spears, it’s the one skill that the victors teach at the boarding school for the younger kids, besides the knives. The smaller the items, the easier it is to work. That’s the rule.

It’s pretty obvious right off the bat that Paslee is stuck with the careers now, so she isn’t surprised when he sits with them and completely ignores her. Not a single glance has been offered her way this entire day. If he’s trying to play up an act, he’s doing a good job of it. She’s just hoping that he isn’t trying to shut her out already. She thought that he’d at least give her a chance to join the career pack.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Alyssum gathers up a small plate of food that looks good before taking a seat at an empty table. She watches as the other tributes come into the adjacent lunch room, peeling apart her bread rolls and wondering if any of them are actually brave enough to sit with her. Not because she’s intimidating, or the sister of a victor, but because tributes don’t normally intermix--unless you’re a career.

She almost thinks that’s the case, until Katniss and her tribute counterpart are sitting at the end of her table. She shares a smile with the boy, dipping her spoon into the stew. Alliances are so delicate during the first few beginning days of the week in the Capitol, so it’s hard for her to force herself to speak to them.

“Your parade costumes were amazing,” she says, watching as Katniss looks over suddenly, eyes going over Alyssum. There’s no doubt that she’s sizing Alyssum up in some way, maybe figuring out her lifespan in the games will be. She wouldn’t be the first, and she’s not going to be the last, “I would’ve changed my mind last minute.”

The boy chuckles, “Trust me, I did.”

Katniss gives him a look, and then gives a sheepish smile, “Yeah, me too.”

Alyssum sits a bit taller, “I’m Alyssum.”

“Peeta,” the boy extends his hand, Aly moves to take it, shaking it once, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Katniss.” she holds out her hand too, but it’s not as smooth.

Alyssum’s a lot more gentle, and she ends up turning over Katniss’ hands to take a look at her nails, curious to see what her prep team had done to them. It’s just as she expected, fiery nails, flames of red and orange on a black background.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Peeta.” Alyssum let’s go of Katniss’ hand, moving back to her bowl of soup.

Conversation is light with the two of them, it gets a little awkward at times, but Peeta always manages to find a new topic to start with. No matter what, neither of them ask about you, which she’s a little surprised about. Everyone has been talking about the sister situation, so she’s sure it’s only a matter of time before the tributes are dragged in too.

As soon as lunch is over, Alyssum is the first to say goodbye to Katniss and Peeta, explaining that she wants the weapons that the careers were standing by before lunch. They understand, and she manages to take over the sword station, since the careers were dragging their feet.

She finds out early on that she’s not too shabby with a sword. She just needs a lot of practice, which she has more than enough time to do. The expert is polite, and doesn’t hide the fact that they’re surprised over her missing knowledge. Yes, she’s been excelling at survival skills, there’s no doubt that word has traveled, but it doesn’t mean she’ll be good at combat.

Either way, it’s clear that the careers grow impatient over her learning, and don’t give her anymore space. They move back in as soon as they’re ready to, making her a lot more stiff when it comes to swinging the sword. They’re so close, and she can hear their conversation, which is making her even more uncomfortable. Especially since they’re making bets on who’s going to run to the cornucopia, and making hypothetical kills with said tributes.

It all goes downhill once her name is mentioned.

Alyssum stops, sweat running down her temples as she looks over to the group. The girl from Two, the fifteen year-old who volunteered, is looking right at her with a dangerous smirk. The boy with her is also giving the same look.

Paslee glances over his shoulder. Alyssum slams the sword tip-down into the ground, knuckles turning pale from how hard she grips the other end.

“She’s only twelve, she’ll be dumb enough to run into the cornucopia,” the Two girl repeats, “And she’ll be the first I kill.”

Alyssum straightens, “Who says you’ll even be able to get your beefy hands on me?” her eyes wander down, face twisting, “Or that you’ll run fast enough.”

Two girl squints her eyes, starting forward. Alyssum keeps her stance, raising her chin a little when the girl comes close. Two girl is taller than she is, and she’s a lot bigger too. Alyssum knows exactly what you’d say to her right now, and it’s that she’s picking a fight she can’t win, one that’ll bite her in the ass later on.

However, Alyssum is part of the Gallows family, and she’ll dig her own grave if it means to defend the name.

“Say it again.”

“You heard me the first time.” Alyssum snaps, hand tightening around the sword, “If you can’t take the heat, don’t play with fire.”

The girl goes to open her mouth, but she’s stopped when Atala appears, clearly here to mediate.

“What’s going on?”

“Friendly banter.” Alyssum smiles, and then looks at Two girl, eyebrows raised, “She was just telling me how she’s going to kill me during the bloodbath. And I was just about to tell her that I’ll kill her in her sleep just like how my older sister killed Allio during her Hunger Games.”

Two girl jerks, Atala steps in-between before there’s an actual conflict. Alyssum dumps her sword in the bin by the station.

“That’s enough, stay away from each other.” Atala warns.

“If you’re going to get territorial again in the future,” Aly starts, beginning to move toward the door, going to leave early, “you might as well piss on the floor, bitch.”

Two jerks again, it takes two experts to hold her back this time. Alyssum doesn’t turn around after she leaves. It isn’t until she steps into the hallway, does she realize how jittery she is. The amount of adrenaline that must have been going through her body… for a second she had herself convinced that she was going to swing the sword. And she would have, if it had gotten any uglier.

She punches the elevator button, shaking her hands while she waits. She needs to tell you and Finnick before Paslee does, just so he doesn’t get the details fucked up. He might try to cut corners to save the relationship between you two and him, since being on good terms with mentors is an important factor.

The elevator ride is short, and so is the walk to the apartment. By the time she gets inside, she feels considerably better, no longer as shaky, and her body has lost the heat factor. When she walks inside, she’s able to see that Finnick and Elysia are standing together, talking.

Their conversation falters when they both see Alyssum.

Elysia immediately checks her watch, confused, “You aren’t supposed to be back for another hour and a half.”

All it takes is Finnick looking over her once to realize that something isn’t right, “What happened?”

“Got in a fight with one of the careers, and Paslee didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

Elysia’s eyes widen, hurrying over, “Did they touch you? How much trouble are you in?”

“Atala stopped it before we got physical, but I said something after she told us to stop so…”

“Tell me the entire story.” Finnick says.

Alyssum does, trying to be as transparent as possible, but it gets difficult at the end, especially when she starts telling Finnick about the conversation the careers were having right before. He slowly starts getting more angry, Elysia is more stressed than anything. It isn’t until the story is over, does Alyssum get the idea that the situation is worse than she thought it was.

“Well,” Finnick sighs, looking up to the ceiling, “You definitely left an impression.”

“Not the one you wanted me to, though.” Aly frowns, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on the back of his neck, “You have nothing to be sorry for, I’m hoping the Gamemakers at least watched. That might do some good for your score.”

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Alyssum asks.

“Sleeping, but I guess we should wake her up.” Finnick bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll stay out here in case Paslee shows up.” Elysia says, “Make sure he doesn’t go far.”

“Thanks,” Finnick nods, and then jerks his head for Alyssum to follow him, “Do you have an alliance, at least?”

“I sat with Katniss and Peeta during lunch, they’re pretty nice. Didn’t talk to them much.”

“That’s good, try not to make any more enemies, okay?”

Alyssum gives him a funny smile, “No promises.”

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

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#ilguna #berceuse #berceuse chapter two #halcyon

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Text

A new us will begin (11/ ?)

word count: ~7k

AO3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 12

content warnings: panic attack, references past major character death, major character death, blood, injury

“Geralt.”

The whisper that broke through Geralt’s half-asleep mind was so full of urgency, that Geralt’s eyes snapped open in a flash.

“Dandy?” He asked into the darkness, only relaxing when he realised that Dandy was still nestled in his arms, the same way they had fallen asleep. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No.” When Geralt’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the soft smile on Dandy’s face. “I just had to wake you.”

Before Geralt could ask, Dandy leaned up and pressed a kiss against his throat, the fist patch of skin he could find. “For the first time you said my name in your sleep.”

Dandy twirled the dandelion Geralt had plucked for him in his fingers, an amused smile on his face.

“It’s always the yellow flowers, huh?” He teased, bumping his shoulder against Geralt, who was sitting next to him on the grass a little away from the other actors that were preparing lunch or going over their lines again. “I take it buttercups and yarrows are yellow too?”

Geralt hummed in agreement and leaned his head against Dandy’s shoulder, his hand coming up to play with Dandy’s curls.

“Dandy?” Geralt said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “That dandelion you have isn’t yellow anymore. It’s white.”

“Seriously?” Dandy scowled as if the flower had personally offended him. “That’s just ridiculous. Why would flowers change colours?”

“Why do you change your hats?”

Dandy gasped in indignation. “Don’t you dare bring my hats into this. I have been told they are very stylish. And they are important to me.”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “If it’s any consolation, there aren’t many flowers that change like that.” He turned his head to place a kiss against Dandy’s neck.

“So this one just wants to be special then?”

“I think it is.” Geralt was sure Dandy could hear his smile in his voice. “You are special to me, my Dandelion.”

Dandy nudged him again. “Look at you sweet-talking. One of these days you’re going to become an actor after all.”

“Wasn’t acting,” Geralt mumbled against Dandy’s skin. “I meant it.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.” Dandy pressed a kiss onto the top of his head and let out a mock-exasperated huff. “You know, if I didn’t love being able to just kiss you whenever I want now, I would have said it’s a shame that you already told me that you love me too.”

Geralt grunted quizzically.

“I’m just saying, I could have used this dandelion to wish for you to love me. That would have been a good wish.”

“What are you going to wish for instead?”

“I’m not telling. Wishes don’t work when you say them out loud.”

With that, Dandy took a deep breath and blew the dandelion seeds off into the wind. Some of them got caught in Dandy’s hair and Geralt brushed them off.

It wasn’t until he saw them drifting off with the breeze, that he remembered a different dandelion, lifetimes ago.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping from the now barren dandelion in Dandy’s hand to his face. It couldn’t have been that simple…could it?

A dandelion flying off while Geralt begged Jaskier to open his eyes and look at him again... Could a simple wish have done this? Geralt had made too many wishes in his lifetime and only the twisted ones had come true, even if just for a short time, always hurting Jaskier in the process.

Why would a witcher be granted this? Why, after having set a Djinn on Jaskier, after wishing for Destiny to take him off his hands, why would Geralt be given this second chance, being trusted with Jaskier’s life again?

A lifetime of pain and misery, of learning that nothing came easy in life but death and heartbreak, had taught Geralt that this couldn’t be, that it was too simple. And yet, Dandy leaned his head against Geralt’s, having so easily accepted the truth and still being by Geralt’s side, as if it really could be that simple.

Perhaps, it wasn’t all that impossible.

It took Geralt embarrassingly long, before he finally asked why the hats were so important to Dandy. If he was being honest, he had never put much thought into why he was wearing them so often. The only times he had actively thought about them was when they were big enough to nearly shield Dandy’s face from view fully.

As it turned out, that was exactly their intended reason.

“While I have been told that I have the most gorgeous face –“ Dandy began in a teasing and over the top tone, but Geralt let out a hum of sincere agreement that made a smile flicker across Dandy’s face.

“Geralt! Don’t interrupt me by being all sweet,” he chided and swatted in Geralt’s general direction. “I’m trying to tell you something important.”

Geralt hummed again, this time encouraging Dandy to keep talking.

“It’s just that sometimes it’s a bit hard to keep making facial expressions. I mean, I learned them all when I started acting. I can give appropriate reactions with my face and I love doing it, but sometimes it can be really exhausting. Of course some things come just natural, but there are some expressions that I have to put effort in. I can’t just mimic what other people do, I always have to remember what my face needs to do and … I don’t know. It’s hard sometimes. With the hats I can hope that I can hide my face enough to not react falsely or do it to a lesser extend without appearing rude.”

“You don’t have to do that around me,” Geralt said. He reached up until his hand came to rest against the brim of the hat. He hesitated, waited until Dandy gave a small nod, before pulling the hat off, brushing his knuckles softly against Dandy’s cheek as he did so. “I don’t mind. I just want you to be comfortable. You have the most beautiful smile, but I don’t want it, if it’s exhausting for you.”

“I – thank you, Geralt.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Geralt’s lips twitched. “I guess I never told you, but I don’t change my expressions much either. At least not in a way that people notice.”

Images of the eyes Yarrow had painted flashed through his mind, the miniscule details only noticeable for those who had known Geralt for a long, long time.

“Oh?” Dandy perked up. “What expression do you have on your face most of the time then? Are you looking at me with dreamlike adoration? Are you smirking like you’re mentally insulting everyone around you all the time? Are you staring forlorn into the distance, being all dramatic?”

Geralt snorted.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. “You - Jaskier used to call it my ‘scary face’.”

Dandy barked out a laugh. “Oh no, my dear. As much as it pains me to say this, but Jaskier was an idiot. I’m sorry to tell you, but if I ever said this, I was dead wrong. There’s no way you could ever be scary, even if you tried.”

In that moment, Dandy’s description of Geralt looking at him in dreamlike adoration was closer than Geralt would ever admit.

“Dandy?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t remember your past lives, do you? You don’t remember exactly who you used to be?”

“No.”

“But you still trust me.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s not just dandelions.” Geralt scowled up at the trees that forced him to remember the passing of time. “Leaves turn brown in autumn.”

Dandy brushed a leaf that had fallen onto his head away and crushed it between his fingers, lips twitching up at the sound. “I like how crunchy they get.”

Geralt smiled and watched Dandy shuffle through a pile of leaves, all the while grinning like a child and telling Geralt to come join him.

Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell Dandy that he hated the fall. It meant that winter would come far too soon.

“You should go,” Dandy told him, for what felt like the tenth time that day.

“I want to stay.”

Dandy sighed and rolled over in bed, so that his back wouldn’t be pressed against Geralt’s chest anymore, but he’d be able to embrace him instead.

“I know. And I want you to stay.” He placed a kiss against Geralt’s chest. “But you should go see your family. They must be worried about you. You have to show them that you are still alive and not still torturing yourself over things you can’t control.”

“What about your family?” Geralt countered. “The troupe, I mean. Won’t the winter be hard for you without protection?”

Dandy buried his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. “Of course it will. But we’ll be fine. It’s possible that I exaggerated a little when I told you how dangerous the roads are for us.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “You didn’t. I fought the skullwarg, remember?”

Dandy hummed, a pained little noise. “You wouldn’t have had to do that if you had been safe in your witchers’ keep.”

“I told you I’d get hurt again for you.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

Geralt’s hand came up to play with Dandy’s hair, brushing it out of his lover’s forehead and pressing a kiss against the crown of his head.

“I can’t leave you,” he said, half muffled against Dandy’s hair. “I can’t risk you getting hurt while I’m away.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Dandy sighed. “Of course I can. If it makes you feel any better, I can write my parents and ask them if we could stay with them for the winter. It will be a bit awkward performing for them, but they would definitely let us stay and perform until we wanted to leave.” Dandy snuggled even closer. “And when spring comes, we’ll be right there waiting for you to join us again.”

Geralt let out a long breath. It was the perfect solution. They would both get to spend the winter with their respective families and Dandy and the troupe wouldn’t have to worry about the cold or being short on supplies. And yet…

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know. But promise me you’ll think about it.”

Geralt had never been good at saying goodbye. It had taken him years to allow Jaskier to hug him when they split for winter. More often than not, the idea that someone liked Geralt enough to care if he just disappeared without goodbye, hadn’t even occurred to him. Until Jaskier had made it abundantly clear that he very much cared.

Still, there was a difference between hugging one bard goodbye and saying goodbye to a whole group of affectionate players.

Thankfully, most of them were satisfied with just nodding or waving at Geralt. Mika and Kara clapped him on the shoulder and Nadine pulled him into a tight embrace, telling him sternly to take care of himself.

Dandy, of course, embraced him too, much warmer and long enough that Geralt began to suspect he would stay like this for the rest of the day if no one intervened. So Geralt did, by pulling Dandy towards him and pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

And another. And another.

“I’m going to miss doing this,” he said in -between kisses, feeling Dandy smile into the next kiss.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said, brushing his thumb over Dandy’s cheek. “I could still stay.”

“No. I know you miss your family.”

He did. He really did, but –

“The winter will be long without you.”

“We’ll see each other again in spring.”

That dark, cold thing that had been half-asleep in Geralt’s stomach reared its ugly head again. “What if we won’t?”

What if something happens and I’m not there to protect you?

It went unsaid, but they both knew it was what Geralt was thinking.

“Then I’ll still find you again.” Dandy hesitated, before pulling something out of one of the many pockets of his ridiculously long leather coat and handed it to Geralt, who took it without thinking.

“What is this?” he asked, turning the thing, that was wrapped in one of Dandy’s shirts, in his hands.

“It’s a gift. You can open it when you miss me.”

Geralt had a feeling that he would have to open it not an hour after he watched the wagons disappear from view. Still, he resolved to keep it wrapped, at least until he reached Kaer Morhen.

After having travelled comfortably with wagons and a group, being alone again was harder than Geralt liked to admit. The forest floor he slept on were cold and hard and the occasional rooms he manages to rent at inns were too quiet without the troupe’s constant bustling and by now familiar heartbeats around him.

With every step he took further away from his newfound family, Geralt’s heart grew heavier and colder. More than once, when bitter winds bit into his skin, he thought about turning around and joining the troupe again.

All of those thoughts were washed away in a heartbeat, when he found the familiar walls of Kaer Morhen towering above him.

He urged Roach to go faster and once he reached the yard, he didn’t hesitate to jump of Roach and bring his brothers and Vesemir, who had approached him, into a hug.

It had been too long since he had seen his pack, too long since he had told them how important they were to him.

He hadn’t realised how much he had truly missed them, until he had become part of a family that was able to spend each day of the year together and talk and hug whenever they wanted.

The wolves only had the winter, but Geralt was determined to make the best of it.

Silently, as Eskel ruffled his hair affectionately and Lambert grumbled unconvincingly about the hug having gone on for far too long already, Geralt thanked Dandy and wished he got to hug his family like this as well.

Had Geralt thought he would look at Dandy’s gift immediately upon arriving, he was now proven wrong. True, he missed Dandy with all his heart and it happened increasingly often, that he would think about how he was going to tell Dandy all about the things he did this winter, but he didn’t miss him with the ache he had come to expect but with an excited anticipation of seeing him again in a few month’s time.

For now, he had enough to do, fixing the crumpling walls and ceilings or listening to what his brothers had gotten up to during the time they had been apart.

Still, Geralt looked at Dandy’s gift that remained wrapped safely in the shirt every evening, tempted to open it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks into his stay at the keep, that he couldn’t wait any longer.

His breath caught in his chest when he unwrapped the gift in the privacy of his own room at the keep. For a moment, he didn’t even register what he was holding, too overwhelmed by the feeling of the soft fabric of Dandy’s shirt. Almost reverently, he ran his fingers over the familiar fabric, imagining that it was Dandy he was touching instead.

He was certain that, had Dandy wanted to, he could have found something else to wrap the gift in. Paper or some cloth that wasn’t needed anymore. The fact that he let Geralt have this, made that warmth in his chest glow like a beacon.

It took more strength than he would like to admit, not to completely forego the actual gift and bury his face in the shirt, drowning in Dandy’s scent again, as if he was right here next to him in this too big, too empty bed.

But Geralt set the shirt aside, turning his attention to the thing it had concealed.

The corners of his lips tugged up. It was a notebook. Of course.

His thumb ran over the edges and the cover of the book, before opening it. Like with Yarrow’s sketchbook, there was a note in the front.

Geralt ran his finger over the bumps in the page, the way Dandy had taught him, despite being able to see the dots that made up the letters. It would have been easier to just rely on his eyes, but he didn’t regret asking Dandy to teach him the way he read it.

Reading the note took him frustratingly long, no matter how much he had practiced with Dandy. It had been easier when his lover was sitting right next to him, correcting him where he misread and pressing kisses against his skin when he made it through an entire line.

His fingers faltered after the first line and he had to force himself to keep reading.

This was no simple note. It was a letter.

‘Dearest Geralt,

It feels like forever since I promised I would write this for you, but I didn’t know how I should go about it. As it turns out, writing a sequel to a play with a climax that is apparently based on my old memories, is harder than I thought it would be. But I hope you’ll enjoy it still.

I know reading this script is still hard for you, so don’t worry about reading all of it, if it’s too much. Nadine promised that we would start rehearsing as soon as we reach my parent’s place, so you’ll probably get to watch a performance when you get back. I still wanted you to have this.

I know the text might be a bit personal. But it had to be. Now stop it with your ‘scary face’, love. I didn’t just write this because I wanted our beloved pirate and knight to become friends in a different lifetime. I did it, because I want the same for us. I want to be able to know that I will always find you and know to trust you.

So I will make sure that this will be our best known play. Every child will know this story and hopefully, when the time comes, the next me will know it as well and know to go looking for you. I am a smart man, I’ll be able to read between the lines, in any life.

I know this isn’t something you like to think about, but it’s important to me. I want to meet you again. I want to be able to hug you and kiss you again. In spring, every day of my life. And I will do everything I can to make sure that you won’t be alone in my next life either.

I love you.

Yours, forever,

Dandelion.’

Geralt’s fingers were shaking when he reached the end of the letter, needing to run them over the letters again and again until he could be sure of the meaning. And then he did it again, just to read the last words once more.

“I love you too,” he whispered into the emptiness of his room.

Despite Dandy’s understanding words and the amount of focus it took Geralt to read the script, he read it all. Not all in one go, of course, but whenever he had time between sparring with his brothers or repairing the walls, he pulled out the book and read.

At first Lambert had teased him for staring at and touching a seemingly empty notebook that was only filled with dots that didn’t make sense to Lambert, but soon, the teasing died out. It didn’t take long for Geralt to tell his family everything that had happened. It took even less time for Eskel to wrap him in a long, warm hug and hold him as tightly as he could, when Geralt began trembling as he recounted the way he had met Dandy.

However comforting Eskel’s hug was, it was nothing compared to the shock of Lambert’s reaction. The usually so abrasive witcher quieted down, his face softening with a hope Geralt hadn’t seen on him since he had heard the rumours of Aiden still being alive.

Lambert didn’t voice any of his thoughts, but for once, they were written plainly on his face. He hadn’t dared to hope that Geralt’s theories of reincarnation were correct and now he realised that he might be able to see his best friend again.

Over Eskel’s shoulder, they shared a long look. They didn’t hug, not yet. But when they all got drunk that evening, too overwhelmed with the revelations that year had brought, Lambert leaned into Geralt and thanked him with the most sincere voice, Geralt had ever heard him use, that he had found Jaskier again.

It took him nearly all winter to finish reading the script for the play. When the snow thawed and Geralt made his way down the mountain, his mind kept going back to the play.

To the two almost-friends who had found each other again in a different life, as a witcher and an actor, to become lovers, who would always find each other again, no matter how many lifetimes it would take.

He couldn’t wait to find Dandy again and take him into his arms again.

“Dandelion!” Geralt called out to him, as soon as he saw him.

Dandy turned to him so quickly that for a moment Geralt feared the ridiculous hat he was wearing would fall off.

Geralt ran towards him and pulled him into his arms.

“You’re safe.”

“I promised you I would be.” Dandy’s voice got muffled in Geralt’s neck and Geralt could feel his smile against his skin. “You sound happy.”

“I am. I am happy to have you back.”

“I missed you too, love.” Dandy’s hand came up to cradle Geralt’s head. “How did you like the play I wrote?”

Geralt didn’t answer. He just placed a hand beneath Dandy’s chin and tilted his head up to capture his lips in a kiss.

The first time the players performed the sequel Dandy had written, it was at Dandy’s coastal home, with the sound of the waves and the seabirds’ cries in the background.

Watching Dandy play the part of himself was an experience Geralt hadn’t been prepared for. It was one thing reading the script haltingly. It was another thing entirely, to have Dandy speak lines that Geralt had told him Jaskier had said before or make references to his previous lives as Geralt had recounted them. He put so much heart into this performance; it was impossible not to see how much it meant for him.

Watching the play, Geralt didn’t cry, but when he came to see Dandy after the performance, he could do nothing but bury his face in Dandy’s curls and tremble while Dandy rubbed soothing circles into his back.

The play wasn’t just good, it was a masterpiece, destined for renown.

For the first time, Geralt thought that Dandy’s plan might work, that somehow this play could transcend lifetimes and bring Dandy back to him when the inevitable happened.

“My genius, brilliant Dandelion,” he whispered, pressing kisses into Dandy’s hair. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Still, he prayed with all his heart that the inevitable wouldn’t happen for decades to come. He hadn’t had enough time with Dandy yet.

No amount of time would ever be enough.

Before they left the coastal town that Dandy called his home, Geralt went into town on his own while Dandy spent a last day with his parents. He didn’t know much about instruments, but he had heard Jaskier play often enough that he could recognise when a lute sounded nice.

It took most of the coin Geralt had saved from contracts he had taken on his way back to the troupe, but an hour later, he made his way back to Dandy with a lute case slung over his shoulder.

He wouldn’t give it to him just yet. It would be hard keeping it a secret from Dandy, partially because Geralt was sure Dandy would notice that Geralt wasn’t telling him something and partially, because Geralt couldn’t wait to see Dandy’s face when he would hold the lute in his hands for the first time. Nor could he wait to hear him play again.

But he had to be patient. This was supposed to be a gift for Dandy’s birthday and the anniversary of the day they had confessed. Though Geralt didn’t doubt that Dandy would appreciate the gift no matter when he received it, he was a dramatic actor at heart and he would love a grand gesture like that.

It was only a couple more months of waiting. Geralt could be patient. Nothing would be lost by waiting a little longer to give Dandy this gift.

The scratching of Dandy’s cane across the pavement might have grated on Geralt’s nerves had it come from anyone else, but like this, it created a soothing background noise when their conversation faded into comfortable silence. Which it barely did.

They had been travelling again for a couple of weeks until they had reached a town big enough that Nadine deemed it worthy of staying here for a while. Ever since the troupe had reached this new city, Dandy had been unusually jittery. When Geralt asked about the cause, Dandy just shrugged.

“Don’t know,” he said, pulling a face. “I guess it’s just nice being on the road again. Don’t get me wrong, visiting my parents was lovely, but I’m not used to staying in one place anymore and it’s been months – months! – since we’ve been out and about.”

Dandy tilted his head back, so the sun could reach his face, before he scrunched up his nose from the sudden heat and lowered his head again, so that his feathered hat with the wide brim would give him shade once more.

A fond feeling welled up in Geralt. Gently, he took Dandy’s free hand and pressed a chaste kiss against his knuckles.

Without further ado, the two of them had separated from the other players, most of which were stretching their legs or taking care of the horses and wagons they had left outside the city walls for the time being, while Nadine went to speak to the alderman and negotiate the price for them being allowed to set up their stage in the town square.

Geralt was content letting Dandy tug at his hand and accompany him to make sure he wouldn’t get lost.

Or rather…he would have been content doing so, if it weren’t for that strange feeling of vague familiarity this place emitted. It wasn’t impossible that Geralt had been here before, years or decades ago. Cities changed, after all, and Geralt had often made a point of spending as little time as possible inside city walls, unless it was strictly necessary. After living for as long as he had, places tended to blur together.

Still, the sense of unease – a prickling chill at the back of his neck telling him that this place was important somehow - didn’t leave him.

He tried to distract himself by listening to Dandy’s chatter but even Dandy quieted down uncharacteristically, the longer they spent walking around.

Geralt didn’t understand, until they reached the town square. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring with wide eyes across the space, his heart picking up the pace, like a rabbit running for its life.

He knew this place.

“We need to go,” he said hoarsely.

“What? Why?”

He had been here before. Decades ago. Though last time he had seen this town square, it had been tumultuous, filled with terrified screams and people scrambling to get away. Away from Roach, the cockatrice head fastened to her saddle – and the artist, who had brought her here.

“Geralt?” Dandy asked concerned, when Geralt didn’t reply.

This was where Yarrow had lived. Where he had died.

Geralt’s blood ran cold and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Geralt, you’re scaring me.” Dandy’s hand tightened in his, but all Geralt could see was Yarrow being dragged away by guards. All he could hear was Yarrow’s voice that had been so small and lonely, echoing in that cell. All he could smell was the stench of sickness that had clung to the place where Yarrow had waited for Geralt, only to die thinking that Geralt had abandoned him.

“We have to leave,” Geralt repeated, unable to form any other words.

Still, Geralt remained frozen to the spot, until Dandy tugged at his hand, tearing him out of his spiralling thoughts.

Geralt moved, leading Dandy back as quickly as he could, all but fleeing this place. He didn’t take the route they had taken to get here but the more direct route, the one he had walked before, when he had run after Roach and the drunk thief who had attempted to steal her.

People stared at them and began whispering, as they hastened past them.

The inn. There was the inn. This was where Yarrow had waited for him, where Geralt had let him down. Where he had let him die.

That was when he heard the first shout. Angry murmurs that had followed them here, culminated in one shout, which cracked through the air like a whip.

“Get out of here, mutant!”

Another voice chimed in, shushing the first one. “Shut up, don’t make the witcher angry. Don’t you know what happened to the last man who pissed him off when he was here?”

Geralt came to a skittering halt, nearly making Dandy lose his balance at the unexpected stop. His head whipped around to the woman who had just spoken up. She didn’t look much older than Dandy, maybe by a couple of years, and her hair hung down her back in a long braid. She returned his look with wide, terrified eyes.

Geralt hadn’t known. He- he hadn’t thought that people remembered him here.

“What?” He asked, voice carefully blank. “What happened to the last man who pissed me off?”

The woman swallowed, her eyes darting around to the group of people who started to gather around them, lured in by the commotion.

“You killed him,” she said uncertainly. “Bewitched him somehow so he couldn’t leave your horse and then he – he died, right there.” She pointed a shaky finger at the inn. “Please, witcher, just leave us. We don’t want your curses and misfortune here.”

Geralt reeled back. Was that what people said about him? That he had killed Yarrow?

His heart sank. They weren’t wrong, were they?

“Take that back!” Dandy’s shout, sudden and angry, made Geralt flinch. “Geralt wouldn’t do that! Right? Geralt, tell them.”

It was impossible to breathe, to form words. He had done it. In a way he had bewitched Yarrow, had somehow bound Jaskier’s life to his. Had made Dandy fall in love with him.

Jaskier had died. And Yarrow had died.

Geralt’s hand in Dandy’s became numb. He could do nothing to defend himself, as more and more people joined the first man, hurling shouts and insults at Geralt.

Some of them were old enough that they might have been children during that fateful Belleteyn Geralt had spent here, remembering only the terror they had felt and the destruction the chaos had caused. But most people appeared younger, though no less spiteful.

Geralt was no stranger to how rumours worked. Stories and words held greater power than any sword, Jaskier had used to say. Rumours could turn into legends; stories of a vengeful witcher who would terrorise and curse every town he came across.

Those words cut into Geralt like daggers, tearing at his heart and mind like claws.

Decades had been enough to turn the story of an unwanted artist that had died waiting for his friend into a cautionary tale, a reason to shun witchers, an excuse to be as brutal as the townsfolk pleased.

Throughout all the shouts, Dandy stood beside him, never letting go of Geralt’s hand. He didn’t stop defending Geralt with his words.

Dandy couldn’t see the first stone flying through the air.

Geralt didn’t see who had thrown it. It didn’t matter. He barely noticed it landing hard against his shoulder. All he could see was the stone grazing Dandy’s hat, taking it right off.

It was too close. The stone had come so dangerously close to hitting Dandy in the head.

Within a heartbeat, Geralt pushed himself in front of Dandy, shielding him from any more harm. He bared his teeth, uncaring that it only perpetuated the rumours these people already believed, spurned by hatred and fear.

A sharp cry came from somewhere in the crowd, but when Geralt’s eyes snapped to the woman with the braid that had cried out, she wasn’t looking at Geralt in fear. Her eyes were trained on Dandy, who did his best to push past Geralt and stand beside him again.

“It’s him,” she whispered, blanching as if she’d seen a ghost. “That’s…that’s the one who died.”

She pointed a trembling finger at Dandy. “It’s him! I saw him as a child and he’s…”

“The witcher brought him back!”

Gasps and curses went through the crowd, some staggering back in fear, others stiffening, their hands clenching as if readying for a fight.

“He’s dishonouring the dead!”

“Filthy mutant!”

“We don’t want your kind here!”

“You’ve brought enough death to this city!”

For every insult, Dandy shouted something back, but Geralt couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All he could think of was that he needed to get Dandy away, make sure he was safe.

But Dandy wouldn’t budge. No matter how Geralt pleaded with him to leave, Dandy stood his ground, refusing to leave until he hadn’t convinced these people that Geralt wouldn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.

Geralt’s pulse was racing, his hands were clammy and he couldn’t fucking focus! At the edge of his vision, he saw some people running to the stables, saw them emerging wielding shovels and pitchforks.

“Dandy, we have to go. Now.” He grabbed Dandy’s arm, pulling him away.

“No, Geralt, let go off me, I’m not done here yet –“

“The witcher is going to kill him again!” The cry was accompanied by a stone hitting Geralt square in the head.

Sharp pain erupted on his brow, blood dripping into his eyes.

The mob came closer, shouting and waving their improvised weapons, stinking of mindless fury.

Geralt pulled Dandy back, but Dandy thrashed in his grip.

“He’s not hurting me, you idiots!” He yelled. “He is the kindest-“

The people didn’t hear. Geralt saw it in their eyes, the terror and anger turning into thirst for blood.

One man rushed forward with a cry on his lips. Geralt’s blood ran cold. He yanked Dandy back at the same time that Dandy twisted in his grasp and finally managed to stand before him, assuming a fighting stance.

Ice filled Geralt’s chest, his lungs, his mind. It had been he who had taught Dandy this stance. He was the reason why Dandy was now filled with the hubris of believing himself able to stand his ground and fight against those people.

Geralt tried to yank him back, but it was too late.

Dandy never saw the pitchfork coming that pierced his gut with a sickening squelch.

“No!”

Geralt’s cry of anguish was louder than the shouts of the mob. Blood rushed in his ears and he saw Dandy gasp for breath, his sightless eyes wide and his lips forming silent words.

Time stood still. The charging men faltered as Geralt’s cries roared through the street. The stench of fear spiked through the air, but Geralt spared the attackers no glance. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Dandy.

Dandy, whose legs gave out from under him without warning. Geralt caught him, held him as tightly as he could.

“Dandy! Dandy, no, stay with me.” He pressed his hand against Dandy’s stomach. Something sickeningly sticky and wet drenched Dandy’s coat. Geralt’s hand came back red. “No, no no! You’re going to be fine, you hear me? I won’t let you die, I won’t!”

“Geralt-“ Dandy gasped, his voice trembling and the nauseating smell of salt and iron making it impossible to think.

Without hesitating, Geralt picked Dandy up, cradling him in his arms.

His eyes were blazing when he turned, people shying away from him, parting in fear to let him pass.

Geralt knew what they saw. In this moment, he looked exactly like what they had feared. Blood smeared across his skin, a snarl showing his teeth and burning eyes that promised that if they didn’t let him go to take care of Dandy, there would be more bloodshed this day.

A healer. They needed a healer. Geralt hadn’t been fast enough with Yarrow, but he could save Dandy. There still was time. He could do it. Dandy would make it.

Geralt had heard of witchers who had died from wounds caused by pitchforks.

Dandy felt so small in his arms, so breakable.

His blood didn’t stop gushing out of the wound. Geralt needed to stop the bloodflow!

He cursed, coming to an abrupt halt. As gently as he could, he set Dandy to the ground, but it wasn’t careful enough, making Dandy cry out as the motion jostled him.

He pillowed Dandy’s head in his lap and let go of him to shrug off his own shirt, ripping it into strips to bandage Dandy with.

It wouldn’t be enough. It had to be enough!

Dandy whimpered at the loss of contact, his free hand blindly reaching out for Geralt, while the other was gripping his cane so tightly as if his life depended on it.

“Geralt!” He sounded so afraid, his voice garbled by pain. “Geralt!”

Just his name, over and over, as if there was nothing more important to Dandy. As if he wasn’t fighting for his life, because Geralt had been too slow, too reckless freezing like that and too stupid to realise where they were before it had been too late.

“I’m here,” he croaked out, as he tore Dandy’s shirt open, revealing the wound.

His stomach churned. It was too deep. There was no hope the pitchfork had missed everything vital. Still, Geralt pressed his shirt against it, trying desperately to stop the blood, even though he knew it was useless. Even if he were able to stop the blood, the pitchfork had caused to much internal damage. It was a cold certainty, that the desperate part of his mind couldn’t accept.

“I’m here, Dandy. I’m not going to let you die.”

Dandy’s hand found his. Geralt watched in horror, as it too turned red from blood as he tried to pry Geralt’s hand off.

“No, Dandy, stop. I need – I need to save you-“

“Geralt…” Dandy’s wild and panicked expression made way for the smallest of smiles. “Kiss me.”

“I cant – I can’t lose you.” Geralt ignored Dandy’s attempts to get him to stop, putting even more pressure on the wound. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” Dandy’s breath came in rattles. “Kiss me. Please.”

It was that plea that made Geralt falter. He had to save Dandy, he had to –

The one hand that Dandy held, stayed on the wound, pressing down on it even now, even though Geralt knew it was too late. His other hand went up to cup Dandy’s cheek, smearing a red handprint over it.

His eyes prickled and he didn’t know whose tears he could taste on his tongue as he leaned down to press his lips against Dandy’s in hopeless desperation.

He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dandy’s bloodied skin, so he could imagine for even a moment that Dandy wasn’t bleeding out in a dark alley, as if the past year never happened; as if Geralt had been too late to save him that first time.

All he focussed on was the copper taste of Dandy’s lips beneath his as Dandy smiled into the kiss.

Then, Dandy’s lips stopped moving against his. When Geralt pulled back, he felt no breath ghosting against him.

“Dandelion?” He whispered, broken and scared like a little child calling out for his mother, knowing she won’t come back for him.

The whisper was drowned out by the clatter of Dandy’s cane as it slipped out of his limp hand.

#reincarnation au #geraskier #mcd #my writing #fic #witcher fic #fanfic #geralt #blind!jaskier #jaskier #witcher #sorry

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imaginaryelle · 4 years ago

Link

I realized a few weeks ago that I made my first posts in this fandom, both on tumblr and on AO3, in November last year. Happy anniversary fic! Many thanks to @morphia-writes for the title suggestion.

This established relationship/early relationship wangxian, set post-CQL.

Read it on AO3 or below the cut!

One year after leaving Gusu, Wei Wuxian meets Lan Wangji at an inn on the border between Yunmeng and Yiling.

It’s not their first meeting—there have been a few night hunts when Lan Wangji happened to be nearby, a few arguably chance encounters when Lan Wangji arrived somewhere Wei Wuxian had just not quite left, in the days before some all-important meeting between the Chief Cultivator and a local sect leader. Perhaps two handfuls of moments, all together, as the spring passed into summer, and summer to autumn, autumn to winter and winter back to spring again.

Lan Wangji has reserved a room, and ordered food—local flavors to Wei Wuxian’s taste, steaming in the cool night and red with chilies—and has produced two bottles of wine and brewed what Wei Wuxian is certain is the best tea the Lan Sect buys, which is very good tea indeed.

“Lan Zhan,” he says as he finishes the meal, “You spoil me, really.”

Lan Wangji says nothing, but he looks so quietly, smugly pleased that Wei Wuxian laughs.

“You look like you’re getting away with something, Lan Zhan,” he says. “Does your uncle know you're spending Lan funds on me? Does he know you’ve bought me wine?”

It’s Emperor’s Smile, because of course Lan Wangji would just have a pair of bottles ready, even though Wei Wuxian knows he’s been traveling for weeks now, putting out little metaphorical fires and one real, actual fire, almost since the moment the Spring Festival ended.

“Uncle is not here,” Lan Wangji says, which isn’t anything like an answer and they both know it.

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian agrees, because he wasn’t really looking for an answer anyway. “Just us here.” An illusion—there are other people in the inn itself, of course—but an illusion helped along by silencing talismans on the shared walls and the door. It’s not quite as quiet as the Jingshi in Cloud Recesses, but it’s close.

Lan Wangji looks back at him and softens in that small, sudden way that always makes Wei Wuxian feel like his heart’s trying to climb out through his mouth. Not just—informal and relaxed for the evening, the way he was when Wei Wuxian arrived, but present. Open and bared like a flower whose petals have just unfolded.

Wei Wuxian wants to cradle Lan Wangji’s face between his hands and pull the last of his ribbons out of his hair, wants to kiss every part of his face, and then the palms of his hands and his knuckles and the pulse in his wrists, and then see if there’s any other skin he can manage to reach.

It is unfortunate that he is still seated on the other side of a dark-lacquered dining table, his hands already occupied with a wine cup. He sets it down with a soft click and that’s it. That’s enough to break the moment. Lan Wangji goes back to looking like he’s maybe enjoying a quiet evening after a long day instead of like he’s made of light and warmth and eggshells.

Wei Wuxian throws himself around the table, ending with his head in Lan Wangji’s lap. He’s the shameless one in this—whatever they’re doing, it’s not fair that Lan Wangji can make him feel like he’s going to come unraveled from more than arm’s-reach away and then turn it off.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, “You can’t look at me like that, it’s too much, I can’t stand it.”

Lan Wangji hums thoughtfully and brushes hair out of Wei Wuxian’s face. The quirk of his lips is insufferably amused.

Wei Wuxian pouts at him

“What if I want to spoil you sometime, hmm?”

It’s difficult to do, both because Lan Wangji has so few things he actually lets himself be attached to, and because he’s rarely content to sit idle while others act. Wei Wuxian has tried, twice before, to spoil him for an evening, and both times he’s fairly certain Lan Wangji was merely indulging him rather than actually enjoying the experience.

There’s a difference. He hasn’t been able to explain the difference even to himself yet, but he knows it matters.

Lan Wangji finds his hand and squeezes his fingers.

“Wei Ying is here,” he says, and the look on his face—as if Wei Wuxian’s mere presence is in any way comparable to the effort and care Lan Wangji has put into this evening so far—Wei Wuxian turns and buries his face in Lan Wangji’s side, which probably does nothing to hide his blush in the end. He can feel his ears burning.

“Lan Zhan,” he groans, dragging out the second syllable. “You—” He sits up. “At least let me comb your hair,” he asks, because it’s the one thing he knows Lan Wangji really does enjoy having someone else do for him. Hair combing. That’s what he has.

“If you wish to,” Lan Wangji says, which is so not the point, and then he reaches up to start undoing his topknot himself. Wei Wuxian grabs at his hands.

“I want to,” he agrees. “But we could be somewhere more—come sit on the bed,” he suggests, tugging on Lan Wangji’s hands as he sits up, then stands.

Lan Wangji has that terrible amused tilt to his mouth again, but he stands and walks obediently to the bed, and waits while Wei Wuxian rummages through his bags for a comb and tries to find the most comfortable position for them both.

He does relax as Wei Wuxian undoes his topknot and starts drawing his fingers through his hair. The blue hair ribbon and white forehead ribbon are carefully wound into small coils and set safely aside, and then Wei Wuxian presses his fingertips to Lan Wangji’s temples and draws them slowly back, dragging light circles over his brow and the crown of his head and down, behind his ears to the point at the back that always aches when Wei Wuxian himself spends too long hunched over books and letters, and then down again, to the base of his neck. He sweeps the motion out to Lan Wangji’s shoulders and then starts again, just a spark of spiritual energy in the touch to smooth away the cares of the day.

Lan Wangji sighs, a quiet note of tension released, and Wei Wuxian smiles to himself. He sets his fingers on that same path again and again, until a quick glance at Lan Wangji’s face reveals his eyes closed and his lips parted, the strain around his brow and mouth loosened.

He starts combing at the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair, working out small snarls as he moves upwards. It’s soothing work. Meditative. Sometimes he thinks Lan Wangji does meditate when they do this, but not tonight, or at least, not in any visibly discernible way. He even relaxes again, just a little more, his shoulders drooping just slightly, as Wei Wuxian reaches the top of his head.

There’s a while where the only sounds in the room are the slide of the comb through smooth hair and the slow pulse of their breathing. Wei Wuxian keeps steady, light pressure on the comb, another round of massage for Lan Wangji’s scalp, and counts the strokes until he passes one hundred.

Lan Wangji lets him get all the way into the one-twenties before he straightens slightly and turns to tug the comb from Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian protests, “you really needn’t—”

Lan Wangji is looking down at the comb. There’s a hint of puzzlement to the expression.

Wei Wuxian looks. The rest of his protest dies on his tongue.

The comb in Lan Wangji’s hand is not his usual peachwood comb with the lotus flowers motif; The one Lan Wangji watched him buy in Yunmeng, over a year ago, before they’d started on their separate paths. No. This is the other one. Sandalwood. A pair of cranes in flight. The one Wei Wuxian has been holding onto for three months now, cradling it between his hands on long evenings with no one but Little Apple for company and thinking—wondering—

The merchant had said his young lady was very lucky to have such a beautiful gift in store, and up until that moment Wei Wuxian hadn’t even thought—he’d just seen it, as he passed by, and the sandalwood reminded him of Lan Wangji and quiet evenings in the Jingshi, and the cranes had reminded him of a summer morning when he’d woken as Lan Wangji slid out of their shared blankets, and he’d watched him stand against the sunrise, white robes and black hair limned in dawnlight and he’d thought, yeah. Forever.

“You can keep it, if you want,” he blurts. And then he keeps talking as Lan Wangji looks at him, that hint of confusion still pulling between his brows.

“I bought it for you,” he admits, “I just—”

He waves his hands, trying to encompass the small comfort it had brought him in lonely places even as fear had grown under his ribs, and the whole tangled mess of how forever meant something different when only one of you had a golden core, meant something different when you were living such different lives—but always with the same goals, so it was still the same, somehow—

Lan Wangji looks down at the comb again.

“Thank you,” he says, and his face does that thing again—a slight softening. Light and warmth and the fragility of eggshells.

Wei Wuxian kisses him, because he’s close enough to do it this time, kisses his eyebrow and his cheekbone and his lips as if that can make up for the words that crowd under his breastbone, unspoken and smothering with the bound-together weight of Thank you and I want and please.

It’s not fair to ask when he has so little to offer. That was the conclusion he’d come to, those nights watching firelight flicker over carved wooden cranes—so perfectly paired, so equally matched. He won’t ask until he has something more—a golden core, or a home, or a promise that doesn’t feel like it will fall to ashes as soon as it leaves his tongue.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, his lips moving against the flushing skin of Lan Wangji’s jaw, “Don’t you know how much I like you?”

It’s enough, for now, that Lan Wangji hums against his temple and nips kisses that are half teeth down his neck, that Lan Wangji’s hands wind into his layers and pull at his belt, that he says Wei Ying like it means something more than just a name.

It’s enough, for now.

#wangxian #wangxian fic #the untamed #cql #chen qing ling #lan wangji #wei wuxian #alex writes

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teethhunter · 4 years ago

Text

Better than a Dream

Rosegarden Secret Santa Gift for @jealouscartoonist based of their Cinderella AU

The kingdom was absolutely bustling with news of the Grand Ball.

Rumor had it that this event was to find a proper suitor for the Crown Prince, Oscar.

It was to be the largest event of the decade, more open to the public than many events but also with many important and influential people planning to come. There was much talk of the preparations happening at the palace in the weeks leading up to the event as even those with no plans or no means to attend enjoyed participating in the excitement.

Many were sent into a tizzy of daydreams of meeting the love of their life at the ball. With all that talk about the prince those daydreams tended to prominently feature him. For some the daydreams morphed into full on scheming and for others they remained fun fantasies that filled the streets with quiet whispers and giggles of just how romantic it would be to get a moment alone with such a charming and handsome prince.

The rumors, however fun, were patently false.

Yes this was to be an event of massive proportions and King Ozpin certainly hoped that a few people might find a spark of romance for themselves that night but he wasn’t doing this to marry off his adoptive son to the first or most enthusiastic party-goer who made a move.

“Just because that wasn’t what you meant to do, doesn’t mean they won’t try.” Oscar pointed out, voicing his anxieties as the day of the ball grew closer.

“Ah but that’s just part of the fun!” Ozpin replied, a far too pleased look on his face.

“Fun for you maybe…”

“And fun for everyone else too. They are making their own fairytales that prominently feature themselves. The human imagination is a wonderful thing.”

Oscar sighed, he should have known that a chat with Ozpin wouldn’t exactly quell his fears in a normal way but it did sort of help even so, just a little bit. “You’re sure I have to go?”

“You’ve never had a miserable time at a party thus far. You can see your friends, maybe meet someone new… Just try to celebrate with everyone.”

In this kingdom still bustling about a ball lived a beautiful girl named Ruby Rose.

Ruby had never been to a ball. In fact Ruby couldn’t at all recall attending a party where she didn’t have to do all the prep work and clean up, only getting scraps of the food that was served.

She lived in a lovely house with her stepmother Salem, and her two stepsisters, Cinder and Neo. Despite the high status of the family and the fact that they could more than afford to hire servants, Salem treated Ruby as nothing but a scullery maid herself. She made Ruby do all the work around the house while Cinder and Neo did seemingly everything they could to make it more difficult. Cinder was more direct in her ways of showing disdain, she would make huge messes right when Ruby had something important to do,or she would burn Ruby’s possessions for fun. Neo was more subtle, waiting until no one was looking to set up situations that would frame Ruby as having messed up. Putting bleach into the wash with the dark clothing Ruby was cleaning, or slipping an ingredient someone in the family was mildly allergic to into a meal Ruby was preparing.

Ruby had grown rather numb to all their antics after dealing with them for so long.

The step family was of course planning on going to the ball and all the talk of the prince looking to find a suitor had certainly gotten back to them. For the last month Salem had been coaching Cinder in this elaborate scheme to catch the prince’s attention, ensuring that they had planned down to the last little detail.

Ruby thought it all a little silly because no matter how much they planned there was always a change that Cinder wouldn’t run into the prince at all, or he wouldn’t like her if he did meet her, maybe even see through that thin veneer of faked kindness to how cruel Cinder could actually be.

None of that was Ruby’s problem though and she had the sense to not voice any of these opinions. She had other things on her mind.

For the first time in her life she was going to go to a ball. Salem had given permission (however offhandedly, it was still a yes!).

For years, during her limited free time she would work at Pietro’s mechanic shop in town to earn money. She had a certain talent for weapon repairs which were nearly always a necessity for anyone traveling outside the city limits where beasts and bandits lurked.

Most of the money she earned at this job was tucked away to someday move far away from her stepfamily but for the last few months she had saved up the money and bought herself a lovely dress. The style of it might have been a bit unconventional- particularly when in combination with the boots she was planning to wear with it- but the fabric was silky to the touch and a deep red color and trimmed with an intricate lace at the hem. She was incredibly proud to have this tangible proof of the work she had put in to get to this point.

The morning before the ball, Ruby woke up early to go to the market to do the grocery shopping. She knew if she wanted time to get ready she would have to get all of her chores done as quickly as possible because here was always a chance Salem would add new tasks to the list.

The excitement in the air was palpable everywhere she went. It was the only thing anyone around was talking about it seemed. Normally Ruby was happy to talk idly with the owners of the various food stalls but today she just nodded along politely as she filled her basket, not lingering for the chit-chat.

Ruby arrived home, basket heavy with produce heavy on her arm, with plenty of time to complete the rest of her chores. She put away all the food and went immediately to cleaning. She took extra care to avoid her step family as Salem was already getting the girls dressed up and ready meaning they would all probably be looking to take their anxiety out on her.

By early afternoon Ruby has finished up and finally can retire to her room to rest and get ready. Her room was in the cellar, not much larger than a closet. It could get cold and damp in there during the winter and after downpours of rain though right now it was pleasantly cool compared to the hot summer weather.

She had done a lot to make it cozy and comfortable. Every inch of wall was decorated, her bed piled up with blankets, and her shelf lined with books she bought over the years from a thrift store in town.

When Ruby opened the door to her room she saw something that made her blood run cold. Cinder, perfectly dressed up and ready for the ball, perching on the end of her bed, holding Ruby’s dress.

Cinder smirked with an awful twist to her lips when she saw Ruby, like she was laying in wait for this moment, a lit candle held in one hand.

The dress had been hidden at the back of her closet so there was no way Cinder just tumbled on it.

“I thought you were joking about going to the ball. You can’t be serious.” Cinder said with a mock laugh.

“No… I wasn’t joking.” Ruby’s voice already held a hint of defeat, already knowing where this was going to go.

“Do you seriously think anyone there would be interested in /you/?” Disgust radiated from Cinder in those words.

“That’s not why I-” Ruby was cut off before she could finish her sentence.

“And this dress. You’ll be turned away at the door for wearing something so low class.” Cinder held the dress up as if appraising it for it’s every flaw, as if it was too hideous to look at for too long.

“I…” That hurt more than it should for how many insulting things Cinder had said to her over the years. She had grown a rather thick skin about it but this dress was really important to her.

“Really, dear sister, I should save you from the embarrassment. You could tarnish our family name.” Cinder brought the candle up until the flame of it licked the lace trim, making it curl, then crisp, then catch fire.

“Please stop.” Ruby whispers, knowing it was useless, she knew what was about to happen the moment she saw Cinder in here.

It didn’t completely catch fire, put a few flames eat at the edges and creep up the bottom of the skirt, leaving it a mess of holes and ash. Cinder says nothing else to her, simply unceremoniously dropping the dress in a pile on the ground, stepping on it as if to put out a still burning ember on her way out.

~~~~~

Ruby waited until the last of the burning embers died down before picking the dress up and bundling it in her lap as she sat on her bed. She sat frozen like that in silence, her ears ringing as she tried to bite back tears. There was no way she could mend this in time for the ball. She couldn’t afford to get new fabric even if she had the time.

All she had wanted was to share this one special night with everyone who was so excited about it but that was ruined.

“I wish I didn’t live with these awful people.” She muttered to herself. “I wish they would just disappear.” She took a breath and all at once any anger she held just deflated into grief as tears finally spilled. “No… I just wish I could go to this ball.”

In her mind she had held this event as a moment of defiant freedom, that if she could never escape Salem and she lived the rest of her life like this then at least she got this one wonderful moment.

“You called?” A voice broke the silence, startling Ruby so badly she nearly fell off the bed.

In front of her was a familiar man- er Fairy, technically. He stood in proper Fairy Godmother attire, a clearly enchanted black dress with translucent red fairy wings fluttering behind him. In contrast with the traditional look was his much less conventional scythe-style magic wand at his side and the full martini glass held precariously in his hand.

“Oh! …. You.” Ruby sighed in relief as she got her bearings after being so startled.

“Well don’t go sounding too thrilled about seeing your Fairy Godmother kiddo. You summoned me, remember?” He put on the airs of being dramatically offended though his smile told a different story.

Ruby wiped the lingering tears from her eyes before she spoke. “No it’s… sorry, it’s good to see you actually Qrow.”

In all honesty she had almost forgotten that wishing for things summoned him. She didn’t exactly even know why that happened. When she asked before all she got was a shrug from Qrow and some half-excuses about the ‘mysterious ways of magic’.

It had been a long time since she’d wished for anything actually. Her memories of her childhood were blurry at best but she could vaguely recall how she’d make all sorts of silly wishes just to have him come visit. He was odd and always a little tipsy but he was also so much nicer than her step-family that it made her earlier years with them much more tolerable.

“I didn’t actually mean to call you, it was sort of an accident.” She admitted after a moment.

“Hmm, well even if it was an accident, I’m here now so why don’t you tell an ‘ol Qrow your woes. Looks like you’ve had a rough time of it.” He walked with a strut in his step over the small distance to her bed, sitting down next to her. He took a long drink from his seemingly never emptying glass as he waited for her to talk.

Ruby started and stopped her attempts to explain several times before she got all the words out, still stumbling over herself. She gave more detail than could possibly ever be needed but this was the first time in a long time she ever let all these emotions out. She had friends in town but she never ever let any of them know the cruelty of her ‘family’. Her Fairy Godmother already knew of these things so for once it was safe.

She began to cry again as her words flowed. Qrow was content to listen in his somewhat drunkenly glazed over state.

“-and now I can’t go because my dress is ruined and it’s not like I have anything else I could wear and the ball is in just a few hours and I’m never going to get a chance like this again.”

Ruby finally took a pause and Qrow chuckled.

“Well if it’s only an outfit you need then I can fix you up fine.”

“Wait, really?” It hadn’t actually crossed her mind that he could help with that..

“Yeah that’s what I’m here for. Mmm, but there’s limits to it, I think you remember that.” Qrow said, fiddling with is scythe-wand as he got ready to do some magic.

Yes Ruby remembered there were limits, there were always strange caveats to any wish she made but right now she could barely bother to care. “Okay! That’s fine, I don’t mind as long as I get to go. Wait um what are the limits?” “It’ll wear off at the stroke of midnight. Indefinite magic gives the worst sort of headache to do.”

“Are you sure that’s not just a hangover?” Ruby mumbed, being immediately met with a shove and grumble from Qrow.

“Shush you. No sassing your godmother. Magic works in mysterious ways.

Speaking of which, magicking you up might make you a little harder to recognize. Not that you’ll look different, just a side effect of illusionary magic.”

Ruby nodded along, none of those terms sounded awful and now she was just in a rush to make it happen. “Okay goes away at midnight and I’m sorta in disguise, I can handle that.”

“Great, go put that dress on then and I’ll get you all set. Best to work from a base product to build onto y’know.”

“Get out of my room then please?” Ruby started ushering him out of her room so she could have space to change.

“M’kay, I’ll wait outside.” He swayed as he walked out of the room, leaning against the wall in the hall as she got ready.

Ruby carefully slipped the dress on, as if trying to prevent it from crumbling more than it already had. Dark ash smeared her skin as the burnt bits brushed against her. She put her boots and accessories on to finish the look. One glance at her small, cracked mirror had her frowning. She looked absolutely ridiculous. It took her longer than it should have to build back up the confidence to call Qrow back in but eventually she did.

“Oh good, you’re all ready.” Qrow came to stand beside her. “Time for the magic words, you know the drill.” He lazily waved his scythe-wand over her head while in a dramatic and slurred fashion exclaiming “Bippity boppity boo!”

Ruby could feel the hum of magic before she could see it. The dress seemingly mended itself all at once, fitting even better than before. She was so captivated by how well it worked that she did notice the other alterations until she took a step and immediately lost her balance, sticking her arms out to keep herself from falling. Her nice practical knee high boots were now sparkling ruby red heeled shoes.

“Why did you give me stilts to walk on?” She asked, still trying to keep herself upright.

“Isn’t that just what people wear to these things?” Qrow shrugged, completely unbothered.

“I’m going to trip and die before I get there.” Ruby commented half to herself, but she didn’t want to be ungrateful and he had done something wonderful for her.

“Thank you for this.” She eventually added.

“Yeah yeah, any time. I’d love to stick around but I do have things to do, places to be. So go enjoy that ball, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He said, seemingly uncomfortable with the appreciation and in a rush to escape it, he disappeared in a blink.

Ruby walks the length of her room several times, trying to get a hang of walking in these shoes.

She didn’t dare leave her room until she was certain her step family had already left for the ball because she dreadd what Cinder might do if she saw Ruby all dressed up- or worse what Salem might do.

~~~~

When finally she is sure it is safe to leave, she heads out immediately to the palace.

The ball was in full motion when she arrived. It’s the most beautiful thing she has ever seen with people laughing, drinking, and dancing the night away to beautiful music performed by a live orchestra. There were tables filled with the most luxurious snacks and servants going around to cater to guests as well. There were of course guards posted around but even they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ruby was a bit out of sort, unsure what to do with herself but more than content to just take it all in.

She has been seated in a quieter corner, enjoying some snacks when a man sidles up next to her to start a conversation which leads into asking her to dance. She politely declined but this repeated itself once again with an entirety different and more persistent lad who was determined to dance with her. She wouldn’t be able to dance in these silly shoes even if she knew how to or wanted to so she less than politely bid him farewell and walked away, trying to find somewhere she won’t be pestered.

She weaved through the crowds, paying little attention to who was there. It was during this escape that she stumbled terribly, instinctually grabbing at something to keep herself from falling on her face. The tearing sound of fabric was audible as she realized she grabbed the sleeve of some woman’s dress. The horrified screech from that woman was what made her realize the person she had grabbed was none other than Cinder.

Ruby stole a glance at the scene, Cinder having clearly been mid-conversation, now with a torn sleeve and wine covering her whole front from a glass that had been jostled.

Ruby quickly ducked her head, hiding her face, planning how to escape, praying that Cinder hadn’t noticed who she was. As it turned out, an escape plan was unnecessary as Cinder stormed off and away from all the prying eyes watching this scene play out.

Ruby stayed knelt there, stewing in her own mortification, wishing in her head to just disappear.

“Hey, are you okay?” Someone asked, bending down and offering her a hand up.

“I’m… fi- fine?” Her voice cracked mid word as she took his offered hand and finally got a proper look at him. Her gaze sliding from his face to the circlet on his head. Without that, she would have no clue who he was, she had never seen the prince before after all.

She had made no move to stand yet but Prince Oscar had also made no move to help her up either. They were frozen like this, hand held, staring at each other.

For Ruby it was the shock of meeting the prince and him kindly trying to help her (and he was as pleasant looking as everyone said).

For Oscar it was because when his eyes met her he was utterly and inexplicably captivated. His heart skipped a long beat and he couldn’t seem to look away.

In the same instant they both snapped out of it. Oscar helped her up in one swift motion, completely red in the face as he processed just how long he’d been staring at her.

“I’m-” Ruby was instantly interrupted.

“No I’m-” Oscar tried to say.

“Sorry” “Sorry.”

They said in the same moment, looking down and away from each other.

They fumbled over each other’s apologies for another moment and finally got the courage to look at each other again. Another pause, just for a breath and they both laugh.

“It’s not a big deal. If I’m being honest you sort of saved me there? I had been trying to get out of that conversation for a while and that definitely took care of it.” Oscar explained, rubbing the back of his neck as he confessed that.

Ruby held in another laugh, it would be very difficult to explain just how funny this situation was to her personally. “Well I’m happy to be a help?”

She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as she was quickly becoming acutely aware of just how many people were still watching them. “I should probably go do- do something else, something ball related, you know.”

She turned away and tried to disappear into the crowd, headed outside to get some fresh air. “Wait!” Oscar called but she didn’t seem to hear him. There wasn’t a thought in his head as he followed right after her out to one of the balconies. It was quiet out there and a major relief for him to have a break from people constantly wanting something from him.

When she noticed him approaching he flustered again, he had no reasonable explanation for why he followed her other than this undercurrent need to get to know her.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” He asked, internally cursing himself for such a bland introduction.

Ruby was more at ease without so many people around. Even if it was a little nerve racking to be speaking to someone so important, she was somehow less on edge than when anyone else at the ball had approached her. “I don’t really have anything to compare it with but it’s sort of amazing?” It was true, it was all so grand and amazing, even if she did have to dodge a couple of people it was still one the most incredible things she’d ever been a part of.

“Oh, so it’s your first time attending a ball then? I’m glad it’s been good.”

“Yeah I mean, all the books I loved when I was little had castles and grand balls in them and I never thought it would actually be like those stories. Turns out yeah it really is.” Ruby took a seat on the bench to finally get off her feet.

“I loved those sorts of stories growing up too. I guess it’s weird now to think about how people dream of becoming royalty, being a prince or princess. I went from living on a farm to being adopted into this and then those stories were less fun to read.” He hadn’t really read any books like that since he moved into the palace, now that he thought about it. They all lost their charm.

“I always wanted to be a knight in those stories actually.” Ruby admitted.

“Oh really?” Somehow that didn’t seem surprising at all, he had known her for no more than a few minutes but there was a certain spark to her that made that so believable.

“Yeah I just loved the idea of protecting people that can’t protect themselves, y’know?”

“Remind me to introduce you to the castle guards sometime, I really think you’d like them.” Oscar noted. “But that’s a really nice dream you have though. I think sometimes imagining things is more fun than the reality of it? I’m very lucky to be in this position but living it made dreams of it more dull...I’m sorry I’m rambling!”

Ruby covered her mouth to conceal a grin. “No, it’s fine. I know what you mean but I want to believe that sometimes reality can be even better than dreams if it’s the right reality for you.”

“That’s- hm I think I’d like to believe that too.” Oscar mumbled, leaving them sitting in comfortable silence side by side for a long moment.

“Would you like to go back inside and dance?” He eventually asked, worried she might grow bored with him otherwise.

Ruby shook her head immediately “Oh please no! I mean I’d love to but… erm you saw me trip back there, I don’t really want to have a repeat performance.”

“Okay then do you want to go on a walk?” Oscar just didn’t want to leave her side, not yet.

“That would be nice actually.” Ruby didn’t particularly want to end their conversation either.

Like a proper gentleman, Oscar offered her his arm to link together which abated any of her lingering anxiety about tripping again.

Oscar led her through a quieter path out of the castle and out along a cobble pathway that snaked around the rear courtyards and into the gardens. Lit only by the moonlight it was gorgeous, overflowing with different flowers and vines covering every surface other than the path itself. Their evening was filled with conversation, once past the initial awkwardness they slipped into comfortably chatting about all sorts of meaningless things.

Time had melted away for the both of them.

That was, until the gonging sound of the clock tower atop the castle interrupted Ruby mid sentence.

She went pale.

“I have to go.” She said, pulling away from him. She could already feel the magic beginning to fade as she hurried away.

“Wait come back!” Oscar held a hand out like he wanted to stop her, like he hoped she would listen and turn around for even a moment.

Just before she was out of Oscar’s view she stumbled once more, the heel of one of the slippers getting caught between two stones in the path.

Oscar flinched, taking one step forward. “Oh, are you okay?”

She didn’t have time to waste and she hated these stupid shoes anyways so she just slid her foot out of it and kept on running.

Ruby was well on her way out when Oscar stooped down to pick up her shoe. The clock had struck midnight and that slipper had reverted back to its old form as a boot. “You left your...boot?” He muttered to himself in complete confusion as he stared at it.

Ruby’s dress was back to it’s charred state by the time she had left the palace property. She hobbled her way home with one boot and one foot with nothing more than a sock on it.

Sneaking back inside her home went better than she was expecting. She was able to get to her room and change out of the ruined dress without anyone seeing her. None of that stopped Cinder from being in a foul mood and barging demanding Ruby draw her a bath. This time Ruby couldn’t even claim that Cinder’s mood wasn’t her fault, even if Cinder wasn’t aware that it was Ruby who had interrupted her plans.

~~~

The morning after the ball Oscar sulked through breakfast. He just couldn’t get his mind off the girl he had spoken with at the ball.

Four of his guards who were more just friends of his than anything else often joined him for meals when there was no formal gathering in place. Today was no different but there was a certain tension in the air.

“Soooo, how was the ball?” One of his guards, Nora asked, breaking the silence with a smile that told him she was already perfectly aware of how it went. “It was fine. It was a ball.” Oscar answered blandly, still staring at his food that he pushed around on his plate.

“Just fine? Hmm well I heard you disappeared with some pretty girl and didn’t show back up all night.” Nora pressed more, leaning in with an intense expression like she was rearing for a full interrogation. Ren put a hand on her shoulder to try and rein her in.

“Oh you met someone?” Jaune asked and Oscar genuinely couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he was completely out of the loop. “What’s her name?”

Oscar shrunk in on himself with a quiet sigh.“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

“Wait wait wait, you spend all night with this girl and you don’t even ask her name? How are you going to find her again?” Pure horror present in Nora’s voice as she asked that.

“I guess I probably won’t.” Oscar said like he was trying to come to terms with that himself.

“If you are meant to meet again, I think your paths will cross.” Pyrrha chimed in right as Oscar was getting ready to leave the table.

The entire day following Oscar felt like he was in a daze. He couldn’t concentrate for any of his lessons, which got him scolded by one of his etiquette teacher, Glynda, and told to leave early since he clearly ‘had his head in the clouds’.

Even King Ozpin commenced on it in passing with that odd smile on his face that always irked Oscar just a little bit.

When he finally had enough of all the ‘knowing’ comments and teasing he dug out his commoner clothes from his closet and slipped them on. He used to sneak out much more often because sometimes he missed being looked at like a normal person. He hadn’t done this in a while and the clothes didn’t quite fit anymore but he really needed some space.

Oscar wandered aimlessly through the maze of streets in the city surrounding the palace. For the first time all day he felt relaxed as he blended into the crowd with on stares or comments. There was always the slightest bit of tension he held from always having to perform in a princely manner, but here no one expected anything of him.

He was window shopping at an antique store when someone passing by catches his eye.

Maybe Pyrrha’s comment about paths crossing if they were meant to wasn’t so silly because he sees this girl and his brain goes completely fuzzy like it was trying to piece things together while his heart skips in a way that’s becoming very familiar to him.

“Hey wait!” He called out, jogging to catch up with her, not paying mind to how odd this might seem to bystanders.

Ruby doesn’t immediately realize it’s her that’s being called out to. Not until he catches up to her. She started, stopping mid-stride to look at him. Despite his change of clothes she recognized him immediately. She was nervous and happy and confused all at the same time. She never thought she’d see him again and didn’t think he would care to talk to her again either.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you. I guess that was pretty weird to do.” Oscar said apologetically, realizing this was the second time in a row they had an awkward greeting.

“No, no it’s okay I just wasn’t expecting to see you again!” Ruby explained, unsure what to say or do now. “Do you come around here often?” She asked, just to fill the silence.

“Sometimes it’s just nice to be able to take a walk without people staring, you know?” Oscar answered, genuinely thrilled to talk to her about literally anything right now.

“Won’t people recognize you?” Ruby thought he was fairly recognizable, but then again she also had a whole night to take in the details about him.

“Well no one has so far, I think when people aren’t expecting to see me I sort of blend into the background.” The only person to recognize him thus far was her, but that was because he came running up to her so obviously.

“You weren’t expecting to see me but I didn’t blend into the background for you.”

“Oh it’s your eyes…” Oscar tapered off quickly, not wanting to admit that he’d been subconsciously scanning the crowd every moment he was out, hoping to run into her again.

“Hey, have you eaten lunch yet?” He changed the subject abruptly.

“I haven’t but-”

“Well, would you care to join me? There’s this little bakery I love around here.”

Ruby was anxious both because the longer the less chores she was getting done but also because she didn’t have the money on her to pay for lunch. But he looked so bright eyed and hopeful and that smile was killing her.

“I can’t be out for too long, but okay.” She answered finally.

“Really? Great!” Oscar was nearly bouncing on his feet as he offered her his arm reflexively, an overly formal gesture but sweet nonetheless.

Ruby laughed quietly but took his arm, ignoring the couple odd glances they earned.

Oscar led the way to this small corner shop filled to the brim with various baked goods. The sweet scent made her mouth water. She looked at all the different offerings as Oscar chatted with the old lady running the place, listing off the pastries he wanted to get.

He turned to Ruby after a moment and asked “What would you like?”

It hadn’t occurred to her that he was offering to pay for her until then, she didn’t have the money on her to actually buy anything so she was planning on just quietly not ordering anything.

She paused, internally scrambling to make a decision. “One of these?” She pointed to a flaky chocolate croissant that had caught her eye earlier. He picked up on her hesitance quickly and ordered both that and a couple of his personal favorites for her to try.

Once they gather up all their pastries they sit at the one small round table next to the window, settling down.

“ Okay, weird question but it’s been killing me ever since I last saw you.” Oscar asked.

Ruby nodded, giving permission for him to go ahead and ask.

“How do I phrase this,,,,When you left, you dropped your boot? But you definitely weren’t wearing a boot before that?”

Ruby blinked at him then laughed. “Yeah I get why you’d be thinking about htat for so long. It’s well, it was magic? And no I’m not joking! I really mean it.”

At first Oscar gave a slightly doubtful look but she seemed so genuine and there was no other good explanation either. “You know someone that can use magic then? Wow that’s pretty rare nowadays.”

There were traces of magic, some people were born with minor magical abilities and there were healers that cultivated that particular skill but it was rare to have someone perform magic for something like this.

“Yeah I’ve known him for my whole life I guess. Kinda an odd guy but also he’s always been there or me so I guess I can’t complain.”

With that they fell into easy conversation once again and once again time slipped away.

Until she was abruptly brought back to reality from a comment by the old lady running the shop.

“Are you two planning to just honeymoon it here or what? We’re losing daylight!” She asked, halfway between amused and annoyed at the two lovebirds.

Ruby froze, glancing out the window to note that indeed the sun was going down.

“Oh no, I have to go.” She should’ve already been working on dinner and none of her other chores were done yet, scrubbing the floors always was so time consuming.

She was out the door before he could even call out to her, almost impossibly quickly.

“I didn’t even ask you your name. Oscar grumbles as he buries his face against the cafe table.

~~~~

Quite predictably Ruby was immediately scolded when she arrived home. She hadn’t washed Neo’s clothes in time and all her other chores were left to do too. She had to work far into the night without dinner to get it all done, though she wasn’t too bothered after having a lovely lunch with Oscar. She figured that would be the last time she saw him, that fate decided to give her that nice little bit of closure with him, one nice happy moment she could think about as her knees ached from crawling on them scrubbing floors.

~~~~

Oscar however wasn’t at all satisfied in that being the last time they met. In fact had been skipping out on his lessons and duties, sneaking out in commoner’s clothes constantly. It was not like him at all, normally he was highly responsible and took his role seriously.

After several days of this, King Ozpin interrupted one of his escape attempts. “If you needed a break, you could always just ask for one.”

Oscar, very much having not expected Ozpin to be lurking by the exit he always snuck through to get to town, startled. “I’m- it’s not that- it’s-”

Ozpin just nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You met someone.” He answered for Oscar.

Oscar just sighed and nodded.

“Well, a little birdy was telling me about this girl who works at a mechanic’s shop. Pietro’s I believe? Interesting thing about her is she’s got bright silver eyes, a pretty rare trait.” Ozpin explained casually.

“I… didn’t tell you she has silver eyes?” As odd as it was, Oscar had grown somewhat accustomed to Ozpin’s odd ability to know things he really shouldn’t be able to and knew that the half shrug and smirk he was given at that comment was all he would receive.

Ozpin stepped aside, clearing the way to the exit and gesturing for Oscar to go on.

Oscar began lingering around that shop whenever he could. He didn’t see the girl that day, or the day after that. In fact it took almost a whole week and he was beginning to feel rather creepy for doing this.

He just wanted to know her name. If it turned out that she wanted nothing to do with him after that, then so be it.

But finally his determination paid off and she was there that day. He didn’t approach her while she worked, not wanting to interrupt and be incredibly rude.

Instead he waited until she was off shift and out of the store, making himself very visible as he approached her. He had a whole thing to say planned out but it all left his brain the moment she saw him and looked happy to see him.

“Sorry to ah- ambush you here but I- someone told me where to find you and-” He just couldn’t string a sentence together. “What’s your name?” He finally blurted out.

Ruby was surprised to see him but already grinning at his awkward entrance. “Ruby, it’s Ruby.”

“Ruby.” He repeated back to her with a look of wonder on his face that made her stomach flip. He said it like it was the most beautiful word he had ever heard.

“So Ruby, you work at a mechanic shop?” Oscar asked, as if he was looking for an excuse to say her name again.

“Yeah, I work on weapons mostly, it’s fun.”

“Weapons huh? How come?” He wanted to know everything about her, he realized.

“Well… same reason I dreamed of being a knight as a kid I think? It helps protect people, in any way I can manage. That and the way weapons are put together is sort of like a puzzle? I find it calming I think and- oh, I do have to get going soon though.” She interrupted her self, knowing full well that they could talk for hours again.

“Come visit sometime!” Oscar said in a rush, not wanting to lose the chance to see her again.

“I can show you around, show you what it looks like when it’s not crowded with people for a big party.”

“If you’re sure that’s okay…” Ruby wanted to see him again too and seeing the rest of the palace sounded really interesting too.

“Absolutely! It won’t be a problem, no one around will mind.There’s always a guard up at the front gate, just tell them who you are and they’ll let you in.”

Ruby felt warm at the implication he'd mentioned her to enough people that the guards would know who she was. She nodded. “I’ll stop by as soon as I can, I promise.”

She left for home feeling light and with every intention of visiting him.

~~~~~

Bogged down by chores, it’s nearly two weeks later when she first gets a chance to visit. At the entrance to the castle stood a tall red haired woman in armor standing guard.

Ruby opens her mouth to introduce herself but doesn’t even have to as the guard is already opening the door. “It is very good to meet you.” she says. Ruby guessed Oscar really wasn’t exaggerating about the guards knowing who she was.

“Wait here and the Prince will be right down.” The guard assured.

Ruby stood in the main hall, looking at all the tapestries and portraits lining the walls as she waited.

Oscar showed up only minutes later, looking ecstatic and slightly out of breath as if he’d been running to get to her.

He reached out to her then hesitated. Like he wants to hug her or some show of affection but his etiquette training kicked in.

He held his hand out, palm up.

Ruby wasn’t entirely sure what to do but took a guess and put her hand very lightly on top of it.

His fingers curled around hers as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

This was by noble standards a very appropriate greeting for a woman he highly respected- if not a little strange because of their status difference. Yet it felt more intimate than just about anything else he could have done. She stood there,red faced and dizzy as he lowered their hands but still held hers in his. “I’m glad you actually came.”

“I promised I would, didn’t I?”

“Well I’m very glad you keep your promises then… I missed you.” He mumbled the last part before clearing his throat.”May I give you a tour?”

“Of course, lead the way your majesty.”

Oscar walked with her hand-in-hand through all the major parts of the castle. Quickly his tour got off track to them discussing other things with him briefly stating what room they were in but otherwise not bothering to give details about it, much more interested in the conversation at hand.

The sun is setting once again when they part ways, Oscar inviting her back any time she wants.

~~~~

Rumor has it that the Prince is seriously courting a girl. She is over many times a week and several servants whisper of the fact they have seen the two snuggled up together when they thought no one was looking. Even without that damning evidence, the bright mood the Prince was constantly in told the story plainly enough.

Ruby had taken to visiting the palace rather than working at the shop. She knew Pietro would welcome her back no matter how long it had been since she last worked. Still, it made her a bit anxious to not be working on her savings currently but for once in her life she was so very happy.

~~~~

Oscar had been serious about properly introducing Ruby to his guard friends. She got along with them easily, so easily in fact that they had begun teaching her the basics of fighting out in the training yard.

Whenever Oscar knew that was going to happen, he tried to get out of his duties early to go watch, it was always worth it to see.

This time around he got there just in time to watch Nora flip Ruby, pinning her to the ground.

“Nora… please try not to kill her, I think Oscar might actually get mad at us then.” Jaune pointed out as Ruby stood up and brushed herself off. “Oh come on, I’m not that breakable.” Ruby laughed. “You next then.” She grabbed one of the wooden training swords and stood at the ready for him.

A few parries from either side before Ruby went on the offensive, half accidentally Jaune over the head with it.

“Ow okay please don’t kill me either.” Jaune whined cradling his head.

Ruby snorted in an attempt to hide a laugh, completely unable to feign concern. “Hm but if I kill you do I get to take your place and be a guard?”

“What! No! Now I’m afraid you’re actually going to kill me.”

“You don’t need to kill Jaune to have a place here. You are more than welcome to stay” Pyrrha said while sympathetically rubbing Jaune’s shoulder, the only one willing to comfort him in his dramatics.

“I think there’s another role you’d prefer over being a guard though.” Ren noted, backed by Nora wagging her eyebrow to punctuate it with implication.

Ruby was less embarrassed now by this than she used to be. This teasing was commonplace now. There was no way it wasn’t glaringly obvious to everyone that the prince was courting her. Honestly she hadn’t put a whole lot of thought into it, it sort of just had been washing over her. Shows of affection are basically constant and they weren’t exactly secret about it even if they weren’t exactly clear about what they were to each other either.

~~~

It became a regular thing for Ruby to join Oscar for lunch or dinner on days when she visited. It was during one of these meals that she first met the King who apparently had the time to join them that particular day. King Ozpin was quite kind and welcoming to her, that dinner actually wasn’t nearly as awkward as she was expecting it to be. The only thing was that he kept saying things that made it sound like he’d met her before. It was odd but also hard to put her finger on exactly. When the meal was over and they parted ways Oscar assured that he was just like that but that the King really did seem to approve of her.

~~~

Some days she and Oscar would go spend their time in the palace library together. Usually they would just quietly enjoy having the other around, leaning gently against each other as they read. Sometimes they would talk about the books they were reading and get completely sidetracked. On this particular day they were going through the shelves of storybooks, quick and simple to read but filled with nostalgia. One particular set of books caught Ruby’s eye, pages faded to yellow with age and a gold trim around the edges. She grabbed for them before she noticed what she was doing, thumbing through the pages looking at the print and little illustrations. She hadn’t noticed how long she had been standing there when Oscar snuck up behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What’d you have there?” He whispered.

“These books, I just, I remember them from when I was little but I think you’re missing one?” There were three books she found on the shelf from this series but there should be a fourth one, the one she remembered best. “My mom- my birth mom used to read these too but my favorite was this one that had these warriors who could turn all the beasts in the forest to stone with their eyes? And well, they had silver eyes which I thought was so cool because both me and her had them too.” Ruby explained, she couldn’t even recall how the stories went, just like she couldn’t really recall her mother. Sometimes she’s sure she just dreamed it all up.

~~~

Oscar wasn’t too keen on giving gifts. It felt odd to do when he had so much wealth, like he was trying to buy affection. Today though was different. It was Ruby’s birthday and he’d been looking for this particular perfect gift all month long. Once she arrived he could hardly wait to give it to her.

“You’ve had that silly grin on since I’ve gotten here, it’s making me nervous..” Ruby said, eyeing him carefully.

“Okay, okay, I was going to wait until later but, well- hold on.” He turned tail, running up to his room and back to go grab the unwrapped present, returning soon after. “Here you go.”

In her hands he placed a book with those yellowed pages and gold trim. She stared at the title ‘The Warriors of the Woods ’, her fingers tracing the letters in awe. Her cheeks ached from the grin stuck on her face as dragged Oscar into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much!”

“Happy birthday.” Oscar said as he hugged her in return.

~~~

Ruby’s step-family was growing ever more suspicious as she kept returning home happy and grinning, humming songs to herself. Nothing seemed to manage to sour her mood whatsoever and every happy moment she showed only earned her more disdain and chores from Salem. Ruby did them all without complaint.

~~~

With Ruby around so often, Oscar began constantly skipping his lessons. All of his tutors eventually came up with a way to circumvent this by simply pulling Ruby into his lessons as well. Oobleck more or less ambushed them in the garden and gave them no room to politely escape as he handed them textbooks, paper, and pencils, diving right into a history lesson of the internal politics of the Kingdom of Vale.

One thing Oscar had learned about Ruby early on was that she hated being forced to sit still if it wasn’t her choice. She began to fidget, then doodle, then as all this information droned on made her head buzz she began to drift off into a nap.

Oscar nudged her awake a couple times before taking his paper and writing her a little note.

‘Think you’ll survive?’ He slid that over to her just before she began to doze again.

‘I don’t know! Is he always like this?’ Her writing was scrawls that took Oscar a moment to decipher but once he did he quietly laughed.

‘Pretty much, why do you think I skip out on this and spend time with you instead?’ He replied.

‘Saying I’m better than this isn’t a compliment :( ‘

This was the first, but definitely not the last time Ruby was brought into his lessons. Any time they could get away with it they passed notes and laughed like little school kids to pass the time.

~~~

When Oscar was having a bad day, he liked to go climb up into the rafters of the stables. The palace had a large stable where they kept the horses and a few chickens roamed freely. It felt familiar and safe to him. It wasn’t often that he had a truly bad day but today he was feeling very off. Ruby had come to visit that day and while it cheered him up in the way it always did, it didn’t exactly fix everything. That day Oscar decided to show Ruby his hiding spot in the rafters. He led her to the stable and showed her how he climbed up there, sitting comfortably on one of the beams.

“You don’t have to tell me but, is something wrong?” She asked, he had been so quiet today and they had never gone to spend time out here like this before.

“It’s nothing… nothing in particular, just a bad day, I guess.” Oscar admitted. “It’s silly, I mean it’s hard not to feel guilty about having a bad day when I have so much going or me.”

Ruby scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I don’t really think it’s silly, if you want to talk about it, I’m right here.” She rests her head against his.

Oscar took a moment to try to put it into words. “I’m thankful, for everything Ozpin has done for me. I’m a prince now, and he doesn’t even push all these outdated royal rules on me or anything. But… I didn’t exactly grow up this way? I grew up on a farm, and sometimes I just miss how simple everything was there and I miss my aunt and everything else.”

Ruby understood then why he would want to go hide out here and in a way she could imagine how overwhelming this must be for him since what she’s experienced of palace life was awfully overwhelming to her too.

She didn’t think about it for even a moment before she turned her head to press her lips to his in a sweet reassuring kiss.

Now, affection was shown quite freely between them in private, nearly constantly touching. Kisses, on the cheek, forehead, back of the hand, those were all commonplace for them nowadays. Yet this right here was their first proper kiss.

They were both a bit red in the face at the realization but it felt like it hardly needed addressing, like it was inevitable.

“Hey when you said Ozpin doesn’t push outdated rules on you? I mean he’s not going to have a problem with…” Ruby gestured between the two of them.

Oscar laughed, kissing her in return finally before answering. “I think he’s all for this. He approves of you and he wants me to be happy, and well, you make me happy.”

~~~

Ruby shouldn’t have been surprised when one night she came home to find that book Oscar had gifted her a charred pile of illegible paper in the middle of her room. Cinder had always had a knack for knowing just which of Ruby’s possessions would hurt the most to lose. That, and the whole family had been completely furious with Ruby being so upbeat lately that of course Cinder would do something like that.

Somehow it is so much worse than the dress being burnt. She re-read this book every night before she went to bed to remember what she could of the family she once had and to remember that someone cared enough about her to go through all the effort to find it for her.

She cleaned up the pile, feeling cold and empty and like she was entirely trapped here. Maybe it was just because she’d summoned him last time Cinder burnt something of hers, or maybe she just desperately needed someone to talk to in general but once she is calm she whispers “I wish I could see my Fairy Godmother.”

Once again Qrow appears in front of her in a blink. “Y’know, you can call me when you aren’t crying.” He sighs. “What’s it about this time? I thought the last gig went well. Heard you even snagged yourself a prince.”

“Where did you hear that?! I- never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“Am I wrong?” Qrow raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“That’s not the point. But even if I did you shouldn’t pat yourself on the back about it. You nearly killed me with those heels.” Ruby was trying to sound serious but having something meaningless to argue over was such a relief it was difficult to keep that tone of voice.

“Oh I’m definitely patting myself on the back. When you two get hitched that makes me royalty by extension.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Ruby mumbled, hiding a smile by ducking her head.

“Well, enough of that. You never answered my question, what’d you need?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. I think I’m just tired of this place.”

It was nothing he could fix anyways, not permanently at least probably. “Could you stay for a while? We could play games like when I was little?” She asked, of all things she thinks that might cheer her up right now.

Qrow seemed a bit confused and maybe even a touch startled at that statement but hid it quickly. “Didn’t think you remembered any of that.”

“You were always around, it’d be a little hard to forget!”

“Hmm…” For a moment he looked to be deep in thought before he shook his head. “I guess I can spare a little time.”

~~~

It was a few days before Ruby visited the palace again, longer than she had gone without visiting in quite a while.

When finally she does come by, Oscar is visibly worried.

He greets her with a kiss but lingers close. “Did something happen?”

“No, no I was just really busy.” Ruby said blandly.

Oscar had an expression that said he knew that wasn’t the whole story but he wouldn’t press her on it either.

“Just some family trouble, talk about it later okay?” Ruby added to try to quell his concerns.

Before they could continue their conversation they were interrupted.

“Ah, you’re here, excellent!” Said Ozpin as he approached the couple who took a respectful step away from each other. “See, I wanted to formally invite you to our next upcoming ball.” He handed Ruby a sturdy envelope embossed with her name in silver print on the front.

“We’re having another ball?” Oscar asked.

“Yes, it’s been a few months since the last one so I thought it’s time for another celebration.” Didn’t I tell you?”

“It must have slipped your mind.” Oscar muttered, half sure that Ozpin came up with this on a whim just today.

“This one is by invitation only. Hence why I wanted to personally ensure that Miss Rose received hers.” Ozpin shot a meaningful look Oscar’s way as he said that before turning to direct his next statement to Ruby “Mm, anyways, don’t worry about attire, we can have you fitted for a dress, one properly suited for a night of dancing.”

He left no time for either of them to respond before heading off elsewhere. They both are left standing there, confused about what just happened.

“Hey Oscar?”

“Mhm?”

“So, I don’t actually know how to dance?” She was embarrassed to admit it, since it seemed like something everyone around knew how to do but her.

“Oh, well there’s some excellent tutors around here, you don’t have to worry about that!” Oscar reassured.

“Okay but what if I’m afraid of embarrassing myself in front of the tutors?”

“Are you afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of me?” He asked and she considered the question.

“Somehow a lot less afraid.” Ruby answered, there was a level of comfort she’d reached in being that vulnerable around him.

“Then how about I teach you?”

~~~

That started what would become the weeks of dance lessons leading up to this next ball.

“It’s easier than it looks. I was nervous the first time around too.” Oscar said, standing in the large empty ballroom with Ruby as he started the record player on some basic waltz music.

He demonstrated the base steps alone, explaining them as he went.

“Okay, want to give it a try?” He asked.

“I guess, sorry if I step on your toes.” Ruby was still pretty apprehensive even after watching him demonstrate.

Oscar chuckled, putting one hand on her waist. “I’ve seen you practicing sparring with the guards, you’re actually really graceful.”

“When I’m sparring I’m supposed to be aiming to hurt people, and here not so much.” She retorted.

That was only met with a fond kiss and Oscar’s other hand finding hers. “Come on, giving it a try?”

She began to follow his steps but it was clear how uneasy she felt no matter how long they tried it for.

“Here, let’s try something different. You lead.” Oscar offered.

“Won’t that make it worse?” Ruby thought that would just give her more opportunity to step on his feet.

“No, I think it’s pretty awkward to learn to do these all backwards, it’s easier to learn if you’re in the lead role.”

“Okay…” Ruby reversed their position, putting her hand on his waist to mirror the way he had been holding her before. They were nearly the same height so it worked perfectly in that sense.

It’s awkward at first still but Ruby was much less nervous, actually it was Oscar that was stumbling more now because he wasn’t used to this role.

By the time they had made their way around the room once, she was grinning.

When the music ended she hugged him.

“Thank you, that was way less awful than I was expecting.” She mumbled against his shoulder.

“Ha, glad it was better than awful?” His arms wrap around her in turn.

“But you aren’t done quite yet. That’s just the very basics, and you still need to practice this more too.”

Ruby feigned a pout with a grin hidden behind it. “What? There’s more?”

Until the day of the ball they continued to practice. Oscar had been made to take dance classes since he’d been adopted so he was more than happy to show off some of the more intricate steps and dances. Ruby’s personal favorite was dips mainly for that cute dazed expression Oscar got on his face when she could easily dip him and pull him back up for a kiss.

Rumor had it that the Prince will be engaged to miss Ruby Rose by the time this exclusive ball is over with.

This rumor may or may not have been started singlehandedly by one royal guard by the name of Nora Valkyrie. Regardless of how it started, word spread far and wide.

Word spread so far and wide in fact that it reached Salem. She was fuming, oh how could that wretched girl catch the prince’s attention so easily?

As much as she wanted to lock Ruby away and have done with her, Salem knew that if the prince truly cared for the girl then he might very well go looking for her. So she bided her time and came up with a plan, forging an invitation for Cinder to go to this new ball.

Ruby didn’t know any of this. Maybe Salem was a bit more cold and cruel than usual, but Ruby had already grown to expect the worst so she couldn’t even tell the difference.

~~~

The night of the ball arrived rapidly and Ruby had snuck out without finishing her impossibly long list of chores knowing full well she would pay for it tomorrow.

She wore a lovely floor length dress in a similar red color as her previous one, this time with her comfy boots underneath rather than those awful stilts.

Ruby was happy with how she looked, and so much more relaxed without the constant fear that her step mother or sisters would somehow ruin this for her.

Her confidence only grew when she met Oscar at the entrance and he offered her his arm. “You look beautiful.” He said, sounding so genuinely awestruck.

She really had to hold herself back from kissing him or even hugging him since there still was etiquette to follow for an event like this.

“Thank you, you don’t look bad yourself.” She replied as she took his arm.

Oscar didn’t leave her side all night. As he was Prince, they did have to make the rounds of talking with anyone particularly important but everyone was quite polite and seemingly excited to meet her too.

Once all the niceties were out of the way, they joined everyone else on the dance floor.

Ruby wasn’t nervous anymore, though she put her hand on Oscar’s waist to immediately take the leading role in this dance. Oscar just laughed and tried to stealthily kiss her on the cheek, an action many caught sight of regardless, because of course people were keeping their eyes on the prince and his girl.

For the whole night they only dance with each other which no one seemed to take issue with.

Well, no one took issue with until one particular unwelcome guest mader appearance. A song had just ended when Ruby felt a harsh tap on her shoulder, a fingernail basically gouging into her arm. When she looked up at who was trying to get her attention, she tensed, staring wide eyed. Cinder stood here, a fake overly polite smile plastered on her face as if she didn’t know exactly who Ruby was. “May I have this next dance with him?” She asked, putting Ruby in a position to look very rude and possessive if she were to say no.

Ruby couldn’t find her words at all, even if there was little Cinder could directly do to her here she still couldn’t help but be afraid.

Oscar picked up on something being wrong immediately, he’d never seen Ruby look so vacant and afraid, and this woman who had approached looked vaguely familiar. He frowned slightly before looking at the guest. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

Cinder, seeing how this wasn’t going her way and so incredibly angry with Ruby getting her way, did not in fact excuse them for a minute. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you heard me, I said may I have this dance?” Her grip on Ruby’s shoulder now bruising as she tried to rip her away from the Prince.

Oscar immediately got in between the two of them, and the guards were there almost immediately. Cinder did not go easily or quietly, in fact it made for a rather impressive wrestling match to watch in the middle of the dance floor before she was actually dragged off.

Everyone was quiet, shocked, and confused but slowly the party came back to life with people chancing quiet conversation and then returning to their dance.

“I’m sorry- about that.” Ruby mumbled, voice trembling slightly.

“That wasn’t your fault… at all. But, you seemed to know her?” Oscar spoke carefully, not wanting her to feel obligated to answer.

“She’s my stepsister.” She answered shortly

Suddenly something clicked for Oscar about the ‘family issues’ Ruby had alluded to before and it left a bitter feeling in his stomach. “Hey, you’re safe now.” He said, pulling her close.

“Yeah, for now.” Ruby sighed, she would still have to go home to.. To whatever was going to happen now.

“No, for always. You could stay here, stay with me.” Oscar blurted out, more than anything just wanting to make sure she was safe and happy. It took him longer than it should have to realize just how that sounded. “Okay, uh to be clear that was not a proposal. I promise that will be much better thought out and not asked when you’re dealing with a lot of stress-” His explanation was interrupted with a kiss.

“You do realize you just implied you’re going to propose, right?” Ruby asked once she pulled away.

Oscar laughed, giving her one more peck on the lips. “I thought that was obvious.”

#rosegarden #rosepine #ruby rose #Oscar Pine #secret santa #my fic #rwby

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