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fire-lady-ilah · 4 years ago

Note

I would be fascinated in any ideas you had about how the hunt for Aang would go with 'good parent Ozai' AU!

Ask and ye shall receive! (@tiktokonaclock, here’s that part two you asked about). This continues from where I left off in part 1.

At first, Ozai says no. He has good reason to do so, Zuko is the Crown Prince, should he and Azula die then he will be heirless— he doesn’t know if Ursa would be able to bear another child, nor does he wish for another. In a less logical way, his mind protests because that is his son. Sixteen, yes, but still very much a child. That isn’t even the age of conscription.

He knows that the Avatar is a child, Commander Zhao’s report said that he appeared to be twelve, travelling with two other children that were closer to Azula’s age. He knows that his children make a formidable pair, he has no doubt that, together, they could be able to take on entire battalions of soldiers.

They are his children and they are Ursa’s children. How could he just let them go out to face an enemy such as the Avatar?

Zuko has Ozai’s charisma and awkwardness (as they come together, though few remember the way the Fire Lord used to stumble over his words as a teenager). Zuko looks so much like his father that sometimes older servants even refer to him by his name. But Zuko is equal parts his mother. He has his mother’s kinder nature, and he has her drive. Ursa’s persistence is one of the only reasons the Fire Nation is flourishing as it is now. Ozai knows that it had been suffering near the end of his father’s rule, he knows that he is an amazing military leader, just as he knows that it is better to leave his wife in charge of the majority of domestic policies.

It is that persistence combined with Azula’s carefully crafted wording that she also got from her mother that makes both Ozai and Ursa cave and give permission for their children to hunt the Avatar. Sometimes, Ozai wonders if his life would be easier if he didn’t love his family so much.

Zuko and Azula leave the Fire Nation together. Zuko is sixteen and looks the very image of a Crown Prince, even if a few hairs escape his top knot and fall across his face. Azula is fourteen and looks every bit the Princess she is. A single hair escapes it’s place and she leaves it be. She would not dare call attention to imperfections, just as Ozai himself wouldn’t. He is full of pride as he watches his children board the ship (the second newest design, as advanced as possible while having already been tested. He would not let untested technology take his children from him permanently). Captain Jee stands on the deck, greeting them. Apparently he had been demoted from his position at some point for assaulting an Admiral.

(He remembers the day he discovered the Captain’s existence well. Zuko had been eleven and helping him look over military documentation that had been sent to him to approve. One of such documents had been Jee’s demotion to lieutenant.

“I remember him. He was Lu Ten’s friend.” He heard his son mumble as he touched the included portrait of Jee. Closer examination showed that it had been drawn by his nephew himself. His son had loved his cousin, and he was not against doing things to make him happy. If Jee was loyal to Lu Ten, it only meant he would be more likely to be loyal to Zuko.

“I will have him transferred to the palace guard.”)

He proved to be honourable in the guard and had quickly been promoted back to captain after Ozai heard the true reasoning of the assault through Zuko’s horrified voice. He himself cared little for the affairs of military officers, but if it made his son happy to sign the papers for the Admiral’s dishonourable discharge and imprisonment, so be it.

That action had only solidified Jee’s loyalty to his son (and by extension, his daughter).

Now, I’m conflicted on whether or not Iroh would go with them. I’m leaning toward yes. Neither of them have been hurt by their father, but Zuko is still the most naturally kindhearted person in the royal family and he is destined to be Fire Lord. Azula has more empathy than she does in canon (although that’s not saying much), I doubt Iroh would comment that she’s “crazy and needs to go down”. After all, Ozai loves both his children here. That means that he doesn’t intentionally harm their mental health, nor does he encourage competition between them. They both want to make both their parents proud. If nothing else, Iroh would go with them so that he could stop them.

Thus, shortly after the Crown Prince and Princess of the Fire Nation step onto the ship, the Dragon of the West follows. It is filled with the best of the Fire Nation to seek the only bender of all four elements.

A stark contrast to canon, no?

The hunt progresses somewhat like in canon, though not. Lo and Li instruct further Zuko and Azula in lightning bending.

(“Only a hair out of place, Princess Azula.”

“That means I shall achieve perfection soon.”)

Iroh takes over his nephew and niece’s firebending training, though Azula is a master in her own right and Zuko is nearly a master as well. He forces them back to their basics.

Zuko yells and stomps and Iroh is reminded of his brother at the same age, back before his brother became the monster he is now. The same brother he sees glimpses of when Ozai is alone with his wife and children, the same brother that he sees none of in the Fire Lord. Azula is silent and moves to do her basics without complaint. She unnerves him, but he still loves her.

He loves them both. And he loves what remains of his brother in Ozai, even if he would choose the balance of the world over the Fire Lord in an instant.

They visit Admiral Zhao first. He declares that he has already captured the Avatar and that he would be more than willing to transfer his prisoner onto the royal family’s better equipped ship.

The siblings visit the chained Avatar. Zhao speaks of what he plans to do.

That is the thing about Ozai loving his children. Loving them means protecting them from certain cruelties, at least more than he did in canon. Zuko and Azula both see the Avatar, only twelve, and Zhao’s words overlap with Azulon’s orders to their father when Lu Ten dies. After all, Zuko had been only a year younger then.

That night, the Blue Spirit and the Dragon Emperor break the Avatar out of the stronghold with dual dao and twin daggers as the Prince and Princess sleep in their luxurious cabins. If that isn’t completely the truth, no one says anything to suggest as such. The Blue Spirit is knocked out by an arrow to the forehead. The Dragon Emperor does not allow the Avatar to remove the mask.

(“How did you not see that coming, Zuzu?”

“In my defence, you were supposed to be watching my back while I pulled the Avatar away.”)

They meet the Avatar’s companions briefly before the Emperor gestures to the rising sun and they disappear.

It is only after the escape of the Avatar that Iroh begins to consider the siblings further.

They pen a letter to their father.

Ozai reads between the lines and wonders, just once, if perhaps he had sheltered his children from the reality of war too much. He does not wonder again because he knows the alternative would have been far worse.

Instead, Ozai speaks with his wife. Ursa is a complex woman, but the Avatar is the reincarnation of her grandfather and she has an actress’s mind (and thus she has a politician’s mind).

As their children chase the Avatar, the Fire Lord and Lady put their own plan into motion. Canon Ozai may be content to lay all responsibility on his children, but this Ozai is actually a decent dad.

The siblings are free to enter Fire Nation territory as they wish and have no reason to sneak into the temple, even still they do. They watch as a Fire Sage, one of the highest religious authorities in the Fire Nation, disobeys the Fire Lord to help the Avatar.

Zuko’s quick fingers undo the water tribe boy’s restraints as Azula’s undo the girl’s. They share playful smirks, after all, neither of them are in any danger. They are a powerful team and they have their father’s unwavering support.

(“Why did you just untie us?”

“Zhao’s a dick.”)

Avatar Roku emerges in place of Avatar Aang. He pauses in front of the children, the girl that has Rina’s smile, the boy that has her hair (his own hair), always trying to escape from its confines.

They do not waver. They do, however, run when the Avatar begins to destroy the temple.

The siblings believe the Fire Nation is the greatest in the world. They believe that it is their duty to spread their glory to the other nations. But, late at night, taking tea together, they consider that perhaps Fire Lord Sozin went about it in the wrong way.

(Great-grandfather says hi, Ursa reads aloud from their children’s letter. Not for the first time, Ozai regrets sending his children on such a dangerous mission. He knew that Avatar Roku had been spotted on Crescent Island, he knew that he had blown up the temple. How close had his children come to being blown up?)

The Avatar sets course for Omashu. The siblings make a stop in the Fire Nation while they’re nearby. They have a friend to pick up.

Parts: [1] [3] [4]

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giftwrappingpaper · 4 years ago

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wangxian bakery au

prompt: "I'd love to enable a creator to write/draw that self-indulgent niche workplace AU they've always wanted to make."

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying baking bread in the kitchen of a hole-in-the-wall bakery in Yiling.

-----

A low, all too familiar voice hesitantly calls his name. "Wei Ying?"

No fucking way. Wei Ying looks up, raised eyebrows wrinkling his flour-dusted forehead. Yep, that’s Lan Zhan alright; no matter how many years pass, Wei Ying could recognize that face anywhere. His sharp, meticulously perfect appearance makes him look like a high-fashion magazine model cutout slapped on a stock photo of yellowed plaster and secondhand baking equipment.

“No customers in the back,” Wei Ying advises before returning his attention to the dough in his hands. A picture of informality, with a small smirk playing on his lips — a half-hearted attempt to conceal the shock and surmounting panic bubbling in his gut.

How the hell did he find me? one side of his brain despairs, while the other side reassures that at least it isn’t Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan continues his stalwart breach of Burial Bakery’s kitchen. What a rebel. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“That’s me.”

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re in a...bakery. Baking.”

Wei Ying breathed in the calming smell of fresh sourdough and tangy levain. Thank the heavens he had been able to convince Wen Ning to take a lunch break, leaving Wei Ying to man the kitchen alone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

“That’s kinda what we do here, yeah,” he says, eyes trained on his workbench, crowded with floured bannetons and formless lumps of dough. “A helping hand would be nice. I’d appreciate that much more than the gawking.”

Lan Zhan blinks, jawing clenching and ears flushing. Wei Ying’s smirk lifts into something softer. Even after all this time, it’s still so easy to rile him up.

“How’d you even find me, anyway?” he wonders, stretching his dough flat against the workbench, stopping right when it’s about to rip. Gently, of course. Wouldn’t want to pop the gas built up after hours of proofing.

“The back door is open,” Lan Zhan answers faintly. His expression mirrors the face of a guy after finding a years-long missing sock long since chalked off as having been eaten by the dryer. “I saw you from the counter.”

A quick glance to the entrance confirms this. Wen Ning must’ve forgotten to close the door when he left. Damn, that’s no good. Can’t let the cold air flow in. Might mess with the dough proofing in the walk-in.

“Could you close that for me?” Wei Ying asks, briefly letting go of the dough to rub the back of his neck. When Lan Zhan continues to stand there, motionless like a beautiful, bewildered statue, Wei Ying tsks and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan. Gotta get yesterday's proofed loaves in the oven by the hour.”

Miraculously, Lan Zhan obeys. Wei Ying half expected him not to. He and Lan Zhan have never been the closest of friends; Wei Ying was an annoying student, and Lan Zhan has a zero tolerance for annoying classmates. But people can change, he supposes. It’s been over four years, and neither of them are the same people they were before Wei Ying packed up his things and gave up his cushioned life in the Jiang estate and his scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country to start slumming it with the Wen siblings and A-Yuan in their closet of an apartment.

“Aw, thanks,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan returns. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve asked Lan Zhan to close the door behind him as he leaves the kitchen that he, as a non-employee, isn’t supposed to be in. Oh well; Wen Qing can chew him out for all the health codes he’s violating later. Isn’t she supposed to be manning the front? Lan Zhan must have snuck past her to get here, so she’s just as guilty.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?” Lan Zhan says, watching Wei Ying shape the dough. “Since you — left?”

“Basically.” Stitch the dough into itself. Then fold and tuck. Push the dough underneath itself with the palm of your hands to create surface tension, giving the newly formed loaf that tight, professional finish. Took Wei Ying ages to get the method down pat enough to be consistent. “Wanted to get out of the Jiangs’ hair, so I left soon after dropping out of uni.”

Dust the loaf with rice flour. Place it into a banneton, seam side up. Into the rack, then repeat. “A friend of mine had just inherited their family bakery. I volunteered to help out, and it eventually ended up becoming a full-time thing.”

Lan Zhan stands there without a word — not that Wei Ying minds. He hadn’t let himself dream they’d see each other again, hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up that he'd be lucky enough to see a familiar face again after all this time. Damn, he thinks, sneaking glance after glance between the loaves he’s shaping, he’s more handsome now than ever. Who knew the gorgeous teenager he’d harassed throughout two years of university would turn out to become a gorgeous adult who somehow stumbles into Wei Ying’s bakery? Even the unflattering cast of the yellow, flickering overhead light Wen Qing had been meaning to replace can’t wash out how black Lan Zhan’s hair is, how his skin is as smooth as a baby’s. How golden his eyes are, peering at Wei Ying as if he’s the sunrise after a long, cloudy night.

Bah. Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Wei Ying really is as self-centered as Aunt Yu claimed him to be.

“I wasn’t aware of your...baking aspirations,” Lan Zhan says, causing Wei Ying to choke out a laugh. He’d forgotten how funny Lan Zhan could be.

“Me neither,” Wei Ying admits. He sidesteps the kitchen mixer he’d spent the last year fixing up — he’d bought it in a sorry state, but Hobart engines are built to last a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass up the deal he paid for — to place another filled banneton into the rack. “But I’m not too mad at where I’ve ended up. Speaking of. How did you end up here?”

Lan Zhan's shoulders hunch suspiciously, and Wei Ying's eyebrows arch into fucking parabolas. “I wanted bread,” Lan Zhan replies defensively. “So I went to a bakery.”

Wei Ying scoffs, unimpressed. “A bakery all the way in Yiling?”

Lan Zhan glances away. “I travel a lot for work.”

Fine — he’ll let it go for now. “Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone back home about this, I guess it’s fine.” Wei Ying pauses. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?”

The thought should scare him, but a traitorously large part of him thrills at it instead. The Jiangs' are a key food supplier for the Lans' hotel chain, so Lan Zhan has to have some form of communication with them. Does Jiejie think about him from time to time? And Jiang Cheng...well. They’re still brothers, aren't they? Surely he must, at some small capacity, miss him.

But no brotherly love, whatever left there may be, could erase this: the cold silence that hung over the Jiang family table whenever Wei Ying would show up for dinner. Aunt Yu’s constant disapproval and Jiang Cheng’s wavering willingness to put up with it. The car ride. The screech of metal. The hospital said their Range Rover flipped four times. Wei Ying must have passed out after the first. But he was lucky: only a broken arm and whiplash. He had lied about being too hurt to attend the funeral.

It had been a good decision to leave. It had to be.

The back of his neck stings; a constant reminder. He hangs his head low as he stitches the dough.

“I’m not going to...rat you out,” Lan Zhan denies. He’s closer than he’d been since the last time Wei Ying looked up, his slack-clad hip brushing against the corner of Wei Ying’s workbench. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Another banneton in the rack. Slower output than usual. He’s going to have to speed up to reach today’s quota. He gestures to the door. “Now, if you’re not gonna help out…”

Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hint. “You left. Without saying goodbye.”

“Must’ve forgotten to leave a note,” Wei Ying says, nonplussed.

“No one knew where you had gone off to.”

“Kinda preferred it that way.”

“But I didn’t —” Lan Zhan stops. Takes a breath. This is the most emotional Wei Ying has ever seen him, if mildly discomfited could constitute as emotional.

When he meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, his face is in its usual state of aloofness. “I was worried about you,” he tells him. “I wish I had known that you were alright.”

A block of guilt presses on Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just — with all that happened with the, the accident, and the handling of the estate —”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me you’re not comfortable with.”

“And my relationship with Jiang Cheng was down the fucking gutter —”

“He misses you.”

“I just felt that it everything would’ve been better off if —”

“I understand.”

“— I just left, y’know?”

At this, Lan Zhan frowns. “I fail to see how your sudden disappearance made anything better,” he says.

“Well, you weren’t there.” Wei Ying sighs, and what little fight he had to defend himself from the past drops to the floor. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

Lan Zhan bristles. “I didn’t mean to — that’s not why I’m here.”

Then why are you here? But Wei Ying is done playing this game. “Look, it’s really nice to see you again. But I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, so if you don’t mind.” This time, his gesture to the door is clear. Leave.

Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t leave; he’s always been so damn stubborn. After a beat, he walks over to the empty sink — Wei Ying prefers to wash the dishes as he goes — and washes his hands. Dries them. Rolls up the sleeves of his button up, revealing forearms Wei Ying can’t help but swallow at. Makes his way to Wei Ying’s side, staring down at the lumps of dough like how a runner glares at the bottom of her shoe after stepping on a pile of dogshit.

“Alright,” he says, “how do I do this?”

Wei Ying blinks. “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

Lan Zhan experimentally cups the nearest dough mound with his palms. It sticks to his hands as he lifts them, streaks of the stuff already clinging to his slender fingers.

“Gross,” he says, monotone, pinching two ends to stretch it; an imitation, Wei Ying realizes, of his own technique.

Wei Ying stares. An incredulous smile spreads across his lips. “You’re —” He laughs. “You’re so weird, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan squints at him, confused, hands still making a mess out of the dough. “You asked for my help.”

Perhaps all those years away from home was enough penance for, at the very least, this. “Yeah," he says, soft. "I guess I did.” Wei Ying sways closer to Lan Zhan’s side. He discreetly sniffs the air in a selfish bid to find...ah, there it is, masked between notes of wheat flour and sourdough starter: sandalwood aftershave, brushing past Wei Ying's nose when Lan Zhan turns to him with an expectant glance.

Wei Ying laughs again. “No, not like that. Like this.”

He lays a floured hand over Lan Zhan’s and, together, they get to work.

-----

also posted on ao3

promo post on twitter

fic commissions

#mdzs #wangxian #cql #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs fic #cql fic #mo dao zu shi #myfic

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besanii · 5 years ago

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I soo loved jealous!lwj in the latest sm update... now I really need a scene where he finds Wei ying afterwards... what was he doing during the day lan zhan was trying to find him?^^

[from #37, set just before #05]

Lan Guoyan has submitted a formal petition to the court for Wei Wuxian’s hand in marriage.

The words echo endlessly in his head as he leaves the restaurant, drowning out the chatter of the crowd around him. His stomach churns, bile rising in the back of his throat as he imagines Lan Guoyan proposing to Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian—

He wouldn’t, he tells himself firmly. He won’t.

Who says he hasn’t?

Those words again, in his cousin’s voice, full of confidence and challenge. He clenches his teeth and ploughs through the crowded street, his hands white-knuckled against the hilt of his sword. He’s always known his cousin to be cocky, a trait often frowned upon by their elders, and a part of him knows better than to believe his taunts. But another part of him, the part that remembers the way Wei Wuxian laughs and jests so freely with Lan Guoyan, knows that there may be an ounce of truth to his words.

He cannot afford to take that risk.

But he hasn’t been able to find Wei Wuxian all day. Not in the library, the schoolroom, the gardens, his chambers, nor his favourite hiding spot in the Northern watch tower. The cold dread grows in the pit of Lan Wangji’s stomach with every new location, until he feels the first tendrils of panic clawing at the back of his throat. The servants had eventually directed him out of the palace entirely, saying they had seen the Ward of Yunmeng heading out of the gates earlier in the day.

Now, with the sun setting over the river and night fast approaching, Lan Wangji has no choice but to make his way back to the palace before the gates are locked for the night.

I like Xiao Wei. I have feelings for him. I want to marry him.

The words haunt every step he takes towards Wei Wuxian’s rooms. From Lan Guoyan’s lips, they had sounded so easy, so effortless, as if they did not carry the weight of the Imperial Family behind them. He supposes they wouldn’t, not for his cousin, who is far removed from the line of succession that he would not have to worry about who he married. Lan Wangji, however, has understood from a very young age that his marriage would not be his choice, that he would never have the luxury of marrying for love.

Wei Wuxian’s rooms are dark, save for one room. It lifts his hopes, and he climbs the last few steps in quick strides to knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Wei Wuxian calls from inside.

“Wei Ying. It’s me.” A long, pregnant pause follows. “Please open the door.”

He hears footsteps shuffling around inside for a moment, before the door opens a crack and Wei Wuxian’s body servant slips through; he bows to Lan Wangji.

“Er-dianxia.” He keeps his head bowed low. “Wei-gongzi is feeling unwell and has retired for the evening. He begs your forgiveness and promises to call upon you first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lan Wangji frowns. “Have you sent for the physician?”

“No, Er-dianxia,” the servant replies. “Gongzi says it is just a chill and he will be better after some rest. There is no need for concern.”

Lan Wangji is unconvinced.

“Gusu is much colder than Yunmeng,” he says. “It will be difficult for Wei-gongzi to recover when he is not yet acclimatised to the weather here. It would be best to have a physician attend to him immediately before it can get any worse.”

“Er-dianxia,” the servant says, his eyes darting to door nervously. “I’m afraid—”

“Go,” Lan Wangji orders. The servant is instantly cowed by his tone and hurries to obey, muttering a quick word of acknowledgment as he leaves. It leaves Lan Wangji standing outside Wei Wuxian’s door, alone. “Wei Ying. I know you’re awake. Please open the door.”

Footsteps approach the door, but it does not open. Instead, Wei Wuxian’s voice floats through, much closer than before, but more subdued.

“I’m not feeling well today, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I’m already dressed for bed, so it would not be appropriate.”

His refusal sends a twinge of pain through Lan Wangji’s heart. Never, in all the time Lan Wangji has known him, has Wei Wuxian cared for propriety—or not thrown the door open as soon as he knew Lan Wangji was on the other side. The closed door between them suddenly feels more like a rift.

“Wei Ying.” He takes a deep breath and places a hand on the door. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you, but I wasn’t able to find you.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I went for a walk to clear my head, so I haven’t been in the palace all day.”

“I—Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says haltingly. There are too many thoughts, too many words in his mind, clamouring at his throat, that he doesn’t know which to voice first. “I heard about the proposal.”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian chuckles, but even through the door it sounds forced. “I guess good news does travel fast around here, even if gossiping is against palace etiquette.”

Good news. The words drop like boulders into the hollow of Lan Wangji’s chest. He curls the fingers against the door into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Is it?” he asks quietly.

“Is it what?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji takes another deep breath to ground himself.

“Good news,” he says. “Is it, Wei Ying?”

“Isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asks. His voice is strained now, like he’s holding himself back—although from what, Lan Wangji cannot tell. “Yan-ge is great. He’s handsome, he’s rich, he’s got status, he knows how to have fun. We’re...well-matched. Compatible.”

Each compliment is like a wedge driving into his chest, threatening to split him open, reminding him of how different they are. That Lan Guoyan shares more in common with Wei Wuxian than Lan Wangji ever will. That Lan Guoyan makes Wei Wuxian laugh. Not like Lan Wangji, who had rebuked him harshly just the other day for something so inconsequential he had already forgotten why he’d been upset in the first place.

They’re compatible. Lan Guoyan likes him. And Wei Wuxian—

“Do you love him?” Lan Wangji asks, because he has to know. He leans closer to the door and hears Wei Wuxian’s breathing grow harsher. His voice, when he next speaks, wavers.

“Yan-ge is great,” he says again. “Who wouldn’t love him? There are people lined up through the streets of Caiyi who would give anything for the chance to marry him.”

“But do you?” Lan Wangji presses, his forehead touching the door lightly as he closes his eyes tightly. “Wei Ying, do you love him?”

Wei Wuxian is silent for so long, Lan Wangji is afraid he won’t answer. Then—

“Does it matter?” he asks quietly. “Why does it matter, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji exhales.

“It matters,” he says. “It matters, Wei Ying. If you love him—”

If Wei Wuxian says yes, then Lan Wangji will leave. He will wish them happiness, and he will leave. He’ll submit a petition for his assignment to the front lines to be pushed forward, and be out of Caiyi within the week. He’ll stay away for a few years, until the hurt is not so deep, until he gathers enough of his heart back together again to face them without the world threatening to shatter beneath his feet.

Wei Wuxian laughs, choked and wet and thick with emotion. There’s a heavy thud against the door, against Lan Wangji’s hand, like Wei Wuxian has pressed his own against it.

“What do you want to hear, Lan Zhan?” he asks. “What do you want me to say? That I like Yan-ge, maybe even love him, but not in the way he deserves? That I might just accept his proposal even so, because there may be no better offer in the future and I’m lucky he even chose me?”

Relief floods through him at Wei Wuxian’s admission; he could almost sob with it. But there’s guilt too: guilt at causing Wei Wuxian pain, and at rejoicing that his cousin has not won, at letting his own jealousy cloud his judgment. He listens to Wei Wuxian weep softly on the other side of the door, and nothing else matters.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “There is—there is another offer. If you wish to take it.”

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches, and it sends Lan Wangji’s heart racing.

“What are you saying?” he whispers.

Lan Wangji clears his throat.

“There is another offer,” he repeats. He takes another deep breath and releases it with a shudder. “Marry me. Marry me, Wei Ying. If you will take me, I promise to love you, to cherish you above all others. To protect you, to take care of you. To fight by your side, to fight for you. Wei Ying, I love you. Marry me.”

The weight on the other side of the door is gone, but it remains stubbornly closed. Lan Wangji leans against it still, his breaths coming in harsh pants, and his heart threatening to burst from his chest as he waits for Wei Wuxian to respond. There’s no movement, no sound from inside the room except for muffled sobs. And then, after a long silence, Wei Wuxian is back at the door.

“Lan Zhan...” his voice is hoarse, “you can’t—I can’t—it’s too much. I don’t—I don’t want to think about it right now. Please don’t do this now.”

The rift between them grows, shudders beneath his feet until he’s no longer sure he’s standing upright. He stumbles back, away from the door, the air burning in his lungs as he fights for composure.

“Very well,” he says, his voice cold and distant to his own ears. “I apologise for having caused you distress. I wish you good health and a quick recovery.”

He turns on his heel and walks away. If the door flies open after he leaves, if he hears a voice call out for him to wait, it could only be a figment of his imagination, nothing more.

// buy me a ko-fi //

Master Post is here

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jtrbluv · 4 years ago

Text

shutterbug | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, unbearable but relatable tiger parents

request: Jungkook,, one shot,, 38 + 40 please 😊😊 @asiivnc

“you leave whenever you feel like it.” & “don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

A/N: sheesh, i have not posted in a hot minute! i’ve been trying to work on this single request throughout quarantine and it really only came down to these last few days where i literally had a spike of inspo and drive and well,, ideas LOL. i considered an alternate angstier ending but i am a self-indulgent mofo who doesn’t like to make myself cry even though i’m sure i cried while writing this at least once (maybe twice). there is so much jk content on my blog i wanna set aside more time to write for other members from now on until i’m satisfied! regardless, thank you @asiivnc for requesting this and sorry for the wait luv, hopefully this can make up for it !!

Jungkook was known to be heavily passionate and fully invested in whatever his life had revolved around at that moment. As a film/photography major, as well as a man that just had a strange knack for being naturally adept at whatever was thrown at him, he incessantly poured his utmost efforts into his works. You weren’t any different, as you held just as much significance in his life as the way his serotonin levels would skyrocket as soon as his fingertips touched his precious camera.

Not to be self-absorbed, but you always thought of yourself as his muse. Or befittingly for his sake, the subject of the photo that you would give the title ‘his lover’.

You were so indisputably sure that you loved the boy and even moreso that he felt the same. While being so accustomed to his own nurturing ways and devotion to you and the reciprocated energy on your part, the bone-crushing weight of college hindered all and didn’t give a single fuck about anyone or anything.

Carrying the begrudging burden of having to succeed because he didn’t take the traditional lawyer/doctor career route, was always at the forefront of his mind. Likewise, for fuck’s sake, he nearly got disowned by his own parents and it took him what seemed to be a lifetime’s worth of energy to convince him to just give him a chance. Jungkook was not planning on taking that chance for granted.

Jungkook, being the person he is, was excelling, and his name was beginning to become known in the community of photographers and videographers, and he was finally starting to feel at ease. His parents were even acknowledging his successes to the extent that they were helping him financially with school, which was a huge burden off of his shoulders. And then you suddenly crash-landed into his life and just made his life even more fulfilling and by all means, worth living in.

He knew it was a bad idea. Distancing himself from you was the last thing he wanted to do. All his parents were concerned about was the fact that you were the only thing hindering him from making it “big”, when turns out, you became the sole inspiration and muse for most of his recent works. So they gave him an ultimatum to either be cut off financially or break up with you. He didn’t understand, because his parents liked you so much and they loved the influence you had on his work. He didn’t understand. He hated it—the fact that he was basically hanging by puppet strings and didn’t have a say in what he did considering the age he was in now.

He also hated the fact that he knew they had good intentions, and were only doing this because they wanted him to be successful. Their idea of true success for his career could only be seen as the financial benefits of being a director or producer rather than being able to just pursue and learn more about the art form that he loves. There was no use of trying to persuade them, so likewise, he did not. But why get her involved into this mess too?

Jungkook tended to stray away from confrontation and hated immediate and unexpected change as much as he acted like it didn’t phase him. He figured the sooner he can gain benefit from his passion, the less dreadful this dilemma would be. Less mess. Less stress. More time to be with you. That was the intended plan.

His next course of action was to score a film internship and potential job at the rather famous, Fox Studios. By doing so, would have to win the statewide film contest— a much larger scale than he had ever involved himself in. The mere thought of him having to showcase his own self-produced work to critically acclaimed film critics made the bile in his system threaten to upchuck onto the lemon-pledge scented floors of his dorm room. Then he remembered and was reminded— by the help of you of course, that he was Jeon Jungkook, and everyone knows that Jeon Jungkook does not like to lose.

He presumed that keeping up his grades would give him more credibility to getting the internship as well, so he put more focus onto his schoolwork. The remainder of his time was dedicated to exploring his potential ideas and storyboarding out his options and what would be most effective and most consequently— worthy of winning first place.

During this very strenuous time for the poor man, you would most likely see him trudging down the halls, hair in a complete disarray or simply hidden by the fabric of his hood, his eyelids threatening to close shut almost as if it’s taking all his willpower to keep them open, chugging down another red bull with one hand while he grips the strap of his backpack with practically no energy.

I mean you thought it was kinda cute at first, but his apparent deteriorating state mostly caused you to be more concerned than anything else.

In hopes to not hinder his creative flow but still keep his health at par, you would stop by every so often to give him food and give him reassurance—he never needed it so much until now.

Jungkook never told you about the irrational ultimatum his parents had given him. He came to the conclusion that it’d be unnecessary as long as he was able to carry out his plans. Nonetheless, the pressure of the whole situation was getting to him. The love of his life, passion for working with a camera, his parents’ disapproval, and just the own personal dream to be able to tell everyone that “Fuck you, I told you I could do it, and I did,” enveloped his whole mind these days.

Time had proved to not work in Jungkook’s favor. Two weeks passed in a mere blink of an eye leaving him with only two more weeks to finish his film in time for the film contest. This time around, he decided to choose a topic that resonated more with his own personal life. The film revolves around the struggle to be able to conform to the standards and expectations that society implements onto young people, whether it’d be from mainstream media or direct connections, like family. Typically, he stuck a title onto his projects after fully completing it, but for some reason, this time, it had worked in reverse. The title itself suddenly popped into his mind one day and from there he was able to garner ideas from it. And so the title was ‘Moulded’.

A very risky step on Jungkook’s part was what you initially thought when he first told you the idea. He knew that too, which is why he did it. You knew him long enough to be aware of the influence his parents had on his life and their outdated beliefs. You also knew the potential the boy’s zeal could take him, and because of that, all traces of worry left you shortly afterward.

Two days. The film contest was in two days. Jungkook was just about finished at this point, constantly playing back frames and adding final touches, rewatching the same parts over and over again until he became satisfied. He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh, eyes finally averting from the screen of his desktop to the clock on his bedside table.

“Only 9:15?” he muses, realizing these past four weeks had completely fucked over his sense of time, “At least I’m down, color correcting can be such a bit—”

A small jolt reverberates through his desk, interrupting his verbally spoken train of thought. His eyes beeline back to his phone, the contact picture of his mom flashing on his screen. Why would she be calling me at this time?

His brows knit together as he picks up his phone and swipes his thumb across the screen in uncertainty.

“Um, hi mom?” he greets, with the obvious tone of confusion in his voice.

He can practically hear her scoff over the line, “Jungkook-ah, how’s the film coming along?”

“It’s almost done-”

“Are you still with that girl?” she forcibly asks out of nowhere, leaving him dumbfounded to the point his mouth was hanging open in return.

A few seconds pass by as he processes what’s going on. He tightens his grip on the phone at the mention of you as he confesses through gritted teeth, “Yes mom.”

“We had a deal didn’t we?”

He retorted without waver in his voice, “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Then give it back. The tuition money,” she affirms without hesitation, “Jungkook, me and your father have done our part. It’s about time you do yours.”

“I’ve done practically everything you’ve asked. I’m doing just fine,” he monotonously states, trying so hard not to implode on his own mother at this point, “Y/N has nothing to do with this.”

There was a short pause, leaving Jungkook in the same state of dejection per usual when he had to talk to his parents, “We just want you to be successful,” her voice softens, using the same line that somehow magically guilt-trips Jungkook every time the words travel to his ears.

He shakes his head in disbelief over hearing the stupid line that seemed to control every aspect of his life, “You say that every time.”

“And we mean it every time,” she interjects, a sigh audibly present over the line, “this discussion is over.”

She ends the call as Jungkook lets out a raspy and guttural groan, slamming his phone onto his desk in frustration with such strength it’d be surprising if the cheap glass screen protector he’s had on it didn’t suffer any damage.

“Kook,” a voice utters softly from the other side of his door, “is everything okay?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, considering you were just the subject of the conversation he just had with his mom that left him fuming with rage more than anything.

“Can you please leave Y/N, this isn’t a good time,” he objected, adjusting himself in his seat so he’d face away from the door. Even though you couldn’t see him you could still hear the small indication of irritation in his response.

It was more than apparent something was wrong with him, with only two days left until the film contest, you knew he couldn’t manage to keep his guard down, regardless of the stress and turmoil he’d been putting himself through for the past 4 weeks, “Just because you leave whenever you feel like it…” you enunciate, raising your voice loud enough for him to hear your intentions, “doesn’t mean I will.” Both of you knew the last 4 weeks had taken a toll on the relationship, it was only then that he realized how much he’d been putting it off.

The door began to emit tiny clicking noises as he slowly turned the doorknob. He slowly widens the area as he meekly steps to the side, letting you come in as you make your way toward his bed and plop down onto his sheets.

The tension had never been this thick between the two of you, to the extent where it felt absolutely suffocating and unbearable. You had never seen him in such a state of dejection as he simply sat there, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he nibbled on his lower lip, eyes diverting away from yours at all costs. The knit between his brows that would usually derive from confusion or frustration, seemed entirely different this time around. It was as if his mind was full of nothing but everything all at the same time.

You heave out a deep sigh as you finally break the ice, “Jungkook,” you begin, looking up to see him looking back at you to your surprise, “you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry for making it seem that way.”

“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it,” he mutters only to see the flash of hurt in your eyes that makes him divert his gaze back to the floor, “I know I’ve been acting so selfish lately. I’d understand if you felt that way.”

“I hate seeing you like this you know,” you confess quietly, “I know there’s something up.”

His eyes meet yours once again, mouth slightly parted as if he was about to say something, but the silences ensues and he closes the gap once again, resorting back to nibbling the skin off of his bottom lip until it starts to bleed. Your eyes soften as you observe the boy once more. The span of your relationship had naturally led to the two of you being able to open up to one another so easily. You were both able to tell when the other was feeling a certain way and why. It just came with time and getting to know the other person more throughout the relationship. And alongside that was the ability to know when the other was purposely keeping something under wraps—this was one of those times.

“Jungkook”, you whisper just loud enough to catch his attention, which works as he gazes back up at you with all doe-eyed glory, the knit between his brows gone surprisingly out of sight for the first time since you came over. You glance at his bed—emphasizing the void of space next to you on his bed by patting the fabric and peering at the cryptic man, hoping he would get the sign to sit next to you.

Fortunately, he does. He places his hands on the armrests as he timidly pushes himself up from his chair. The chair produces an obnoxiously loud squeaking noise almost emulating the sound of your dog’s dog shaped squeaky toy (counterintuitive I know, but it was a gift from Jungkook himself, the prick). The sound causes you to involuntarily snort as you look away in hopes to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. Too bad you missed the smug grin on his face at your lackluster attempt.

He carefully approaches you as he warily lowers himself onto his bed, making sure he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. He shifts his body to turn towards you, propping his hands at his side. His eyes avoid yours once more, sparing glances at every inch of his own room as if he wasn’t already familiar with the enclosed space.

You pause and calculate your next move, eyes studying the boy’s body language. You outstretch your arm, gently grasping his wrist as you slide your fingers through his calloused palms and twine your fingers with his own, allowing your hands to rest on your knee. His eyes glaze over your connected hands, trailing back to finally meeting your own once again—they had this all too unfamiliar gloss to them, not the usual star-like specks you had been accustomed to looking at. As a few seconds had passed, you spotted the pool of tears starting to brim in the corner of his eyes. Taken aback, you retract your focus to his whole face and how his bottom lip started to tremble, hopeless. Hopelessness was what he was denoting, an emotion you had rarely if never seen coming from the man sitting in front of you.

Before you could formulate any words of comfort, he speaks up, voice brittle and wobbly, “Am I just a failure Y/N?”

“Wha— what? No, how could you ask that? Of course I don’t think you are,” you assert, unknowingly tightening the grip on his hand.

“It’s just,” he drawls out, pausing to think of a coherent way to voice his concerns, “maybe it just would’ve been easier if I complied with my parents in the first place y’know. I’ve been spending all my time and energy fighting it, maybe I’ve just been putting my energy into the wrong-”

“I don’t believe that,” you calmly interject, “I believe that whenever you put your energy into something, you have a reason behind it. You thought about it for a while, it obviously wasn’t something that just sprouted overnight,” you countered, staring off as your eyes land on his workspace, the flashing screen of his computer that reveal his last minute editing as well as the camera you seldom see the man without, “Working with a camera, creating art,” you say while clasping your free hand over the one that you were already holding, rubbing miscellaneous shapes into the back of his hand, “that is what you love to do.”

“I love a lot of things Y/N,” he simply states.

“Hm?” you let out under your breath as you notice the single tear that falls onto his cheek, contradictory to the straightforward tone of his voice you had just heard seconds before. Your body stiffened at the sight of the fallen drop.

“Did you hear me on the phone before you came?” he questions, swiping away the tears that threatened to fall with his free hand.

You take a moment to recollect the moments that preceded until knocking on his door, “No, I just heard a loud bang. It sounded like you broke something.”

“Oh, that was my phone,” he shyly admits while scratching the back of his ear, “there is something I need to tell you.”

You perk up at his sudden willingness to tell you what was wrong. Your body language conveys the signal for him to continue, and he does.

“I got a call from my mom before you came,” he starts, “she was checking up on me, knowing the deadline is coming soon and what not.”

You nod slowly in understanding, “I see, what did she say?”

“You have the right to know,” he mutters under his breath while diverting his gaze back to your interlocked hands. He intentionally grazes your other hand before taking it into his own before flashing you a small grin of reassurance, “The farther I’m advancing, my parents just constantly feel the need to strip me of everything else. You probably knew that already. You also know that I tend to just rebel and find a loophole out of things most of the time. I don’t know, lately, it just seems like they solely care about success and money these days more than my own happiness and wellbeing, and it’s been like that for so long. Anyways, I’ve been prolonging and putting it aside for awhile now, but they threatened to cut me off financially if I didn’t break up with you Y/N.”

A single tear slides down your cheek. You’re at a loss for words and coherent thought. The only thing you muster to say is whatever decidedly popped up into your head first, “W-why haven’t you then?”

The brimming tears began to fall more frequently for you as well as from the eyes of the man in front of you. He releases both of his hands and slides his calloused palms up to your forearms pulling you closer in proximity, “I said it before, I love a lot of things Y/N,” he gingerly reiterates as he swipes away the tears from your eyes with the pad of his thumb before trailing his fingers to your fallen strands of hair, tucking them behind your ear.

“I love my parents, I love working with a camera, but I undoubtedly also am in love with you,” he tenderly professes while sliding down his hand to the crook of your neck, “I know my parents never meant harm, but they have to realize I don’t either. I owe it to myself and I realize that I am capable of obtaining and having everything I want in life,” he wholeheartedly declares despite the tears that continue to run down his face, “ And it wouldn’t be everything I want if you weren’t here with me.”

He renders you speechless, tears streaming freely as he continues to wipe them away. He was much more composed now, wiping away his own remaining tears with the back of his wrist. You, on the other hand, were practically sobbing into his palm, tears spilling all over his forearm.

“There’s a reason why I chose that particular subject for the film, “ he describes, hands sliding down to intertwine with yours once again, “It serves as a testament to my parents, to my peers, to you, but also to myself,” he beams, releasing the hold on your hands as he stands up from his bed, extending a hand out to you.

You unhurriedly grab his hand, as he tugs you to stand up from his bed, leading you to sit in his own seat. He swivels the chair for it to face his computer, stepping aside so you could sit down.

“I wasn’t planning on giving any sneak peeks, but it just seems right to show you this now,” he explains, clicking through the frames until he arrives at his destination and clicks play.

It starts off with the emulation of a glitching tv screen, the audio sounds as if someone was inserting a tape into a DVR. The ‘no signal’ screen fades into the familiar setting of the beach in his hometown. Hues of blue fading into muted shades of oranges and yellows flash across the screen, accompanied by the soft crashing of the waves washing ashore on the fine sand. The camera quickly shifts his focus to what seems to appear as Jungkook being fully enveloped and underneath the sand, his head being the only thing that isn’t submerged. Flashing his signature grin, his arm emerges from the sand as he gives a thumbs-up to the camera, making the person behind it erupt into a fit of giggles. That person was you.

The scene transitions into the city streets of the suburb that was close to the college. You were walking down the sidewalk, enamored by the bustle of the people who lived there as well as the twinkling lights that were draped from building to building. Clips ranging from his family, his friends, him working, and more are compiled and presented as he talks over it. His voice begins to say, “As individuals living in a society where opportunities seem to just be knocking left and right, we all have dreams and desires. Whether they are attainable or not, that’s what makes them all the more worthwhile and exhilarating to find out for ourselves. Society, whether we like it or not, is filled with certain conjectures that they believe can assure us of these dreams and desires, what they’ve made us believe as the path to success. They mould us from the beginning. As kids, we are told to behave well, listen to our elders, go to school, get good grades, and get into a good college. As adults, we deem success as having a stable job that pays the bills, buying a house and settling down, finding the love of your life, having kids, and working tirelessly until we become worn out and old. We have these presumptions about what’s better and what’s not, what is easier and what isn’t. Regardless of how much we get told that we can achieve anything we want to in life, we grow older and life unexpectedly throws more curveballs at you to make you think that it’s not actually the case. Well, as cliche as it may sound, I’m here to tell you that it’s just not true. Do what you want. Do what you love. Be with the ones you love. Cherish these moments. Film them as keepsakes to look back on. So… what’s your story? What are your dreams and desires? What sparks pure joy within you and keeps you on your feet? Break those moulds that have been holding you down. Reach for the moon and the stars. And maybe someday with the right amount of determination, and a little bit of luck, you can get there.”

The video ends right then and there, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was his best work to date albeit only seeing a snippet of it. A smile graces your lips as you turn your head to look at the creator of it all. He looks back at you with the familiar star-like specks in his eyes, making you feel rest assured that within all the chaos, you would both get through it all.

MASTERLIST

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s-trawberryv-eins · 5 years ago

Text

Uneasy Lies The Head

NOT MY GIF

Summary: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown; the Queen of Zaireux had been betrothed to the future King of Lormere since they were children, destined to be wed and unite two warring nations. That, it seemed, was the easy part. The real challenge comes in the form of an uncertain love.

Warnings: Angst, inaccurate old-timey content, vague mentions of smut. Apologies for my ignorance.

Queen!Stark!Reader x King!Bucky Barnes

Royal AU

Word count: 6117

A/N: This is my entry for @asadmarveltrashbags 3k writing challenge. I decided to do a royal AU because of my undying love for the tv show Reign; anyone who has watched it will see how heavily it’s influenced this piece. HUGE thanks to @crazybutconfidentaf and @crushedbyhyperbole for proof-reading and helping me with the ending!I really hope you all enjoy reading it!!!

Once upon a time, there was a young Queen. Burdened with the throne of Zaireux since the mild age of four, the Queen had rarely known safety. Many thought she was too young. An easy target, a direct path to ending the Stark reign once and for all. Much of her youth had been spent in the neighbouring kingdom of Lormere, ruled by the House of Barnes. The promised land, her father had called it. War had plagued the two kingdoms for centuries. The promise of marriage, however, helped to douse the flames of war and unify the nations before the betrothed could walk.

With her mother working as Regent, her majesty was free to pursue as much of a childhood as possible for a royal destined to rule. During her visits, a friendship blossomed between the promised, and peacetime never seemed to waver. To any onlooker, it seemed written in the stars. The wedding would take place on the eve of her 21st birthday; royals, nobles, and commoners alike would travel from far and wide to catch even a glimpse of the wedding. Upon King Barnes’ passing, they would be pronounced King and Queen, two nations united as one people.

Years on, the King of Lormere grew ill. Word travelled at speed throughout the kingdoms after the Queen of Zaireux received her summons. The journey to Lormere was a long one; despite the shared borders, it seemed the courts sat at the furthermost parts of the lands. Since relieving her mother of her duty as Regent, her majesty had taken her place on the throne, ruling with a strength she could only have inherited from her father.

She wished to be a fair ruler, but worried for her reign; many of the noblemen did not believe that a woman should rule alone. Despite proving herself time and again, several remained unimpressed. The only thing that appeased them was the guarantee of Prince James marrying their Queen. Even King Consort held more of their respect than Queen, apparently.

A large royal presence awaited her. The King and Queen, the Prince, and the Princess. Her majesty’s ladies were the first to exit the carriage, each accompanied by a member of the Queen’s guard. Taking that hand before her, she offered her most favourite guard a smile; Rhodes had been loyal to the house of Stark long before the Queen’s time. Stepping out into the warm sun that shone down on to the court, she took a moment to brush off her skirts, straightening herself out. White chiffon spilled out around her ankles, and the lace of her corset clung to her skin. A vision of purity and grace.

It’d been several years since her last visit; several years since she'd seen her Prince. Between forging new alliances, trade deals, and peace treaties, there truly hadn't been much time for leisure activities. It felt familiar despite this, and she greeted her hosts with grace and poise.

As night fell, revels began. King George had insisted upon the celebration in spite of his depleting health and made sure it was enjoyed by all before turning in for the night. The Queen and her ladies danced and danced, slipping off their shoes in exchange for comfort. Many watched with distaste, insisting a royal should not act so foolishly. Others enjoyed it, refreshed by her energy and light.

The Prince watched, both fascinated and alarmed by the series of events unfolding before him. A feeling of anxiety washed over him as he doubted his readiness to take a wife and the throne so soon. The two were not due to be wed for two more years, but things didn’t always go to plan. Peeling himself away from the festivities, he left without so much as a goodnight to his bride.

It hadn’t taken long for her to note his disappearance. It seemed in their years apart, her Prince had grown, perhaps into a man she didn’t quite know. Excusing herself politely, the Queen found the Princess Rebecca.

“Excuse me, Rebecca, where has your brother disappeared to? I was hoping to speak with him.” Upon reading the Princess’ expression, her smile faltered.

“Forgive me, I thought you knew-“ gentle frown lines and a furrowed brow appeared, “-he’s with his mistress.”

Queen Y/N and her ladies had arrived at Lormerian Court some weeks ago, and it had been a strange experience to say the least. The Queen had filled her days with politics, ruling her kingdom from a distance. Receiving word from her mother every few days, she did what she could from her rooms in Lormere.

There had been little interaction between the betrothed royals. Upon discovering that her Prince was busy with another woman, she found herself unsure of how to approach him. Their kingdoms needed the security that their marriage would bring, but it didn’t seem as though her groom was too eager. Her debacle was the current topic of conversation between her majesty and Lady Natalia. The two were seated on the east terrace, sunlight filtering through the cloudy sky, warming their skin. A disturbance in the form of Lady Wanda - the lady herself never a disturbance – pulled them from their chatter.

“Apologies, Y/N, but his highness requests you in the throne room. It’s urgent.” With a soft huff and a fond roll of her eyes, the Queen nodded and headed away, leaving her ladies (friends, really) to themselves.

“It's always urgent, girls.”

“Good morning, majesties. How are you feeling, your highness?" Greeting them with a curtsey, her smile dropped slightly as the King motioned for the guards to leave them. The King and Queen, herself, and the Prince stood alone in the throne room.

“I fear I don't have long left, I'm afraid. There’s nothing that can be done, and I have made my peace with it. I do, however have one request.” The King smiled brightly, gesturing for the two younger ones to join him. “I would like to watch my son wed, and I would like to do so soon.” The kindness in his voice warmed her heart.

“You have a date in mind already, Father?” Sensing the rising panic in his voice, Y/N turned to face Prince James.

“Of course! We need this alliance, and you’re both of age. You’ve been waiting since you were children! It’s time, son.” The Kings gaze fell upon the two, a proud smile on his aged face. “Our original treaty states you will be wed on the eve of Y/N’s 21st birthday; that is no longer a possibility. Two weeks today, and you shall be husband and wife. And I do suspect that you’ll be King and Queen not long after.”

Neither could respond. The young Queen felt as though she was intruding on a moment between family, and the Prince felt the weight of his grief already. It was to be a joyous occasion, filled with promise and hope. There was, however, a large grey cloud that seemed present overhead whenever the union was discussed.

With a curtsey and a nod, the Queen excused herself from the throne room and headed to her chambers.

"Y/N! May I speak with you a moment?” As her eyes fell upon those of her betrothed, her heart warmed. The blue orbs hadn’t changed at all since they were young, despite the proof of his aging in the beard on his chin and the lines surrounding his eyes. Always so beautiful, she thought.

“Yes, of course.” Offering her Prince, a polite smile and a nod, she gestured to the nearby balcony. "What can I do for you?"

His change in body language was clear as day; her Majesty prepared herself for the coming conversation. James' silence only seemed to confirm Y/N's suspicions.

“You don’t want to marry me. You don’t want this at all, do you?"

Grabbing her hand, Prince James led her away from the door, worried for any gossip that may be caused by her unrest. If word got out that the alliance wasn’t as strong as it seemed, trouble would no doubt be rearing its head soon after.

“I wasn’t expecting any of this. We were supposed to have another two years before this. Now my father is sick, and we are to be wed in a fortnight.”

“It wasn’t a problem before! I’d even go as far as to say that you were excited when we were small.”

“A lot has changed. You’ve been away-“

“Your heart already belongs to another, doesn’t it? Your mistress.” The words burned her tongue, venomous and bitter. “Rebecca told me when I asked of your disappearance the night I arrived.” Steeling herself visibly, the Queen took a step closer to James.

“I have a kingdom to think of. I won’t be held here, waiting for you to make a decision. My heart lies with you, James, but I will do what is best for Zaireux. The wedding is due to take place two weeks from now. If I have not heard from you in one, me and my ladies will be leaving Lormerian Court – for good.” And with that, she gathered her skirts and left the future King to his thoughts.

“Tensions are rising at the border. These small skirmishes are becoming something greater. The Elenish nobles are pushing for an invasion – god knows why, a war could ruin them! Neither one of us has recovered from the most recent battle of Northing hill.”

The Queen paced, frustration evident in her tone. The realities of ruling a kingdom from afar were starting to weigh down on the girl.

“I beg of you, we must send aid. The nobles have caught word of your son’s lack of enthusiasm for our union. Zaireux cannot afford to appear weak, we need a show of support from our ally. My forces are already spread too thin!” After receiving news of a pressing threat arising on the east border – the growing unrest between territories - Y/N had requested a meeting with the King to plead for the help of the allied kingdom.

At the mention of James’ hesitance in the wedding, King George visibly tensed. The treaty between the two kingdoms had been perfected over years; King George and the late King Anthony had worked tirelessly to produce something that could stand for centuries, and it now seemed his son was willing to throw it all away for a woman Y/N was yet to meet.

“Of course, Queen Y/N. Consider it done. I assure you, your alliance with Lormere is as strong as ever." But his words of reassurance meant nothing without the co-operation of his eldest. The delicate peacetime wouldn't last if the marriage fell through – nobles of each kingdom only viewed the other as a threat. Y/N already felt the pressure of her countrymen, those who insisted that the only way forward was war.

“It’s only days until the wedding. You and my son will reclaim the Elenland and rule half of the continent as husband and wife." George was alone in his enthusiasm, as the Queens heart still weighed heavy in her chest. With a nod, she excused herself from the room and headed off in no particular direction, lost in her worries and thoughts.

“Natalia, what of Lord Banner? He's wealthy, titled, very rich. It doesn't hurt that he’s fairly easy on the eyes, either!” The three girls sat together, wine in hand, underneath the afternoon sun. In a rare moment of quiet time, free from any talk of politics or war, the ladies had requested the kitchen put them a basket together; the finest cheeses, fresh fruits and berries, little tartlets and a bottle of wine. Taking their basket to the green down by the water, they laughed and gossiped and smiled.

“He is rather wonderful. I had hoped he’d propose soon but it isn’t looking likely. It seems he needs a push.”

“So, push him! I can see how smitten you are, Nat. Do it!”

“And what of you, Lady Wanda? Any suitors taken your fancy?" A blush crept over Wanda's cheeks, revealing her secret to her friends instantly.

"I have some news, actually." Pausing to take another sip of wine, the other two girls sighed at her dramatics.

“Oh, come on Wanda!"

“I am being courted by the Court physician; the one they call Vision. He comes from an awfully wealthy family, many holdings blah blah blah," smiling brightly, Wanda presented her hand to her friends. "He proposed yesterday. I'm to be wed!”

A series of screams and giggles erupted from the trio, attracting the attention of those nearby; including the Prince, who was in deep conversation with Lord Rogers and Rhodes, Y/N's guard. The men turned to watch the ladies, who were now up and dancing about, the lack of music not phasing them in the slightest. Their brightly coloured dresses swayed about their bare ankles as they moved, ribbons and jewels decorating their hair. A mesmerising sight, and Lord Rogers quickly picked up on the way his friend studied the girls.

“For a man so insistent upon not marrying this girl, you do spend an awful amount of time staring at her. She is your fiancée, you're allowed to desire her.” Most others would be scolded for addressing their Prince in such a way, but Lord Rogers -Steve- and James had been friends since they were babes; the Princes right hand man in everything he did. It was because of this that Steve knew all about his cold feet when it came to marrying the Queen of Zaireux.

“Shut up, punk.”

“You should know the Queen grows weary still. She feels lovesick but knows she cannot wait for you forever. There are whispers of another proposal; King Rumlow of Ascon.-“

“He’s a tyrant!” The Prince was troubled deeply by this news. King Rumlow was not a pleasant man at all. He'd cast off his last wife after she only provided him with two daughters. An evil man that was entirely unfit to marry Y/N.

“That he is. Do what you will with this information. Your time is running out, your highness.” With that, Rhodes headed closer to the Queen, his watchful eye keeping her safe.

"If you must know, I broke things off with Lady Gilbert some days ago now. I haven’t told Y/N, but it seems my hand is being forced. Perhaps I should bare my heart after all. Any suggestions?" James looked to his friend for advice, who simply smirked. The pair knew exactly the method the Prince should deploy to secure the Queens heart in his hands.

Gripping the hilt of his sword that sat sheathed at his side, he headed over to the Queen, a determination in his step.

“Good afternoon, Queen Y/N. May I request that you meet me on the south lawn this evening?”

The Barnes siblings stood together on the south lawn, discussing his plans to court Y/N.

“How did you pull it all together so quickly?" Rebecca looked to her brother, admiration twinkling in her eye. Pride filled her heart, and the Princess couldn’t hide her happiness for James and Y/N if she tried.

“I have my ways. What do you think? Will she like it? Is it too much? Not eno-“

“Stop blabbering, brother! Look at what you’ve done! I don't think I've ever seen so many wild flowers in my life. Those peonies are the prettiest I’ve ever seen. Bucky, she’s going to love it.” The Princess was not yet engaged, as her father had promised that when the time comes, she could marry for love and not for advantage. Despite the two never having talked about it, Rebecca was sure that Bucky would allow her the same freedom.

“Thankyou, sister. Now off with you, Y/N will be here any minute!”

"The sun shall be setting soon, your highness. Do you require an escort to the south lawn?" Rhodes stood in the doorway of the Queen's chambers, never entering without permission.

“I’d like that, yes. And stop with the formalities, you're family.” The pair walked through Court, enjoying the festivities as they strolled.

“What do you think of it here, Rhodey? Do you miss home?”

“Sometimes. There are many differences between Zaireux and Lormere. But I am honoured to be here with you, Y/N. And I don’t think I’m the only one grateful for your presence.” Gesturing ahead of him, the girls eyes landed on the field of brightly coloured wild flowers. Pinks and purples and yellows covered what was once a large patch of green. Lanterns seemed to mark a path through the flowers, and the golden glow of the setting sun stained the scene ethereal.

“Enjoy your evening, Y/N.” She barely felt the brush of Rhodes’ lips on her head, too enamoured by the view before her. Taking uncertain steps forwards, the girl followed the lanterns through the wild flowers, her fingers brushing petals as she did so.

“Thankyou for coming.” James’ voice took her by surprise, pulling her from her state of shock. Behind him was a blanket surrounded by large cushions, a bottle of wine to the side.

“What is this? What is going on, James?”

“You gave me a week to decide what I wanted. I’ve been a fool, it seems. Everybody noticed apart from me, of course. I don’t want to marry you because the alliance says so. I want to marry you because since we were children you have always been my life. Love and lust can blur easily. And I let fear get the best of me." His voice was firm, confident. Y/N watched him as he spoke but remained quiet. He took her hand gently and sat her down on the cushions. After pouring them both a drink, he took a seat next to her.

“The alliance complicates my heart; I do not want to force my feelings, nor do I want to ignore them. I apologise for taking so long to realise what I wanted."

“What changed? I don't mean to doubt you, James, but I'm uncertain as to our situation.” He couldn’t blame her for it, after all his actions had caused her unrest.

“I was frightened. I met Elena a few months before your arrival. We were fast friends, and I didn’t think it would matter. When you came back to Court, I panicked, and sought comfort in her arms. But I am yours, and we will wed, Y/N." The smile on her face brought happiness to his heart, grateful that she was willing after his mistakes.

The certainty in his voice helped to ease her some, although she still felt as though they were strangers.

“May I ask you something?” Her brow furrowed, but she nodded for him to continue. “You’ve been here a while now, yet you still only call me James. Why is that? You never used my proper name as children.”

The Queen blushed furiously as a wide smile appeared on the blue-eyed Prince’s face. Chuckling as she became visibly flustered, she huffed at his response.

“Because I don’t feel that we are as we were when we were younger. I haven’t seen you since I turned 16. We are different. You are different.” He sucked in a sharp breath, unable to deny her accusations.

“Listen. I know I’ve handled this poorly since you returned, and for that I am sorry. But I’m here now – if you’ll still have me, that is.”

Turning to face the water, the girl basked in the last light the sun had to offer. As she pondered his words, she found that she couldn’t deny her heart.

“Okay then, Bucky,” emphasising his nickname as an attempt to close the distance, she smiled. "I take this to mean that you’ve ended things with your friend?” Carding her hands through the blankets beneath her, she couldn’t meet his eye.

“Yes.”

“Then there is no need for us to speak of it any longer. Can we sit a while?” Her head was cocked to the side, and she held her glass to her lips, hoping he’d say yes.

“Anything you want, my love. Anything at all.”

Light poured through the enormous arched windows, illuminating everything it touched. Dark brown hair was twisted and pulled, curled and pinned, with the most delicate of jewels woven into the locks. Pinched cheeks appeared fair and pink. Bright white lace travelled up her arms, over her shoulders and across her breast. A corset to match the lace, strings pulled tightly to highlight her features. A magnificent skirt that moved with her, beads woven in the prettiest patterns. Flowers spilled from her bouquet; pink roses and peonies, white daisies and golden accents.

Y/N would be wed within the hour, Queen of one nation and future of another.

“Oh Y/N, you’re a vision!" Natalia cooed over her Queen, love bursting from her heart.

“James won’t be able to keep his hands away from you.” Wanda fiddled with a clasp as she placed a necklace around the Queens neck, finishing her look.

“Stop it you two, you’re making such a fuss!” But despite her words, Y/N couldn’t contain the smile that graced her lips.

“Forgive me your highness,” the servant entered the room with a curtsey, addressing the Queen directly. “Rhodes is outside, he’s requesting entrance."

“Oh, of course! Send him in!” The servant nodded and curtsied again before exiting the room. Rhodes entered shortly after, a proud smile on his face. He’d come to care for the girl like a daughter; he took her under his wing when her father passed and had taught her much of what it means to be anointed by God. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d have survived her reign without him.

“Tony would be so proud. You look stunning. Are you ready?” Her two ladies made their way to the largest ballroom, where the wedding would take place. No expense was spared; the decorations were grand, musicians and streamers and statues presented wonderfully. The Queen of Lormere had done a wonderful job.

“I think so.” Y/N took his arm, and the two made their way to the newest chapter of her life. As they moved through the corridors, the large lacy train dragging behind them, as figure appeared in front of them. A woman.

“Congratulations on the wedding, Majesty. Looks like you got what you wanted.” Her voice was cold and calculating, throwing Y/N off guard.

“I’m sorry, do I know you? I don’t believe we’ve met.” Rhodes was quick to step back into his role as guard, eyeing the woman suspiciously.

“Lady Gilbert. I'm the woman who has been sleeping with your fiancé.” A sly smirk appeared on the blonde’s face, a challenging look in her eye. “I’ve come to wish you good luck. I hope you don’t mind sharing.”

“I beg your pardon? The Prince ended his relationship with you days ago, you have no business threatening me!” As her voice rose, Rhodes took a defensive stance, ready to protect his Queen if any danger were to come to her.

“Before you wed the Prince, you may want to ask of his whereabouts this morning. Whilst you were braiding your hair and tying your corset strings, James was making love to me. Talking of a future where I was is bride instead of you.”

The blade pierced her heart before she could respond. Gasping for breath, her hands flew up to her chest. But there was no blood, for there was no blade. The pain in her chest was that of heartbreak. Was it true? Could he really have done such a thing?

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a Prince to wed. I hope you understand that your pathetic attempt to prevent our union has failed. Good day."

Turning to her guardian, she requested his arm once more, and they continued their walk to the ball room. Rhodes said nothing, for he understood that affairs of the heart matter not. She must wed for the sake of her kingdom. In so many ways, royals are by far the most fortunate. Love is not one of them.

Feeling the hundreds of pairs of eyes on her form, Y/N’s heart sped up. As she gripped Rhodes’ arm tighter, her eyes locked with the bright blue ones of her promised. It is often said that when one marries, the nerves melt away when your eyes meet; she wished and wished for that to be true. Perhaps five minutes previous it would've been. Rhodes planted a soft kiss on her cheek, before aiding her up the steps to her Prince.

As the priest began his vows, the Queen took a moment to look over her future husband and found that for a short second she cursed her station. For if they were merely a boy and a girl, they may love each other freely without worry of politics, mistresses, crowns or nobles to complicate their emotion. But they were not just a boy and just a girl. And to have everything would be to test God. Even royals can't do that.

Vows were said, promises made, and rings exchanged. She’d received many glorious gifts as Queen, but nothing she'd ever been gifted had stirred quite a feeling the one her wedding ring did. So much of her life was uncertain, but she was now wed. The alliance was concrete, her kingdom would thrive under the partnership created as they exchanged vows.

“You may kiss your bride!” The words hit Y/N like a tonne of bricks. They hadn't shared so much as a handshake since her arrival, and now they had to seal their vows with a kiss before God. An outstretched hand pulled her from her thoughts. Placing her own in James', he took a single step towards her and paused. Confusion briefly flashed across her face until she realised - he was asking for her permission.

Answering him with a step forward of her own, his free hand wasted no time in finding her waist and pulling her into him. With a soft gasp, her eyes fluttered shut, long black lashes brushing her cheekbones, the light from the windows highlighting the shimmer of her makeup. James swore he'd wed an angel, and quickly, but ever so softly pressed his lips to hers. Warmth spread through her like wildfire, and the girl could tell she was blushing furiously. The kiss broke, and Y/N instantly missed the feeling of James’ lips against her own. As if they were made to kiss her. In some ways they were.

The dancing, the food, the entertainment had worn the Queen out entirely. There was, however, one thing pressing on her mind, forbidding her from rest. Waiting until they’d finally made it back to their own chambers, the Queen sat down, drink in hand.

“Lady Gilbert paid me a visit before the wedding.”

James froze in his tracks. After a moment, he turned to look at the Queen, his wife.

“Why? What did she want?"

“Where were you this morning? Before the ceremony?” Her tone indicated that she already knew, that lying was futile.

The Prince removed the baldric that lay across his chest, allowing him to sit next to the Queen - his wife - more comfortably. His stubble-covered jaw tensed visibly, and he seemed to be struggling for the words.

“It’s true, I saw her. I…I went to visit her chambers.” Icy blue eyes met her own harsh gaze, and it was clear to him the mistake he'd made.

“Tell me or will I assume the worst! Did you sleep with the girl? On the morning of our wedding?”

“No! I resent your assumptions of me. I admit it, I was scared. Terrified. But I have always loved you. My visit was not to lie with the girl but to more firmly end my relations with her. It seems my first effort was not enough.” Voice strained, fear of the consequences of his actions being set in stone. “Y/N. My Queen. My wife. I love you.”

“Love is irrelevant to people like us. You owe me nothing, I only ask for the truth.”

“You do not believe me? How do I prove my innocence?” Rising from his seat on the chaise-lounge, James stood before his wife. Dropping down to one knee, he gathered her hands in his and begged for her to look at him.

“You speak the truth, my love. Love is often something rulers go without. But don’t you see that we're different? We can be different. I would rather have the hope for a true love with you than the certainty of merely a strong alliance elsewhere. I am sorry for the doubt my actions have caused you."

Tears rolled down pink cheeks, silent and pained. Sad brown eyes bore into blue, searching and separating truth from lies. Since she was a child, the only future she saw was him. Her Prince, her James, her Bucky. Ruling nations together. The words she spoke earlier, though harsh, were true. Love wasn’t a necessary part of their union, however much it was desired.

But love him she did.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

The Prince wasted no time in rising to his feet, pulling the girl up with him. Hands left hers to instead find her waist, pulling her flush against him. Eyes wandered down the girls face, taking in every detail before settling on her lips. Pink and plump, as soft as she and begging for his love. Settling a hand against the side of Y/N's face, Bucky closed the gap between them and kissed her gently. Gently, softly. Gently, until it wasn’t anymore. A whimper sounded from his wife and he was suddenly and delightfully too far gone. The kiss they'd shared during the ceremony was their first; sweet, innocent, and lovely. This was heated and full of want for more.

But that would have to wait. Their consummation was to be witnessed by several members of court, only then would their marriage be true in the eyes of God himself. Tearing himself away from her, Bucky studied her carefully. Plump lips, flushed cheeks, chest rising and falling with vigour as her airways gorged on the oxygen now available. Her lungs burned but she relished it, they could catch fire for all she cared if it meant she'd never have to be without him again.

“I love you with all my heart."

A month after the wedding, King George of Lormere died. It hadn’t come as a surprise to anybody, but that didn’t take away from the loss and sadness that was felt throughout Lormerian Court. The kingdom wore black for weeks whilst they mourned their late King; he was a fair but fierce ruler, eager to make peace but would strike with strength when threatened. His reign was long and successful, and now the kingdom turned to his son.

The coronation came around quickly, but James couldn't help the bitter feeling that consumed him on the day he was crowned King of Lormere. The day served as a reminder that his father had passed, that he now had the burdens of an entire realm on his shoulders.

“I can see your mind working overtime, my love. Share your troubles with me.” Y/N sat at her dressing table, studying her husband through the mirrors reflection. “I am your wife. We share in all things. And I am soon to be your Queen. So, I ask you again, my King; share your troubles with me.”

Blue eyes flicked up, finding hers in the mirror. “Who am I to deny you?” A soft smile appeared on his face, but it did not meet his eyes. “I fear I don’t know how to do this without my father. I’ve been raised for this, trained for it all my life, but I do not feel ready, Y/N."

“I have been Queen of Zaireux since I was four. I took to the throne alone when I was 14. The one thing I’ve learned, Bucky, my love, is that you need not take on the burdens alone. You are not alone. And I don’t mean your privy council or the nobles. I mean your mother and I. Your sister. Steve. Share your burdens, my love. You’ll go mad if you don’t.” Rising from her seat, the Queen made her way over to James, where she sat herself gently on his lap. Carding her fingers through his hair, she prayed for him to hear her.

“Your father knew you could do it. He wouldn’t have gone if he didn’t.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she felt her Prince sigh and soften into her. “Never feel you are alone.”

Gazing up at his wife, it didn’t take him long to close the gap between the two; planting his lips softly on hers, Bucky deepened the kiss, relishing in the whimpers he pulled from her doing. Pulling her body closer to his, the soon-to-be King leaned forwards, gently laying the girl down on the chaise lounge underneath them.

She clung to him, fingers gripping his shirt tightly to keep him from straying too far from her.

“Bucky, please, I need yo-“

“Forgive the intrusion, your highness! The Queen Mother demanded entrance!” Bucky pulled away from Y/N resentfully, standing to face the servant who had interrupted them; it wasn't the poor boys fault. Winifred didn't take kindly to the word 'no'.

“Apologies for the interruption. Bucky dear, you need to do something about that mistress of yours. She follows me around like a lost puppy; it’s infuriating.” The Prince stood up instantly, fixing his ruffled clothing.

“Mother, she is not my mistress. You’re the Queen, I’m sure you can shoo the girl." Gazing down at his wife, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Why his mother thought it best to bring the Gilbert girl up now was beyond him. It was no longer a topic of conversation between James and Y/N, but he definitely didn't care for it to become one again.

“She seems to think differently. Besides, it’s not uncommon for a King to take a mistress. Not all royals love each other, you know? And those who do; well, let’s just say it tends to die out.” The Queen Mother spoke as if she wasn’t thinking about the words and their effect. The blasé nature of her arrival left Y/N uneasy, it felt intentional despite Winifred's seemingly careless nature.

“Mother, what do you want?” James quickly grew impatient, wanting to be rid of her.

“I wanted to wish you a happy coronation day, Darling! The pair of you!”

“Thankyou! Now if that’s all, my Queen and I must get ready. Alone.” Voice harsh as he nodded to the guards at the door, silently commanding them to open it. A sour look appeared on Winifred's face as she retreated from the room.

“I’m sorry, my love. Ignore my mother and her words. She’s bored and isn’t too happy about giving up her crown. Now-" Sighing, Bucky collected his wife’s hands in his own before brushing her nose lightly with his.”-where were we?”

His lips met hers and Y/N shut her eyes, letting his lips remove the doubt that his mother had planted. And if they failed in that task, they would at the very least mask it with a feeling much more pleasant.

“Long live the King!”

Keeping her eyes glued to her knees as she knelt in front of the Cardinal, Y/N's body shook with nerves. The Queen Mother’s words still weighed heavily on her mind. James took his seat on his throne, and she knew it was her turn.

The weight of a kingdom in the form of a crown was placed on her head; her fate sealed. As the Cardinal performed his duties, the Queen rose to her feet and turned to face the audience. Her people.

“Long live the Queen!”

Taking a seat on her throne, a smiled grew on her lips. It was a funny feeling; she’d all but waited for this moment her entire life. Lormere had been promised to her since she was a babe, as had its King. The journey that led her to this moment had been long and brutal; especially as a female monarch, a Queen in her own right.

Glancing towards Bucky, the two took a moment to study one other. The promise of a love-filled future was rare for anybody in their position. The Divine Right giving only a crown, nothing else. It begs the question; are they testing fate?

Two minutes into their reign and her heart trembles. For uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

#royal au #bucky barnes x reader #King!Bucky #Queen!Reader #steve rogers #Stark!reader #royalty #reign #bucky barnes #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #marvel au #sarahs3kwc #please reblog #Feedback is appreciated

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dadzawa-adopt-dabi · 5 years ago

Text

secret baby ch 10

(oof this is a long chapter! let me know if i forgot to tag anything!)

The first offer of business Dabi gets is for one of his neighbors, a nice elderly alpha woman who can't bend like she used to, she stays in the apartment with him the first few times as they build some trust between them. As Dabi cleans up for her and makes the trips down the block to the laundromat for her. At the end of the day she sends him home with leftovers, some cash and pretty decent leftovers.

Him and Kiyoko get invited back several times as she spreads the word to her friends. Eventually he strikes a deal with a young couple for a free house clean and meal made in exchange for a burner phone to get contact with his customers.

It takes a few weeks , Dabi is getting used to running his own business. He takes Kiyoko with him to almost all of his ‘appointments’, despite one of his customers offering to babysit for him. He places her in a room separate from the one he is cleaning in but close enough to hear him talking and singing to her and she doozes the day away while he works until he picks her up and they go to his next appointment. She has a special basket designed to let her wings poke through and Dabi carries her in a baby backpack to the appointments he can. Sometimes there’s mold and he has to leave her behind, sometimes he has another nurse Karen for a client, someone who judges him for bringing Kiyoko. His first client eventually clues him into an omega in the building who watches the buildings kids for a small fee.He still brings Kiyoko when he can't bear to leave her with his babysitter, a consistent fear of something happening to her keeping him close. Sometimes when he brings her he gets paid less because Kiyoko's crying supposedly bothers his clients. It's only ever a couple dollars difference but every dollar counts when you're raising a kid by yourself.

Eventually he has keys to most of his clients places of residence as he cleans for busier and busier people. His networking slowly starts paying off as he starts making enough to squeak by on rent while keeping himself and Kiyoko fed. It’s close and it won't last but it's enough to get them through the month. It's stressful and he can feel the strain of it wearing on his health.

Kiyoko is 3 months old when his body snaps under the stress,just at the age where she can giggle at the funny faces and noises Dabi has been making for her lately. He’s canceled all his appointments for the next few days, head bent over a toilet when she giggles for the first time. Dabi feels like crying from all the stress, he’s sick and tired and is just barely going to squeak by on rent again unless he can reschedule all his appointments again. He’s cooking and cleaning his apartment and other peoples homes and is probably just sick from the anxiety and stress of being a single parent. Maybe actually sick from a bug he unknowingly caught and has now transferred to his daughter. He makes a note to make a doctor appointment for both of them as he heaves.

And his daughter is laughing, giggling at him as he makes funny noises to her. He kind of feels like crying, he wants someone to rub his back. He wants Hawks, he has no idea how Hawks would react to this. If he would be caring and sooth Dabi while he held their daughter, Or if he would tell him to clean up when he was done being dramatic.

He’s doing everything by himself, trying to stay under Enji and Hawks radar. It's been months and they haven't come looking but that doesn't mean they wont. He honestly doesn't know if him and Kiyoko can make it. If he should call Hawks and come clean. Maybe he wouldn’t be as bad as enji had been, for a moment he wavers in indecision. The want to have Hawks close is something he thought would fade with time. Instead the want is only growing with every obstacle put in his path.

What steels his resolve is the chubby smile and giggle Kiyoko gives him as he turns his phone over in his hands. Maybe isn’t good enough for him, and it's not good enough to risk for Kiyoko. He reminds himself firmly. Dabi wipes his mouth and stands up. It’s not like he can call Hawks anyways when he left his old phone and Hawks number with it on his table. He can do this, for Kiyoko, he has to at least try.

“Something funny princess? You're the best thing to happen to me okay? No matter if I'm worrying my head off or you laughing at me as I lose my lunch. You're the best damn thing to ever happen to me.” Dabi scoops her up and steps into his tiny shower with her.

There’s not going to be any fear from her parents in Kiyoko’s life. No screaming and yelling. No being blamed for things she had no control over like being sick. Dabi isn’t going to be Enji and he’s not going to raise Kiyoko with someone like him either.

Dabi’s nest isn’t as big or well made as Kiyoko’s considering he’s had less practice doing it for himself and nothing ever feels quite right after they are both clean making faces at her. She giggles at nearly anything he does. It makes Dabi’s heart feel light again every time he hears the sound. He starts up a rumbling purr for her, the best one he can manage, still full of hiccups and uneven despite how happy she makes him. He’s going to do the best he can and it’s just going to have to be enough to get them through. No amount of how much easier life would be, how much less stigma he would face, status and comfort will ever be worth his daughters safety.

He purrs Kiyoko to sleep and follows moments after.

He gets up after their nap Dabi gets up after their nap feeling a lot better, maybe it has just been the poor sleep and eating habits. Whatever had made him sick, Kiyoko doesn't seem to have caught it. He's been checking both of there’s regularly to make sure she doesn't catch anything from traveling with her after a client brought it up with him. It's been something of a miracle that he hasn’t gotten sick. Kiyoko hasn’t shown any signs of getting sick as easily as he might have as an infant. He doesn't know if he got sick as often as an infant as he did as a child. He knows he was sick a lot as a child, remembers struggling through fatigue to get up and help fuyumi. The constant exhaustion with the pain from bruises and then having to go ‘train’ with his father. Feeling nauseous and like his knees would go out from under him but he had to take care of the house before enji came home. Rei had been too much of a nervous wreck to take care of him and too busy ensuring the days of depression and neglect got taken care of. Her panic and screaming at them that enji’s anger was all their fault made things worse in those days. It was never anyone's fault other than enji’s that he hit his kids and wife, even as a kid Touya had known that, had repeated it to himself as he treated his and fuyumis burns and bruises. Had told Natsou as he grew older, asking Touya why neither of his parents cared for him and if it was really their fault. Just as he had known that his mother had not wanted to have him or his sister, born as part of a contract agreement for an arranged marriage.

Then Enji had decided that he couldn’t train Touya to be a hero. That Touya was weak,always had been, he would better serve enji’s legacy as a bride married off to an alpha with a strong quirk. Most likely a hero. Touya had been 17 and told that within the year enji would be looking for ‘appropriate’ suitors for someone born of enji. He’d started sneaking out and stashing away everything he could. Eventually he would meet Hawks and being as drawn to him as he was, eventually conceive Kiyoko and jumpstart his runaway plan.

“Hey no fever Kiyoko! Good job! You beat those germs!” Dabi coos at her shanking thoughts of the past from his head. Picking her up and scenting the top of her head as he searches for his phone, if he’s feeling better then he can start rescheduling his clients. He bounces her as she giggles and he talks on the phone, no amount of wishing for Keigo will do him any good. It’s not like he’s wishing for only keigo either, he’s wishing for anyone to help him more often than not despite knowing that he will never accept the help, he doesn't trust anyone enough for that. Keigo just happens to be the alpha he knows best outside of his family.

Most of his clients can’t reschedule and Dabi starts reworking his meal plans for the month, mentally stretching what money he will make to keep them with a roof over their head and the lights on. He’s going to have to ask for another extension on rent, the landlord has been getting increasingly frustrated with his problems but there’s not much more he can do.

It's a couple of weeks later when Dabi takes Kiyoko with him while he runs down to the laundromat for a last minute client that lives in his building. The man needed his clothes with his uniform done but was too busy that evening to do it himself and had offered Dabi cash. So despite the late hour meaning he couldn’t leave Kiyoko with the usual sitter he agreed.

There’s a young couple fighting outside and Dabi tenses as he tries to ignore it while carrying Kiyoko and the bags of laundry through the dark nearly empty lot. Couple’s argue, they get mad at each other and fight, it's normal he reminds himself and he doesn't want to get involved.He leaves Kiyoko sitting in her carrier on top of a started washer and goes back outside for another bag of laundry outside the door. He couldn’t open the door with both bags and his baby so he had set one down and now had to go back for it. It’s not at all to keep watch on the fighting couple in case someone has to call the authorities.

Maybe they were breaking up and this had been their meeting point or maybe they had a fight here with no one around and whatever it was said was the last straw.

There’s another person hanging around outside,smoking, who raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't say much. Other than them and the arguing couple the place is empty.

“He has to learn at some point! I've got a say in how you raise him like it or not he’s my kid too.” The male of the pair points at a car in the parking lot. Ignoring the potential witnesses watching him.

“Get the fuck away from me, I said we were done and I meant it.” The woman who is getting yelled at by her partner in public growls at him. Dabi’s head refuses to turn away, he knows what comes next but can’t look away.

He doesn't want to see it, see what comes next, but he’s frozen. His weight shifts, when the guy raises his hand to his girlfriend and the next thing Dabi knows he's let loose his quirk and the man is ash. The woman opens her eyes from where they've been pried shut and screams. She doesn't thank him, she runs to her car and drives off with her kid. Peeling out of the parking lot and almost running him over in her haste. As fast as she can while Dabi stares in shock at where a person used to be.

The other woman who had been smoking steps forward to kick at the small pile of ashes and dark spot left on the pavement.

“Well that's a neat trick.” she gives him a long look and then looks inside the mat at Kiyoko. “she‘s yours right? You on your own sugar?” she grabs his wrist without asking, ignoring his hard flinch, and drags him inside to sit down as she gets two bottles of water from the vending machine. Dabi snatches the cold bottle and tries not to curl into a ball, stares at Kiyoko’s giggling face to distract himself as he presses the water to the back of his neck. Cooling himself down and jolting him back to the present.

He takes a deep steadying breath and looks over at the women. She looks a lot calmer than he feels, she changes out her wash like nothing just happened and comes back to sit beside Dabi.

“Yeah it's just us, please don- i didn-” he feels like he can't breathe much less beg her not to call the police. “You’ll never have to see me again.”

This is the closest most convenient laundromat to his building, only a block away, but he would gladly go to one across the city if she doesn't call the police. Calling the police means Enji finding him, it means signing over his rights to Hawks. There's no way to hide Kiyoko from Hawks if Enji finds out. He’s been climbing rabidly in rankings, always on the news, on a magazine cover or giving an interview. Kiyoko with her red wings and gold eyes means you don’t have to be a genius to guess she’s his child.

“Actually I have a job offer for you, I know a guy who knows a guy. He can hook you up with some big cash and all you gotta do is take out the trash like you just did out there.” The mystery woman grabs Dabi’s phone from him. “I can tell that you're already running yourself ragged as is. Quick easy cash in hand, we call him the broker but he’s also known as giran. Has his hand in all kinds of things so if you're not up for ditching bodies ask for something smaller like delivery, he's good at working with you based on your needs and comfort level.”

“Thank you,I'll think about it but no promises.” Dabi carefully takes his phone back. She’s not going to call the cops and is instead giving him a way out. He wants to doubt her and some part of him still thinks this is a trap. The cops never show up even after she leaves and he doesn't delete the number.

@ruelukas22 : im unsure if you still want to be tagged in updates or not! please let me know

#omegaverse #omegadabi #alphakeigo #dabihawks #secretbabyfic #thedarkonewrites #tw:murder

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tycoons-official · 5 years ago

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T𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬: P𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 (ᵗʷ: ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ)

꧁࿇Ｐｒｅｆａｃｅ࿇꧂

MBTI: INFJ - "The Advocate"

Alignment: Neutral Good

Demeanour: Introvert

Mental Health: 65% - Tyke suffers from Depression, brought on by months of internal torment and guilt, he has to try very hard to maintain an upbeat attitude and has bad days where he barely finds the strength to leave the bedroom.

Physical Health: 85% - Although he may brush his scars and scrapes as mere 'slip-ups during his childhood', dig a little deeper and you can see that they were inflicted on him, whether as harsh form of discipline or just feeling pain for fun, and this is not to say that he and his sister hasn't experienced verbal abuse, 80% of the damage done was verbal alone

꧁࿇Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ࿇꧂

Charismatic and genuinely likeable, Tyke has a way with others, making him warm and approachable, therefore most tend to feel quite comfortable when in his presence. He finds a great deal of joy in quiet company, preferring to live among many people and have a few close friends. With an uncanny ability to understand emotion, he is very empathetic, able to speak into other's hearts and approach them from a personal standpoint. In his youth, Tyke underwent vigorous training exercises at JYPE as well as the home to prepare him for leadership. As a result, he is undoubtedly reliable and honest, although he has a tendency to hold his tongue during confrontations, for the sake of peace. Although most within his family and environment were raised to believe females were the lesser sex, Tyke had a respect and appreciation for all who were in the family. He felt disgusted by the way his uncles and several other male relatives treated their female counterparts and refused to partake in any derogatory conversation. He has a strong belief in equality, regardless of their sex, bloodclass or circumstance.

Despite his strong morals and mentality, Tyke has a hard time voicing these opinions. Having been shamed by his family numerous times, the young male has grown accustomed with keeping his jaws shut, preferring to say little rather than risk open confrontation. Although branded as a 'disabled male', Tyke was raised by two professors being his parents, and therefore received high level education. He is articulate and bright, rarely intimidated by challenges, both of an intellectual and physical nature. His strange yet subtle lisp may come off as unintelligent or foreign to some, but once a person takes the time to speak with him, he presents as quite the opposite. Witty and bearing a prominent sense of humour, Tyke is known for his occasional quips and jests. Despite his initial sombreness, he is naturally a light-hearted fellow, preferring laughter over silence. He is a barrel of entertainment to those he dares call friends.

Creative and unique in his way of thinking, he likes to utilise his insight and often comes up with bold and unusual ideas. Although withdrawn from personal experience, Tyke has a great deal to offer if he was approached with the right attitude. Curious about the world around him, Tyke genuinely loves to learn and finds particular enjoyment in tactile tasks. Having been born with a love for adventure, he adopted the nickname 'Seeker' from his family that tells about his constant seeking of adventure. Although travel was never on Tyke's agendas during his childhood, the journey to travel to Seoul and to pursue music under JYPE has broadened his horizons, and he feels a constant calling to keep his head running. Due to the fact that he does majority of his thinking internally, Tyke can come off as very spontaneous or unpredictable to those around him. He fails to discuss his plans or thoughts aloud, expecting other's to simply "know" and often proving a confusing and frustrating individual, even to his own sister.

Tyke tends to live life in the present and is a very emotional being. When involved in overwhelming or intense situations, he is easily stressed and has a tendency to loose his outward charisma. He was born into a highly oppressive environment, feeling a great deal of weight on his shoulders and it tends to show in his lowest moments. Chronically exhausted, he has failed to find true peace within himself and often feels as though he has to prove his worth. Tyke has many regrets in life and is a very tormented individual, blaming himself constantly for the mistakes he has made and finding it near impossible to accept the past and move on. Tyke's guilt often prevents him from achieving new goals and it takes a sharp reminder now and then to snap his attentions back to the present (and that, is what is sister is best at). His depression hits hard, dragging him down so viciously that sometimes he can barely leave the house. It takes a great deal of perseverance for him to get up everyday, and his poor sleeping patterns often leave him feeling weary and worn out before the day has even begun.

꧁࿇Ｐｒｅｆａｃｅ࿇꧂

MBTI : ISFJ - The Defender

Alignment : Lawful Good

Demeanour : Extrovert (Only with the ones she trusts though)

Mental Health : 90% - Although still suffering from occasional panic attacks and sleep paralysis, Carmen has learned to manage her mental health and is recovering steadily alongside her brother.

Physical Health: 85% - Just mentioned earlier, the twins do not like talking about their past or their scars, and are used to degoratory remarks by now.

꧁࿇Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ࿇꧂

Strong but callused by life, Carmen faces life with her eyes sharp and self defense mode ready. Despite many challenges, the one thing this Alpha didn't loose during her 'dark ages' was her compassion. Especially to the young and vulnerable. She feels a sense of responsibility for the youth of today, and always ensures one eye is kept on them as she goes about her business. She despairs when other's are grieving and wishes to do what she can to prevent them from facing the horrors of her own past. She takes great interest in the education and training of the new trainees and rookies whenever she is able, and her friend group is her family and her family is her life. Carmen would die a thousand times over to protect her loved ones, and she feels a constant burning dedication to creating music as a whole. Having been with her brother in the worst of times, this young lady has developed a bond with him unlike no other, and now with the siblings being a group, her commitment has never been stronger.

As she has aged, Carmen's once spontaneous nature has dampened into a more calm and logical approach. She thinks through things carefully and is certainly one to make plans before diving in head-first. She is intellectual and cunning, having experienced a lot in a short amount of time, and although she makes for a deadly foe, if conclusions can be made without blood-shed, literal or figurative, Carmen will abide. The world is tainted, and Carmen has a very jaded view on it. Having been through much trauma as a child, she finds it difficult to let her guard down completely. In fact, she is always on edge. Rarely getting a thorough sleep, this young lady spends a majority of her time looking out the window of her dorm as if looking for any sign of danger, almost fanatical about her brother's well being and determined to ensure he is safe. She has partially separated herself from the outside world, and rarely interacts with other people, other than those she's already met before, and if she does by chance run into a stranger, it will take much for her to come to trust them.

Carmen feels as though she has failed many in her life, and therefore, has a wavering self-esteem level. Undermining her importance in the family, Carmen rarely takes the time to think of herself. Her outward appearance displays much of this, having a 'rugged' or 'edgy' sense of style and hollow eyes from lack of sleep. Although maintaining a rather respectful aura, one must not mistake her as a pushover. She will not stand for disrespect or rudeness, especially from the lesser or subordinate. Although once she bore a light playfulness that softened much of her behaviour, Carmen has hardened significantly in her age. She has seen the horrors of abuse and felt the bite of torture and betrayal. A sense of humor is certainly not completely absent, but rather weakened. Carmen finds it very difficult to relax at times, and has a stern resting face. She is honest and sincere, believing one should be transparent with their family and friends, for she believes that secrets tend to fester and only make things worse. Perhaps one day she will re-connect with her fun-loving side, but alas, the scars of internal wars still remain.

Having to withhold grudges, Carmen is not one to forgive and forget. In fact, sometimes she debates whether or not to hunt those people down and make them suffer like she did. So whilst she may appear calm and collected outwardly, on the inside, she holds a burning hatred and desire to wipe those who wronged her from existence. Socially, Carmen finds it hard to interact with those around her. Although not necessarily disconnected, the woman finds little to speak about and tends to spend her days alone, or with her brother. There are only a selected few that she spends time with and considers close friends, but after months of isolation and despair, she struggles in large groups and crowds. She is more of a quiet observer, watching her loved ones from the sidelines and only jumping in when they have need of her. But in general, she is quite oppressed, recalling the pain from her past and dwelling in her failures. If only things could have been different.. Months of cruel treatment and relentless betrayals has soured this soldiers mind. When meeting new company, she automatically adopts a neutral-to-negative opinion. Tending to read a book by it's cover, Carmen finds it difficult to trust anyone outside of her own family and friend group. She is quite bias, only holding her family in high regard and tending to shun others, sometimes unintentionally or without even knowing. Unknown or unfamiliar people will need to work hard to gain this idol's trust. She has many doubts and reservations about newcomers, and takes a long time to warm up, and even then, very few people experience her at her true self.

#tycoons #tyc #pinkocnet #lofi #lofikocnet #kumokocnet #kumokcn #kpop duo #kpop idol #kpop #kpop oc #kpop icons

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casualcatte · 5 years ago

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[Character] Aultena Sephimiri

She demanded to be heard, so here she is...

Basic Statistics

Full Name: Aultena Sephimiri Nickname: ‘Tena or Tena Age: 25 Date of Birth: 22nd Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon (June 22nd) Species: Miqo’te, Keeper of the Moon Gender: Female Hometown: Tailfeather, Dravanian Forelands, Eorzea Occupation: Hunter / Survivalist

This is a VERY long character worksheet. So, consider yourself warned it’s a long read ahead!

Abilities

If they had an element, what would it be? Aultena is best represented by Wind because of how free spirited she is. She goes where the wind takes her. Can they use it? Aultena has no magical ability whatsover. Hand-to-Hand capability: Aultena is an excellent ranged fighter, but not so much in close quarters. She can defend herself, if pressed, but she’d rather pick off her targets from afar. When did they start learning? She has been learning the way of the bow since she could walk. Who taught them? Her mother, for her early years. Sillesti, her guardian, in later years. Weapons training: Longbow and shortbow, dagger for close quarters self-defense. Physical strength: Aultena is light and wiry, athletic and dextrous, but not so physically strong. Speed: Fairly speedy. She relies on it and her dexterity to keep her out of most trouble.

Family

Maternal & Paternal Family Connection: Aultena’s extended family are also Keeper of the Moon miqo’te. Her relationship with them is fairly non-existent on either side. Parents/Guardian: Aultena’s had a good, loving relationship with her parents who encouraged her to be independent and strong-willed. She was closest to her mother, but still had a good relationship with her father. They were killed on a Clan Hunt when she was twelve. After that, she was cared for by a friend of the family, a Wildwood Elezen by name of Sillesti Abriel. Her relationship with Sillesti was also fairly good, though they did tend to butt heads on occasion. Birth order: Aultena is the only child of her parents. (That she is aware of. There may be the possibility of other siblings -- for RP opportunities!) What is the character's family life like? Growing up with her parents, Aultena was raised with a disciplined hand, but also with a lot of freedom for her to develop on her own. Miqo’te tribal traditions were explained to her, but not impressed upon her. It didn’t seem that important living out in Tailfeather among such varied people. Growing up with Sillesti, Aultena knew even more freedom, since Sillesti only disciplined her when she did something really wrong. What does their family love most about them? Her determination. Once Aultena puts her mind to something, she always tries to see it through to the end. It’s part of what makes her an excellent huntress, she doesn’t let go of her quarry easily. Hate? Aultena has a temper, inherited from her mother. It causes her to butt heads with both her mother and Sillesti a lot, sometimes over inconsequential things. What would their family be described like by another person? From the outside, Aultena’s life with her parents seemed pretty idyllic; she got along with her parents and travelled with them often save on the more dangerous hunts they undertook. With Sillesti, it was much the same since they all lived close-by in Tailfeather; seeing her around Sillesti was nothing new. Have they ever had any pets? Not yet. Maybe at a later date?

Relationships

Are they a virgin? Nope! How did they lose it? She had a literal roll in the hay in a chocobo barn with a handsome adventuring hyur, Tristane, that stayed in Tailfeather for a while. Have they ever cheated on a partner? No. Given Aultena’s general lifestyle, her temper, and her wanderlust she’s never really been that committed to a partner. It takes a lot for Aultena to invest that much in someone, so it takes a while and she has to build a lot of trust. Trust she wouldn’t betray so easily. Who was their first crush? Aultena doesn’t really crush on people. She has to be pretty emotionally invested in someone to find them attractive. First love? Her first love was that aforementioned hyur, Tristane Alexander. He was an adventurer, however, and met his end fighting a bandersnatch alpha on one of their many hunts. Aultena does NOT like to talk about this much. Are they in any kind of romantic relationship? Aultena is currently not in any sort of relationship at present. Who is your character’s closest friend? Her current closest friend is probably her guardian, Sillesti. They get along well and he respects her space and independence while simultaneously providing a willing ear and advice when she needs it.

Favorites

Favorite foods: Miqo’bobs, of course! Least favorite food: Anything with fish. Living so far from the sea, she never really acquired a taste for it. Favorite colors: Blues, she finds it soothing. Music: She loves listening to acoustic guitar. It’s what she grew up with, listening to her father play as a child. She inherited his guitar when he left it behind during that ill-fated Hunt and has learned to play it since. Literature: Sheet music? Aultena isn’t much of a reader. She CAN read, but rarely for entertainment. Smell: The forest after a good rain. Feeling: The softness of chocobo hatchlings. Season: Autumn. Place: Tailfeather, home, of course! Possession this character values most: Her most valued possession is her father’s guitar, since it’s really the last connection she has to them. It’s attached to many good memories sitting around the campfire as they hunted, listening to her father play it.

Physical Characteristics

Height: 5’6” Weight: 120 Body build: Wiry Athletic Eye Color: Gold Hair: Navy with lighter blue highlights, typically drawn back in a braid. Scent: She smells mostly of pine. Very rarely any sort of artificial perfume, since it would be a dead-giveaway to her quarry on hunts. Voice: See: Lenore Zann -- particularly as Aisha Clan-Clan. Health: Fairly good! Her active lifestyle as a huntress keeps her physically fit. She does have an allergy to cats, though. Style: Relaxed and easy to move in. She’s not all that fond of frilly dresses and binding undergarments like corsets. (How do people even move in this?!) How do they walk? Aultena is very light-stepped, given how carefully she has to move on a hunt. Unconsciously graceful, but also kind of slouchy when she’s relaxed / not hunting. What are their Nervous Tics: Aultena’s ears are very expressive. When she’s nervous or afraid, her ears will tilt backward. The farther the tilt, the more severe the emotion. Usual Body Posture: When on the hunt, generally stiff and vigilant. Not hunting, relaxed and slouchy.

Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes

Did they go to school? Not really. She learned to read and write in her teen years from Sillesti who was taught in Ishgard. How smart are they? Aultena is smart when it comes to survival and being afield. She’s not really very book-smart or knowledgable about history or Eorzea at-large. Character's short-term goals in life: Aultena wants to see the world beyond Tailfeather, especially after hearing about it from Tristane, who was fairly well-travelled. Character's long-term goals in life: To become a good enough hunter to kill the beast that killed her parents. How does your Character see themselves? Aultena sees herself as a bit of a nuisance to Sillesti, though she adores him like a father for everything he’s done for her. Among other people, she often sees herself as a clunky backwater heathen. How self-confident is your character? While hunting, Aultena is supremely confident and in charge of herself. In any other arena, she can be uncertain, easily frustrated, and reclusive. What makes their self-confidence waver? Her lack of knowledge. She’s not as worldly as some folk, so she sometimes feels dumb when listening to them talk about the wider world. What would embarrass your character the most? Missing a shot on a hunt. How does your character feel about love? It always ends. Nothing lasts. Enjoy it while you have it, but don’t rely on it for anything. About crime? Criminals ruin everything for everyone. Politics? She doesn’t follow politics, so she’d just stare and not understand. People of a different sexuality? Your body, your business. Different nationality/race? She’s fine with most races, though she has little love for Gnath. How does your character show affection/love? Spending time with them, staying in one place near them. Her free time and her freedom are key to who Aultena is, so when she’s willing to give that up for someone says volumes. She also likes giving them hand-made gifts or bringing them things back from her hunts. How does your character handle grief? She will usually go off somewhere by herself to cry where no one is watching. She doesn’t like talking about it, but will accept comfort / distraction when it’s offered. What are they like when they cry? She’s a burst crier. She’ll weep loudly and hard for a few minutes, recover, then cry again until she exhausts herself. What can make them cry? Loss, primarily. The loss of her parents, then later losing Tristane makes her very sensitive to losing people. Anger, she tends to cry when she gets really and truly angry. How does your character handle physical pain? Having been injured a number of times in her life on the hunt, Aultena deals with physical pain and injury fairly well. Emotional pain? Emotional pain, however, is not something she deals with well. Like a wounded, she’ll either lash out or retreat to where she feels the most comfortable / safe. Is your character typically a leader or a follower? She is fairly independent, so she’s a leader more than a follower. If it’s a situation she’s unfamiliar with, though, she has no issues with following someone else. Are they 'big picture' or 'little details'? Little details matter in a hunter’s life. What kind of energy level does your character typically display? On the hunt, she’s fairly high, but controlled and focused energy. Intent. Anywhere else, though, she seems sort of lazily vigilant -- you know, like a cat. Describe their sense of humor: Her sense of humor can be a bit dry. But if she’s feels comfortable enough with someone, she can be a bit of a mischievous prankster. Something she used to torment Sillesti with a lot. Hobbies: Whittling / Woodcarving, playing music (esp. guitar, includes singing), cooking, leatherworking, collecting hunting trophies. Talents: Singing, playing music, hunting. Extremely unskilled at: Formal dancing, sewing, makeup / hairstyling If any, what musical instruments can they play? Lute, guitar, and harp, primarily. Pan flute.

Emotional Characteristics

How does character relate to others? Aultena can be bluntly opinionated at times, calling things like she sees them. It can rub others the wrong way. She tries to be understanding, but really emotional people make her uncomfortable. How does the character deal with anger? She stalks off and shoots things. With sadness? She runs off on her own or to where she feels safest to cry. With conflict? It depends on the situation. For emotional conflict, she’ll stalk off to puzzle things out for herself. Physical conflict, she’ll fight like a demon. Mental conflict, she’ll just shut down and withdraw. With change? With as much as her parents came and went and with so many varied people and adventurers that came through Tailfeather, Aultena is relatively good with change. She likes to experience new and different things. With loss? Given her life experiences, Aultena does not cope with loss well. What does your character want out of life? Besides to avenge her parents against the beast that killed them… I doubt she knows at this point. What would your character like to change in his/her life? Aultena would have her parents and Tristane back. She doesn’t regret much else. What motivates your character? The people she cares about. Hunger. Money. Hunters live to sell their kills or to eat off the meat those kills provide. What frightens your character? Losing people she cares about. Dragons. Bandersnatches. Are they afraid of the Dark? No, she’s spent too many nights in the wild, listening to the forest-song to be afraid of the dark. Death? Aultena is very afraid of death. Her parents weren’t that old when they were killed. Neither was Tristane. In the back of her mind, she wonders if she’s doomed to die an early death, too. What makes your character happy? New and different experiences. Good food. Fine booze. Excellent company. A successful hunt. Camping under the stars. Is your character judgmental of others? Not really. Like with animals, Aultena gauges things by how they act toward her and she responds accordingly. Is your character generous or stingy? A bit of both, to be honest. She’s stingy among strangers, but generous to those she cares about and her neighbors. Is your character generally polite or rude? She can be a bit of both here, too, depending on how she’s treated or received. Optimistic or Pessimistic? She’s generally a realist. Introvert or Extrovert? Something of an introvert until she gets comfortable. Daredevil or Cautious? Cautious. Hunters don’t live long by being reckless. Logical or Emotional? Both, depending on the situation. Hunting? Logical. Socially? Emotional. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Methodical and neat. Being able to know exactly where anything is at any given moment so she can go on the hunt is key for her. Would they rather be working or relaxing? She likes both. She loves the thrill of the hunt and to travel, but there’s little else better than relaxing after a successful day. How do they feel about animals? Given her experiences as a hunter, Aultena has more respect for animals than she does people.

Spiritual Characteristics

Do they consider themselves religious? She prays to them to keep her safe during the hunt, but she’s not devout by any means. What God(s)/Goddess(s) do they believe in? As a Keeper of the Moon, she learned of Menphina from her mother. She has some small regard for Oschon, as the God of Wanderers.

Bonus: Theme Song Sunset by Daria Semikina

youtube

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #balmung roleplayer #balmung #miqo'te #aultena sephimiri #character worksheet #good lord that was long #when the muse roars

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katybeth23 · 6 years ago

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A/N

Part 3 ( cowboy take me away)

Jacks voices wavered as he was anxious to see Lisa

“It’s nice to meet you Jack, given the circumstances. If you could follow me to my office I’d like to discuss your wife’s condition before we go on up to see her”.

Dr Delon had a big smile and Jack felt more at ease as he followed the young doctor down the long corridor.

Once seated in his office the Dr proceeded to fill Jack in on Lisa’s accident and condition.

“This was a very serious accident Jack, your wife was only inches away from direct impact ~ she is lucky to be alive”.

His eyes had a kindness about them as he leant forward over his desk.

“We had to operate in order to stop

some internal bleeding, this took longer than expected. She has a fractured left wrist, some cuts and bruises and a mild concussion, but aside from that your Mrs Bartlett is a very lucky woman”.

He smiled as he saw the look of relief on Jacks face.

“We do want to keep her in for observation though Jack, and we would like to run some more tests over the next few days”, he paused to re read over his notes.

“She has been unwell on and off the entire trip according to her Aunt, so we just want to investigate more throughly if that’s ok with you both?”.

Lisa had told Jack about the stomach virus she had, but what she failed to mention was that it had been bothering her for the entire trip?

“Your wife was quite dehydrated when she arrived so we just want to rule out a few things such as; a serious intestinal virus, pregnancy, an infection of some sort”

Jack chuckled to himself

“Well doc I’m pretty sure it won’t be the second one; given Lisa’s age”. ( she was due to turn 50 in less than a month).

“But I appreciate the care you are giving her and am leaving it in your capable hands, so please do for whatever you need to”.

Dr Delon rose from his desk and gestured towards his door;

“This way Jack”.

He pointed towards the administration desk and down the hall.

“I know someone who is very egar to see you”.

Through all the worry he had felt these past 24 hours , the feeling of absolute relief when he laid eyes on Lisa had finally caught up with Jack.

As Dr Delon left them alone all Jack could do was breakdown and sob as he laid his head gently on Lisa’s lap.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she ran her fingers through his thick grey hair.

Before now Lisa had been niaeve as to just how close she had come to never touching him again, hearing his voice, inhaling his scent. As she felt the rise and fall of his chest, Lisa knew in her heart that this would be the last overseas trip she would make.

Heartland was where she wanted to be; it was at home with Jack that Lisa was needed most. It was what SHE needed more than anything.

Slowly Jack lifted his head and looked into those piercing blue eyes he had missed so much.

“Oh Lise” his voice barely audible

“I have never been so frightened in my entire life as I was these past couple of days”.

Lisa’s soft hand touched his unshaven cheek

“I don’t know what I would have done if...”

“Shhhhhh ; I know, and I’m so sorry Jack”

Lisa too couldn’t contain her emotions any longer.

“I should never have gone away; and I promise you, I won’t ever be doing it again”.

She looked up at the ceiling, nose scrunched, trying her darndest not to breakdown.

“My place is at home with you; I’ve done what I needed to do and I’ve seen all I want to see”

she smiled lovingly at Jack as she wiped away a stray tear.

Soon they were both fast asleep, the last 24 hours ~ No in fact the last 8 weeks had exhausted the two of them past belief and in each other’s presence was the only place they could both truly rest.

The family were all relieved to hear Jacks voice as he relayed the news of Lisa’s condition and reassured them there was nothing to worry about and they would both be back home in no time.

He had woken about 2 hours after they had drifted off, Lisa continued to sleep peacefully. Jack watching her contently, only leaving her side to phone home.

When he returned to the room after calling Heartland he noticed Lisa’s bed was empty. A few moment later she exited her hospital bathroom. Jack noticed almost instantly the weight she had lost whilst she had been away, she smiled tiredly as she watched his eyes travel up down her body.

“You ok Lise” he asked softly

“The Doc said you have had the stomach upset almost the entire trip?”

Lisa noticed the concern in his voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rubbed her back softly.

She sighed, knowing full well she should have told Jack just how unwell she had been feeling; but decide, for his sake to play it down a little.

“I know I should have told you, and I’m sorry”; tiredness still overwhelmed Lisa’s body.

“I didn’t want to worry you and really honey I’m fine, the doctor thinks it’s an intestinal bug { that are not uncommon whilst travelling } which they will run some more tests for, then treat it with some strong antibiotics”.

Lisa sat back on the bed as Jack helped her into a more comfortable position. He pulled a large hospital chair as close to the side of her bed as he could and within minutes Lisa had closed her eyes and had nuzzled her way into the crook of Jacks broad shoulder.

“It won’t be anything long term Jack”

her voice dropping off

“Just a bug that will clear up with some medication and a few changes in di”....

But before she could finish her sentence Lisa was fast asleep,snoring softly.

Jack chuckled quietly to himself as he recalled the numerous times Lisa had adamantly denied that she ever snored, getting quite ardent about it on a number of occasions when he brought it up.

His smile broadened because Jack didn’t mind, he was just happy to have her within arms reach, safely sleeping beside him again. Nothing could ever be better than this moment he thought to himself.

It was a little past 8 pm and visiting hours were due to finish up.

Jack felt awful at the thought of being seperated from Lisa again; he had assured the staff that he was more than happy to sleep in a chair just as long as he could be with her.

Although it wasn’t usually allowed, with the approval of Dr Delon the staff brought in another hospital bed which they pushed up beside Lisa’s so Jack could sleep next to her.

Lisa has become teary at the thought of Jack having to leave and was quite overcome with the hospitals kind gesture.

They lay together, side by side after almost 9 weeks apart and although Jack had always been adamant that his bed was he ONLY place he was comfortable, he had come to realise that it was actually NEXT to Lisa that he felt most rested.

She lay there in Jacks arms as he discussed with her Wills health scare, at times becoming emotional at the thought of how close he had come to losing his oldest friend; and Lisa just listened,Jack needed to let it all out. At times Lisa would run her fingers softly across Jacks chest, placing a small kiss on his hand that was placed tenderly over hers.

The time apart had clearly taken its toll on both of them.

The following day Lisa spent the morning going through all her tests Richard Delon had booked; these included bloods, urine, an MRI and ultrasound. It’s was a tiring process and he apologised profusely for the amount of poking and prodding that was being done.

He did however assure Lisa that these investigations would give him the answers he needed to treat her chronic upset stomach and then, most importantly she and Jack could return home.

“If it’s what I suspect Lisa”

Dr Delon had popped into Lisa’s room to check on her after her busy morning;

“Then you will possibly need 2-3 more days in hospital on IV antibiotics, and if that works the way I anticipate it will then by the weekend we can discharge you home with follow up oral medication”.

He beamed as he saw both their reactions to the mention of ‘Home’.

“I will stress to you though Lisa that this medication will need to be taken for up to 4 weeks with the possibility of 6 as I suspect it’s a nasty bug, and you will need to start slowly your foods, keeping clear of anything diary for at least a week or more”.

Jack rested his hand on Lisa’s lap.

“Thanks Doc, don’t you worry she’s in good hands”

He glanced across at Lisa and noticed she was watching him, eyes shining, lips slightly pursed they way they did when she was proud.

“Oh I have no doubt about that Jack”

was Dr Delon’s cheerful reply;

“Now if you’ll both excuse me I’ll go and chase up these results. I’ll be back shortly”

As he exited Lisa’s room he turned and gave them a smile.

As he had intended Dr Delon returned a few hours later with news on Lisa’s tests ; however neither he or his fellow colleagues had anticipated the results that came back.

As he entered Lisa’s room there was something slightly different about him Jack noticed.

He couldn’t put a finger on it and it didn’t necessarily concern him, but it bothered him all the same.

“How old are you Jack if you don’t mind me asking”

Richard Delon smiled at the older man as he made his request

“I’ll be 71, no sorry 72 in August”

Jack had to stop and think for a moment.

He laughed out loud.

“When you get to my age Doc, it’s sometimes hard to remember”

he winked at the much younger man sitting across from him.

#heartland fanfiction #jisa #lisa stillman #jack bartlett #my fics

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imbicuriousyeah · 6 years ago

Text

princess bride: chapter two

pairing: jiyong/reader

genre: angst/drama/fantasy

word count: 3.1k

Prince Seungri was shaped like a barrel. His chest was a great barrel chest, his thighs mighty barrel thighs. He was not tall but he weighed close to 250 pounds, brick hard. He walked like a crab, side to side, and probably if he had wanted to be a ballet dancer, he would have been doomed to a miserable life of endless frustration. But he didn’t want to be a ballet dancer. He wasn’t in that much of a hurry to be king either. Even war, at which he excelled, took second place in his affections. Everything took second place in his affections.

Hunting was his love.

He made it a practice never to let a day go by without killing something. It didn’t much matter what. When he first grew dedicated, he killed only big things: elephants or pythons. But then, as his skills increased, he began to enjoy the suffering of little beasts too. He could happily spend an afternoon tracking a flying squirrel across forests or a rainbow trout down rivers. Once he was determined, once he had focused on an object, the Prince was relentless. He never tired, never wavered, neither ate nor slept. It was death chess and he was international grand master.

In the beginning, he traversed the world for opposition. But travel consumed time, ships and horses being what they were, and the time away from Florin was worrying. There always had to be a male heir to the throne, and as long as his father was alive, there was no problem. But someday his father would die and then the Prince would be the king and he would have to select a queen to supply an heir for the day of his own death.

So to avoid the problem of absence, Prince Seungri built the Zoo of Death. He designed it himself with Count Jinyoung’s help, and he sent his hirelings across the world to stock it for him. It was kept brimming with things that he could hunt, and it really wasn’t like any other animal sanctuary anywhere. In the first place, there were never any visitors. Only the albino keeper, to make sure the beasts were properly fed, and that there was never any sickness or weakness inside.

The other thing about the Zoo was that it was underground. The Prince picked the spot himself, in the quietest, remotest corner of the castle grounds. And he decreed there were to be five levels, all with the proper needs for his individual enemies. On the first level, he put enemies of speed: wild dogs, cheetahs, hummingbirds. On the second level belonged the enemies of strength: anacondas and rhinos and crocodiles of over twenty feet. The third level was for poisoners: spitting cobras, jumping spiders, death bats galore. The fourth level was the kingdom of the most dangerous, the enemies of fear: the shrieking tarantula (the only spider capable of sound), the blood eagle (the only bird that thrived on human flesh), plus, in its own black pool, the sucking squid. Even the albino shivered during feeding time on the fourth level.

The fifth level was empty.

The Prince constructed it in the hopes of someday finding something worthy, something as dangerous and fierce and powerful as he was.

Unlikely. Still, he was an eternal optimist, so he kept the great cage of the fifth level always in readiness.

And there was really more than enough that was lethal on the other four levels to keep a man happy. The Prince would sometimes choose his prey by luck—he had a great wheel with a spinner and on the outside of the wheel was a picture of every animal in the Zoo and he would twirl the spinner at breakfast, and wherever it stopped, the albino would ready that breed. Sometimes he would choose by mood: “I feel quick today; fetch me a cheetah” or “I feel strong today, release a rhino.” And whatever he requested, of course, was done.

He was ringing down the curtain on an orangutan when the business of the King’s health made its ultimate intrusion. It was midafternoon, and the Prince had been grappling with the giant beast since morning, and finally, after all these hours, the hairy thing was weakening. Again and again, the monkey tried to bite, a sure sign of failure of strength in the arms. The Prince warded off the attempted bites with ease, and the ape was heaving at the chest now, desperate for air. The Prince made a crablike step sidewise, then another, then darted forward, spun the great beast into his arms, began applying pressure to the spine. (This was all taking place in the ape pit, where the Prince had his pleasure with any simians.) From up above now, Count Jinyoung’s voice interrupted. “There is news,” the Count said.

From battle, the Prince replied. “Cannot it wait?”

“For how long?” asked the Count.

The orangutan fell like a rag doll. “Now, what is all this,” the Prince replied, stepping past the dead beast, mounting the ladder out of the pit.

“Your father has had his annual physical,” the Count said. “I have the report.”

“And?”

“Your father is dying.”

“Drat!” said the Prince. “That means I shall have to get married.”

Four of them met in the great council room of the castle. Prince Seungri, his confidant, Count Jinyoung, his father, aging King Lotharon, and Queen Bella, his evil stepmother. Queen Bella was shaped like a gumdrop. And colored like a raspberry. She was easily the most beloved person in the kingdom, and had been married to the King long before he began mumbling. Prince Seungri was but a child then, and since the only stepmothers he knew were the evil ones from stories, he always called Bella that, or “E. S.” for short. “All right,” the Prince began when they were all assembled. “Who do I marry? Let’s pick a bride and get it done.” Aging King Lotharon said, “I’ve been thinking it’s really getting to be about time for Seungri to pick a bride.” He didn’t actually so much say that as mumble it: “I’ve beee mumbbble mumbbble Seunmummmble engamumble.” Queen Bella was the only one who bothered ferreting out his meanings any more. “You couldn’t be righter, dear,” she said, and she patted his royal robes. “What did he say?” “He said whoever we decided on would be getting a thunderously handsome prince for a lifetime companion.” “Tell him he’s looking quite well himself,” the Prince returned. “We’ve only just changed miracle men,” the Queen said. “That accounts for the improvement.” “You mean you fired Miracle Minho?” Prince Seungri said. “I thought he was the only one left.” “No, we found another one up in the mountains and he’s quite extraordinary. Old, of course, but then, who wants a young miracle man?” “Tell him I’ve changed miracle men,” King Lotharon said. It came out: “Tell mumble mirumble mumble.” “What did he say?” the Prince wondered. “He said a man of your importance couldn’t marry just any princess.” “True, true,” Prince Seungri said. He sighed. Deeply. “I suppose that means Noreena.” “That would certainly be a perfect match politically,” Count Jinyoung allowed. Princess Noreena was from Guilder, the country that lay just across Florin Channel. (In Guilder, they put it differently; for them, Florin was the country on the other side of the Channel of Guilder.) In any case, the two countries had stayed alive over the centuries mainly by warring on each other. There had been the Olive War, the Tuna Fish Discrepancy, which almost bankrupted both nations, the Roman Rift, which did send them both into insolvency, only to be followed by the Discord of the Emeralds, in which they both got rich again, chiefly by banding together for a brief period and robbing everybody within sailing distance. “I wonder if she hunts, though,” said Seungri. “I don’t care so much about personality, just so they’re good with a knife.” “I saw her several years ago,” Queen Bella said. “She seemed lovely, though hardly muscular. I would describe her more as a knitter than a doer. But again, lovely.” “Skin?” asked the Prince.

“Marbleish,” answered the Queen.

“Lips?”

“Number or color?” asked the Queen.

“Color, E. S.”

“Roseish. Cheeks the same. Eyes largeish, one blue, one green.”

“Hmmm,” said Seungri. “And form?”

“Hourglassish. Always clothed divineishly. And, of course, famous throughout Guilder for the largest hat collection in the world.”

“Well, let’s bring her over here for some state occasion and have a look at her,” said the Prince.

“Isn’t there a princess in Guilder that would be about the right age?” said the King. It came out: “Mum-cess Guilble, abumble mumble?”

“Are you never wrong?” said Queen Bella, and she smiled into the weakening eyes of her ruler.

“What did he say?” wondered the Prince.

“That I should leave this very day with an invitation,” replied the Queen.

So began the great visit of the Princess Noreena.

What happens is just this: Queen Bella packs most of her wardrobe and travels to Guilder. In Guilder she unpacks, then tenders the invitation to Princess Noreena. Princess Noreena accepts, then she packs all her clothes and hats and, together, the Princess and the Queen travel back to Florin for the annual celebration of the founding of Florin City. They reach King Lotharon’s castle, where Princess Noreena is shown her quarters and unpacks all the same clothes and hats she had just packed a few days before.

Anyway, things pick up a bit once the Prince and Princess meet and spend the day. Noreena did have, as advertised, marbleish skin, roseish lips and cheeks, largeish eyes, one blue, one green, hourglassish form, and easily the most extraordinary collection of hats ever assembled. Wide brimmed and narrow, some tall, some not, some fancy, some colorful, some plaid, some plain. She doted on changing hats at every opportunity. When she met the Prince, she was wearing one hat, when he asked her for a stroll, she excused herself, shortly to return wearing another, equally flattering. Things went on like this throughout the day.

Dinner was held in the Great Hall of Lotharon’s castle. Ordinarily, they would all have supped in the dining room, but, for an event of this importance, that place was simply too small. So tables were placed end to end along the center of the Great Hall, an enormous drafty spot that was given to being chilly even in the summertime. There were many doors and giant entrance ways, and the wind gusts sometimes reached gale force.

This night was more typical than less; the winds whistled constantly and the candles constantly needed relighting, and some of the more daringly dressed ladies shivered. But Prince Seungri didn’t seem to mind, and in Florin, if he didn’t, you didn’t either.

At 8:23 there seemed every chance of a lasting alliance starting between Florin and Guilder.

At 8:24 the two nations were very close to war.

What happened was simply this: at 8:23 and five seconds, the main course of the evening was ready for serving. The main course was essence of brandied pig, and you need a lot of it to serve five hundred people. So in order to hasten the serving, a giant double door that led from the kitchen to the Great Hall was opened. The giant double door was on the north end of the room. The door remained open throughout what followed.

The proper wine for essence of brandied pig was in readiness behind the double door that led eventually to the wine cellar. This double door was opened at 8:23 and ten seconds in order that the dozen wine stewards could get their kegs quickly to the eaters. This double door, it might be noted, was at the south end of the room.

At this point, an unusually strong cross wind was clearly evident. Prince Seungri did not notice, because at that moment, he was whispering with the Princess Noreena of Guilder. He was cheek to cheek with her, his head under her wide-brimmed blue-green hat, which brought out the exquisite color in both of her largeish eyes.

At 8:23 and twenty seconds, King Lotharon made his somewhat belated entrance to the dinner. He was always belated now, had been for years, and in the past people had been known to starve before he got there. But of late, meals just began without him, which was fine with him, since his new miracle man had taken him off meals anyway. The King entered through the King’s Door, a huge hinged thing that only he was allowed to use. It took several servants in excellent condition to work it. It should be reported that the King’s Door was always in the east side of any room, since the King was, of all people, closest to the sun.

What happened then has been variously described as a norther or a sou’wester, depending on where you were seated in the room when it struck, but all hands agree on one thing: at 8:23 and twenty-five seconds, it was pretty gusty in the Great Hall.

Most of the candles lost their flames and toppled, which was only important because a few of them fell, still burning, into the small kerosene cups that were placed here and there across the banquet table so that the essence of brandied pig could be properly flaming when served. Servants rushed in from all over to put out the flames, and they did a good enough job, considering that everything in the room was flying this way, that way, fans and scarves and hats.

Particularly the hat of Princess Noreena.

It flew off to the wall behind her, where she quickly retrieved it and put it properly on. That was at 8:23 and fifty seconds. It was too late.

At 8:23:55 Prince Seungri rose roaring, the veins in his thick neck etched like hemp. There were still flames in some places, and their redness reddened his already blood-filled face. He looked, as he stood there, like a barrel on fire. He then said to Princess Noreena of Guilder the five words that brought the nations to the brink.

“Madam, feel free to flee!”

And with that he stormed from the Great Hall. The time was then 8:24.

Prince Seungri made his angry way to the balcony above the Great Hall and stared down at the chaos. The fires were still in places flaming red, guests were pouring out through the doors and Princess Noreena, hatted and faint, was being carried by her servants far from view.

Queen Bella finally caught up with the Prince, who stormed along the balcony clearly not yet in control. “I do wish you hadn’t been quite so blunt,” Queen Bella said.

The Prince whirled on her. “I’m not marrying any bald princess, and that’s that!”

“No one would know,” Queen Bella explained. “She has hats even for sleeping.”

“I would know,” cried the Prince. “Did you see the candlelight reflecting off her skull?”

“But things would have been so good with Guilder,” the Queen said, addressing herself half to the Prince, half to Count Jinyoung, who now joined them.

“Forget about Guilder. I’ll conquer it sometime. I’ve been wanting to ever since I was a kid anyway.” He approached the Queen. “People snicker behind your back when you’ve got a bald wife, and I can do without that, thank you. You’ll just have to find someone else.”

“Who?”

“Find me somebody, she should just look nice, that’s all.”

“That Noreena has no hair,” King Lotharon said, puffing up to the others. “Nor-umble mumble humble.”

“Thank you for pointing that out, dear,” said Queen Bella.

“I don’t think Seungri will like that,” said the King. “Dumble Humble Mumble.”

Then Count Jinyoung stepped forward. “You want someone who looks nice; but what if she’s a commoner?”

“The commoner the better,” Prince Seungri replied, pacing again.

“What if she can’t hunt?” the Count went on.

“I don’t care if she can’t spell,” the Prince said. Suddenly he stopped and faced them all. “I’ll tell you what I want,” he began then. “I want someone who is so beautiful that when you see her you say, ‘Wow, that Seungri must be some kind of fella to have a wife like that.’ Search the country, search the world, just find her!”

Count Jinyoung could only smile. “She is already found,” he said.

It was dawn when the two horsemen reined in at the hilltop. Count Jinyoung rode a splendid black horse, large, perfect, powerful. The Prince rode one of his whites. It made Jinyoung’s mount seem like a plow puller.

“She delivers milk in the mornings,” Count Jinyoung said.

“And she is truly-without-question-no-possibility-of-error beautiful?”

“She was something of a mess when I saw her,” the Count admitted. “But the potential was overwhelming.”

“A milkmaid.” The Prince ran the words across his rough tongue. “I don’t know that I could wed one of them even under the best of conditions. People might snicker that she was the best I could do.”

“True,” the Count admitted. “If you prefer, we can ride back to Florin City without waiting.”

“We’ve come this far,” the Prince said. “We might as well wai—” His voice quite simply died. “I’ll take her,” he managed, finally, as you rode slowly by below them.

“No one will snicker, I think,” the Count said.

“I must court her now,” said the Prince. “Leave us alone for a minute.” He rode the white expertly down the hill.

You had never seen such a giant beast. Or such a rider.

“I am your Prince and you will marry me,” Seungri said.

You whispered, “I am your servant and I refuse.”

“I am your Prince and you cannot refuse.”

“I am your loyal servant and I just did.”

“Refusal means death.”

“Kill me then.”

“I am your Prince and I’m not that bad—how could you rather be dead than married to me?”

“Because,” you said, “marriage involves love, and that is not a pastime at which I excel. I tried once, and it went badly, and I am sworn never to love another.”

“Love?” said Prince Seungri. “Who mentioned love? Not me, I can tell you. Look: there must always be a male heir to the throne of Florin. That’s me. Once my father dies, there won’t be an heir, just a king. That’s me again. When that happens, I’ll marry and have children until there is a son. So you can either marry me and be the richest and most powerful woman in a thousand miles and give turkeys away at Christmas and provide me a son. Or you can die in terrible pain in the very near future. Make up your own mind.”

“I’ll never love you.”

“I wouldn’t want it if I had it.”

“Then by all means let us marry.”

What with one thing and another, three years passed.

masterpost

#kwritersworldnet #jiyong fic #jiyong fanfic #jiyong fanfiction #bigbang fic #bigbang fanfic #jiyong angst #jiyong drama #jiyong adventure #jiyong princess bride #jiyong westley #bigbang princess bride #sylvanwriting #gdragon fic #gdragon angst #gdragon drama #kwon jiyong fic #long post

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anneesfolleshq · 6 years ago

Photo

Bonjour et bienvenue! Paris welcomes you, our Promoter, Anatole de Céleyran! May we say, you’re the spitting image of Harry Shum Junior! Please make your presence known within 24 hours, and do have a look at our checklist before setting out into the city on your own. À bientôt!

MUN

Name/Alias: Max (I write Augustin Badeaux)

MUSE

Chosen Skeleton: The Promoter

Muse Name: Anatole de Céleyran

Muse Age: 28

Chosen FC: Harry Shum Jr.

Muse Occupation: Promoter for the Moulin Rouge

Muse Affiliation & Frequent Haunts: He’s definitely affiliated to Montmartre.

Anatole spends a lot of time at the Bâteau-Lavoir, and he can also be seen at the opium dens of the Blue Lotus. The Moulin Rouge is obviously the place where you have the most chances to see him but these days he also likes to hand at the Closerie des Lilas’ tables because of its clientele’s diversity that never stops to inspire him.

Direct from Le Petit Journal: What a great surprise to see Monsieur de Céleyran at the market today who, for once, stepped outside his flat during daytime. It is so rare to see the Moulin Rouge’s famous promoter under the sunlight that people were already whispering about him being a vampire! Sadly, the excitement was brief, since the artist was found unconscious and reeking of alcohol behind an alley before being transported to the nearest hospital. Has the artist’s condition taken a dark turn or is it just another cry for attention?

BIOGRAPHY

It is said that when a mother drinks during a pregnancy, the child will have sequels, whether they are behavioral, social or physical. None of this was known at the time, and thanks to Anatole’s mother who couldn’t survive prostitution without being drunk 24/7, he was graced with a good deal of those problems that followed him from the very beginning of his existence. Weak lungs, a hearing lower than normal, depression, anxiety, poor impulse controls and so many other issues that made him different from other humans that his self-esteem couldn’t do anything else but hit rock bottom since childhood.

Unsurprisingly, at his birth, Anatole’s mother abandoned him at an orphanage in Toulouse, not worrying much about giving him a name or letting him know about her own identity by leaving a letter. It seemed she couldn’t care less about one kid amongst the many others she had probably already brought to life, and his father was probably no one else but a traveler who had had some money to spare around. Thankfully Anatole never found in himself the desire to look for brothers or sisters in this too big world, finding the task to be more of a bother than a relief and deciding instead to let this part of himself into Fate’s hands.

All in all, the orphanage was nothing but a living hell and to this day, Anatole is still haunted by the first stages of his life. The mockery from the other kids who found it funny how different he was from them; the loneliness that crept behind his back whenever he had to stay in his bedroom in winter to protect his lungs; and even the food traumatized him. It was all so sad and gloomy for an outgoing boy like him that he couldn’t see a way out of this.

But thankfully, Anatole naturally started to develop a skill that could be accommodated to his fragile constitution and special temperament.

Everything began with a pencil and the back of a book, a bird, some trees and lots of frustration. The time he spent alone was dedicated, little by little, to the only thing he discovered himself to be good at. His art, born from despair and boredom, fastly became his solace in a world ruled by darkness. The looks of jealousy on the other kids’ faces was enough to assure him of the fact that he was good at it and, in the midst of self-hatred, Anatole realized that a meaning to his life had been placed at the core of his hands.

“Your art is special”, the nurse would say during his monthly check ups, words he would cherish and reward by offering her portraits and sketches of the utmost precision; she was the nicest woman he had ever met and without her support, Anatole knows he would have never found the guts to leave Toulouse at his majority.

He needed a new place to stay after being thrown away from the orphanage and, without lots of hopes, he made his way to Paris with the money he had won by drawing in the streets of Toulouse. Arriving in this big city felt like seeing colors for the first time, which is a lot to say considering how much he knows about colors. His heart had never felt lighter than it did when he first stepped into museums and started sketching for entire days without eating or going outside. His sleep was nearly nonexistent because of the night scenes he had to capture and the people he met who were finally different with him.

Thus, for the first few months, Anatole’s Parisian life couldn’t be described as anything else but psychedelic. He discovered drugs, alcohol, sex, fashion and found in himself passions that expanded his mind towards new horizons. Yet, his priority never wavered from his art, which quickly impressed the people he met on a daily basis. They had never seen someone who couldn’t go a day without sketching at least once, -who seemed to feed on the world’s most random assets like a baby bird opening its beak for worms.

He would be advised to visit some place or another, go, camp there for a few weeks and come back with new inspirations. His brain became a sponge and new experiences kept adding up on his plate. Some were revolutionary -like the first taste of a man’s skin against his lips, while others nearly killed him, offering a reminder of the origins he should never ignore. Dancing made him happy but he couldn’t do it for too long, absynthe offered the best dreams and purple suited him the best. The smoke of cigarettes made his chest hurt, his fingers would shake if he went too long without having a sip of alcohol and since his hands were his tool for survival, he fastly learned to always carry with him a flask of brandy.

Furthermore, Anatole liked to say that even if he was born in misery, he had found himself a family within the artists whose only purpose in life was to defeat ugliness. At night they would paint the town red -literally-, and sing until the Moon went to sleep. Anatole had never thought of himself as a social person, mostly because his personality had never been fit for public environments, but in that kind of milieu, he could act and talk freely. People would even go to him because they had heard of the man who spoke with the brightest of smiles and walked around like a space walker. Even if he still had issues with concepts, feelings and public behaviors, it seemed that everyone thought of it as an act that had to be enjoyed and applauded.

How could he complain? His antics were finally appreciated for their own value and, in this town of debauchery, he seemed to be the king of da Vinci’s heirs.

In 1917, near the end of the war he had been excused from thanks to his bad health, Anatole finally found a real career and started making his name in the business of art.

The Moulin Rouge, also known as the realm of beauty and passions, had always been magnetic to Anatole. His best nights had been spent inside its walls and his best drawings had for subjects its community. Gods and goddesses roamed this place freely, bringing to Earth a dimension of ethereality that made Anatole frantic with a desire to sketch he had never known. Being offered the role of designer for the Moulin Rouge was the best thing that could happen to him, and the salary that came with it was certainly a helpful factor to accept the offer.

Yet, Anatole has started dreaming about the fame that his peers have gained before him. Why can’t he be graced by fans, money or international exhibitions too? What is he doing wrong? Doubting his art won’t help his case, he knows, but it’s the only thing that matters to him and the world deserves to experience it. The Moulin Rouge is reaching its due date, even though Anatol still has no idea where to go if he ever quits his current position.

POTENTIAL PLOTS/CONNECTIONS

I would die for Vivienne and Anatole to know each other, probably because he used to sleep at her hotel and she became his favorite woman in the whole world

I definitely need someone who will help him understand that taking care of his body is important, because mah boy is a nihilistic soul and survival is not one of his instincts when it comes to life.

Obviously the romance is important so come fill that heart with love

I just thought that people might not like Anatole because he draws everything, even the dirty moments of people’s lives, and sometimes that knowledge doesn’t please some crowds so idk, tbh I just want him to get into trouble

Could definitely use a few bffs because he’s a very funny bud and his weirdness tends to weird out people

EXTRAS

Anatole is extra enough in himself for this section to be needed.

#accepted #!!!#yay!

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glass-kilimanjaro · 4 years ago

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Hugh Everett

Hugh Everett III was born in 1930 and raised in the Washington, D.C. area. Everett's parents separated when he was young. Initially raised by his mother (Katherine Lucille Everett née Kennedy), he was raised by his father (Hugh Everett Jr) and stepmother (Sarah Everett née Thrift) from the age of seven.

At the age of twelve he wrote a letter to Albert Einstein asking him whether that which maintained the universe was something random or unifying. Einstein responded as follows:

Dear Hugh: There is no such thing like an irresistible force and immovable body. But there seems to be a very stubborn boy who has forced his way victoriously through strange difficulties created by himself for this purpose. Sincerely yours, A. Einstein

Everett won a half scholarship to St. John's College High School in Washington, D.C. From there, he moved to the nearby Catholic University of America to study chemical engineering as an undergraduate. While there, he read about Dianetics in Astounding Science Fiction. Although he never exhibited any interest in Scientology (as Dianetics became), he did retain a distrust of conventional medicine throughout his life.

During World War II his father was away fighting in Europe as a lieutenant colonel on the general staff. After World War II, Everett's father was stationed in West Germany, and Hugh joined him, during 1949, taking a year out from his undergraduate studies. Father and son were both keen photographers and took hundreds of pictures of West Germany being rebuilt. Reflecting their technical interests, the pictures were "almost devoid of people".

Princeton[edit]

Everett graduated from the Catholic University of America in 1953 with a degree in chemical engineering, although he had completed sufficient courses for a mathematics degree as well. He received a National Science Foundation fellowship that allowed him to attend Princeton University for graduate studies. He started his studies at Princeton in the mathematics department, where he worked on the then-new field of game theory under Albert W. Tucker, but slowly drifted into physics. In 1953 he started taking his first physics courses, notably Introductory Quantum Mechanics with Robert Dicke.

During 1954, he attended Methods of Mathematical Physics with Eugene Wigner, although he remained active with mathematics and presented a paper on military game theory in December. He passed his general examinations in the spring of 1955, thereby gaining his master's degree, and then started work on his dissertation that would (much) later make him famous. He switched thesis advisor to John Archibald Wheeler some time in 1955, wrote a couple of short papers on quantum theory and completed his long paper, Wave Mechanics Without Probability in April 1956.

In his third year at Princeton, Everett moved into an apartment which he shared with three friends he had made during his first year, Hale Trotter, Harvey Arnold and Charles Misner. Arnold later described Everett as follows:

He was smart in a very broad way. I mean, to go from chemical engineering to mathematics to physics and spending most of the time buried in a science fiction book, I mean, this is talent.

It was during this time that he met Nancy Gore, who typed up his Wave Mechanics Without Probability paper. Everett married Nancy Gore the next year. The long paper was later retitled as The Theory of the Universal Wave Function.

Wheeler himself had traveled to Copenhagen in May 1956 with the goal of getting a favorable reception for at least part of Everett's work, but in vain. In June 1956 Everett started defense work in the Pentagon's Weapons Systems Evaluation Group, returning briefly to Princeton to defend his thesis after some delay in the spring of 1957. A short article, which was a compromise between Everett and Wheeler about how to present the concept and almost identical to the final version of his thesis, was published in Reviews of Modern Physics Vol 29 #3 454-462, (July 1957), accompanied by an approving review by Wheeler. Everett was not happy with the final form of the article. Everett received his Ph.D. in physics from Princeton in 1957 after completing his doctoral dissertation titled "On the foundations of quantum mechanics."

After Princeton[edit]

Everett's attendance marked the transition from academia to commercial work.

Upon graduation in September 1956, Everett was invited to join the Pentagon's newly-forming Weapons Systems Evaluation Group (WSEG), managed by the Institute for Defense Analyses. Between 23–26 October 1956 he attended a weapons orientation course managed by Sandia National Laboratories at Albuquerque, New Mexico to learn about nuclear weapons and became a fan of computer modeling while there. In 1957, he became director of the WSEG's Department of Physical and Mathematical Sciences. After a brief intermission to defend his thesis on quantum theory at Princeton, Everett returned to WSEG and recommenced his research, much of which, but by no means all, remains classified. He worked on various studies of the Minuteman missile project, which was then starting, as well as the influential study The Distribution and Effects of Fallout in Large Nuclear Weapon Campaigns.

During March and April 1959, at Wheeler's request, Everett visited Copenhagen, on vacation with his wife and baby daughter, in order to meet with Niels Bohr, the "father of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics". The visit was a complete disaster; Everett was unable to communicate the main idea that the universe is describable, in theory, by an objectively existing universal wave function (which does not "collapse"); this was simply heresy to Bohr and the others at Copenhagen. The conceptual gulf between their positions was too wide to allow any meeting of minds; Léon Rosenfeld, one of Bohr's devotees, talking about Everett's visit, described Everett as being "undescribably stupid and could not understand the simplest things in quantum mechanics". Everett later described this experience as "hell...doomed from the beginning".

However, while in Copenhagen, in his hotel, he started work on a new idea to use generalized Lagrange multipliers for mathematical optimization. Everett's theorem, published in 1963, relates the Lagrangian bidual to the primal problem.

In 1962 Everett accepted an invitation to present the relative-state formulation (as it was still called) at a conference on the foundations of quantum mechanics held at Xavier University in Cincinnati.[16] In his exposition Everett presented his derivation of probability and also stated explicitly that observers in all branches of the wavefunction were equally "real." He also agreed with an observation from the floor that the number of branches of the universal wavefunction was an uncountable infinity.[16]

In August 1964, Everett and several WSEG colleagues started Lambda Corp. to apply military modeling solutions to various civilian problems. During the early 1970s, defense budgets were curtailed and most money went to operational duties in the Vietnam War, resulting in Lambda eventually being absorbed by the General Research Corp.

In 1973, Everett and Donald Reisler (a Lambda colleague and fellow physicist) left the firm to establish DBS Corporation in Arlington, Virginia. Although the firm conducted defense research (including work on United States Navy ship maintenance optimization and weapons applications), it primarily specialized in "analyzing the socioeconomic effects of government affirmative action programs" as a contractor under the auspices of the Department of Justice and the Department of Health, Education and Welfare.[17] For a period of time, the company was partially supported by American Management Systems, a business consulting firm that drew upon algorithms developed by Everett. He concurrently held a non-administrative vice presidency at AMS and was frequently consulted by the firm's founders.

Everett cultivated an early aptitude for computer programming at IDA and favored the TRS-80 at DBS, where he primarily worked for the rest of his life.

Later recognition[edit]

In 1970 Bryce DeWitt wrote an article for Physics Today on Everett's relative-state theory, which evoked a number of letters from physicists. These letters, and DeWitt's responses to the technical objections raised, were also published. Meanwhile DeWitt, who had corresponded with Everett on the many-worlds / relative state interpretation when originally published in 1957, started editing an anthology on the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics. In addition to the original articles by Everett and Wheeler, the anthology was dominated by the inclusion of Everett's 1956 paper The Theory of the Universal Wavefunction, which had never been published before. The book was published late in 1973, sold out completely, and it was not long before an article on Everett's work appeared in the science fiction magazine, Analog.[16]

In 1977, Everett was invited to give a talk at a conference Wheeler had organised at Wheeler's new location at the University of Texas at Austin. As with the Copenhagen visit, Everett vacationed from his defense work and traveled with his family. Everett met DeWitt there for the first and only time. Everett's talk was quite well received and influenced a number of physicists in the audience,[16] including Wheeler’s graduate student, David Deutsch, who later promoted the many-worlds interpretation to a wider audience.[16] Everett, who "never wavered in his belief in his many-worlds theory",[18] enjoyed the presentation; it was the first time for years he had talked about his quantum work in public. Wheeler started the process of returning Everett to a physics career by establishing a new research institute in California, but nothing came of this proposal. Wheeler, although happy to introduce Everett's ideas to a wider audience, was not happy to have his own name associated with Everett's ideas. Eventually, after Everett's death, he formally renounced the theory.[16][19]

Death and legacy[edit]

At the age of 51, Everett, who believed in quantum immortality,[6][20] died suddenly of a heart attack at home[9] in his bed on the night of July 18–19, 1982. Everett's obesity, frequent chain-smoking and alcohol drinking[9] almost certainly contributed to this, although he seemed healthy at the time. A committed atheist,[6] he had asked that his remains be disposed of in the trash after his death. His wife kept his ashes in an urn for a few years, before complying with his wishes.[6] About Hugh's death his son, Mark Oliver Everett, later said:

I think about how angry I was that my dad didn't take better care of himself. How he never went to a doctor, let himself become grossly overweight, smoked three packs a day, drank like a fish and never exercised. But then I think about how his colleague mentioned that, days before dying, my dad had said he lived a good life and that he was satisfied. I realize that there is a certain value in my father's way of life. He ate, smoked and drank as he pleased, and one day he just suddenly and quickly died. Given some of the other choices I'd witnessed, it turns out that enjoying yourself and then dying quickly is not such a hard way to go.[21]

Of the companies Everett initiated, only Monowave Corporation still exists (in Seattle as of March 2015). It is managed by co-founder Elaine Tsiang, who received a Ph.D. in physics under Bryce DeWitt at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill before working for DBS as a programmer.

Everett's daughter, Elizabeth, died by suicide in 1996 (saying in her suicide note that she wished her ashes to be thrown out with the garbage so that she might "end up in the correct parallel universe to meet up w[ith] Daddy"),[22] and in 1998, his wife, Nancy, died of cancer. Everett's son, Mark Oliver Everett, who found Everett dead, is also known as "E" and is the main singer and songwriter for the band Eels. The Eels album Electro-Shock Blues, which was written during this time period, is representative of these deaths.

Mark Everett explored his father's work in the hour-long BBC television documentary Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives.[23][24][25][26] The program was edited and shown on the Public Broadcasting Service's Nova series in the USA during October 2008.[27][28][29] In the program, Mark mentions how he wasn't aware of his father's status as a brilliant and influential physicist until his death in 1982.

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nequittezpaswrites · 7 years ago

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Trivia

Pairing: CrowleyxOC

Word Count: 1,753

Summary: Trivia was the goddess of crossroads, death, and magic. She wasn't sure how she felt about demons dealing in her domain, let alone the upstart who crowned himself 'King'.

A/N: first time posting fanfic on Tumblr, but this is under 2,000 words so I figured I’d give it a try. If you like it, I have longer fics on AO3 and FFnet, where I am NeQuittezPas

She wasn't sure how old she was.

At the beginning, there were no crossroads. There were no roads at all. But then animals came, and their tracks wore paths into the earth, and wherever those paths crossed there was a spark of Trivia.

She didn't know how long that time lasted. It was a kind of not-life, as if she were on the cusp of waking. Either something would wake her into life, or the power would disperse, and she would sink into the sleep of death.

She woke.

It was the humans who woke her at last. For a long time they were little more than apes, but over the centuries they learned and grew. They walked upright. They made tools. They hunted and traveled and learned to speak. And as they grew, she took form—a form not unlike the humans whose travels and beliefs gave her power.

She was Trivia, and she was of the crossroads.

In those early days, the crossroads were more peaceful. They represented the future, the unknown, paths unexplored. They were the doorways to new worlds, and Trivia was revered as a symbol of hope and possibility.

But the humans grew, and they grew dark. Greedy, and hungry, and violent. The crossroads became dangerous. They laid traps for animals, first, and then for their fellow man. Humans rushed through her crossroads in the day and avoided them at night. Her domain became a place of danger and death, and so Trivia became a goddess of death. The humans prayed to her and gave her tribute in hopes of safe travels through the crossroads. The more they prayed and the more they sacrificed, the more powerful Trivia grew. She added sorcery and witchcraft to her domain.

By the time the humans began to build homes and plant crops and cobble together something resembling civilization, she was truly alive, and powerful. She was the ruler of the crossroads, and of graveyards, sorcery, and witchcraft. She was the queen of ghosts. She was Trivia.

There was something of a ruckus, then. Trivia was only distantly aware of the God who created a garden for two humans—the first true humans, they said, unlike the proto-humans whose soul-deep superstition and minor sacrifices had brought her to life. Trivia kept her distance, because this God and his angels had more power than she and others like her, and no respect for their lives. But she also kept her ear to the ground, because she could sense that the events this God and his ilk set into motion would shape the world in ways no one could imagine.

She was right.

The humans were corrupted and cast out. One of the strongest angels, too, was cast out, and caged in the underworld where Trivia had sometimes traveled, which had once been part of her domain. She visited less, after that, unnerved by the rattling of that terrible cage.

But time went on, and humans prospered. Their numbers grew, and they built great cities. Those cities traded with each other, and for every new metropolis there were a dozen more roads and trade routes, and where they intersected, Trivia thrived.

For thousands of years she had watched animals and early man travel the world, had witnessed their journeys and lives and deaths. But soon after the dust-up with God and his angels and his chosen, something curious began to happen at her crossroads.

One of the souls that Lucifer had dragged down to the pit, that had been twisted and tortured until it was a flayed, withered, hurting thing, possessed a human body. It met with a human man at Trivia's crossroads. They made a deal, and sealed it with a kiss. At first it was infrequent, but soon word spread, and many demons were making deals for countless souls.

Sometimes the demons would bring with them massive dogs. They were invisible to human eyes, vicious, and stank of death. Trivia was immediately fond of them, so much that she made a special journey to the underworld to acquire one. Soon all who believed in her knew that Trivia's presence was preceded by the barking of dogs.

And then Trivia watched, intrigued, allowing her domain to become this macabre bartering place. It was interesting to see what humans loved and valued enough that they found it worth trading their immortal souls for. Mostly it was worthless, temporary things. Wealth, health, fame and glory. Many a king and conqueror visited Trivia's crossroads and walked away with a 10 year deadline. Sometimes it was obsession, the mad determination that their unrequited love be returned, or the search for vengeance against an unfaithful partner. Sometimes the humans were sick, soon to die, and so they traded their eternal life for an extension on their mortal one.

Trivia could understand all of these things, and even respect some of them, although she doubted many of the mortals who traded at her crossroads knew exactly what they were getting into when they died. But sometimes a human would come to her crossroads for something else. To raise a loved one they couldn't bear to live without, or to save the life of a dying child. These were the humans who surprise Trivia the most. They, more than the others, seemed fully aware of what the price of their treasures was. But still, they made their deals with weary, determined faces, because their love was stronger than their own sense of self-preservation.

Trivia couldn't really understand why they would make such deals, but she developed a fondness for these sorts of dealers. And while she couldn't, wouldn't ever tample with a demon's deal, Trivia did sometimes send the humans away with a touch more good luck than they'd had before.

Times changed. Civilizations rose and fell, rose and fell again. Cities grew. The deals changed little over time, and eventually Trivia turned up to view them less and less. Instead she watched her expanding domain of roads on roads on roads, amazed at how far the humans had come, and how quickly. And even though they forgot her, she still drew power from their crossings, from their sense of unease about roads not taken and highways at night. For a time, Nell forgot her interest in demons and deals.

And then, hundreds and hundreds of years on, Trivia heard something interesting. One of the demons, those foul, twisted, upstart little human souls, began to call himself a king. A king of the crossroads.

Trivia was amazed at the audacity. She and those like her had been ignored and nearly-forgotten by man, yes, but they still had power. She still had power. Who was this frail, demented little soul to lay claim to her domain?

And so she watched.

His soul wasn't like other demons. It wasn't just the red color—that had become common among demons of the crossroads—but the shape of it. Other demons' souls lashed and writhed, like they were still being tortured, like they were screaming and pain and wanting desperately to feel relief, even if only a little, by inflicting that pain on others. This demon's soul was calmer, more controlled. Like waves on the sea. And Trivia guessed, when riled, that he could be far for dangerous and vengeful than those others, because his fury was not rabid. It was tightly leashed, finely focused.

He wore a man, not too young but not quite middle aged, with dark hair and gleaming, intelligent brown eyes that seemed to be always laughing at some private joke. Trivia watched from shadow as he dealt, deal after deal, night after night. Grudgingly she could see why he was called the king, however presumptuous it might be. He was good at what he did, better than any other demon she had ever seen.

After weeks, Trivia watched as he suavely traded away a woman's life and love and free will in exchange for a balding older man's soul. Trivia had always had rather a soft spot for women, and a disdain for the men who traded their souls to subjugate them, and so she cursed the man as he strode away so that bad luck would dog him like one of her beloved hounds.

The demon seemed to sense the magic as it passed him by, and he turned to Trivia as if she'd called his name. Few demons ever noticed her minor magics, let alone located the source. A peculiar demon, indeed, this 'King'.

She stepped from the shadows at last. "You're the so-called King of the Crossroads?"

A red tendril of soul wavers in barest curiosity, and the demon smiles disarmingly. "You have me at a disadvantage, love."

"Trivia." She had hoped her name would be sufficient, but at the demon's lack of reaction she added, a little irritated, "Goddess of the Crossroads. And death, and magic."

Now he looked interested. "I thought that was Hecate."

Trivia shrugged. "We're related." She paused, then corrected, "Or, we were. She was too flashy, drew the attention of some hunters."

He accepted that easily. He strolled closer, so they met in the middle of her crossroads. He did not seem afraid of her, though she could kill him if she wanted. She had considered it, for the audacity of a demon to lay claim to her realm, but she found she rather liked this demon. She liked the quiet malice of his soul.

"Well, goddess of the crossroads," he greeted, "To what do I owe the honor?"

"I just wanted to get a look at you," she said easily. "The stain who has the audacity to declare himself king of my crossroads." She paused, looking him up and down. "Figured you'd be taller."

He doesn't miss a beat. "I measure up where it counts."

And Trivia is surprised into laughter. She doesn't laugh often, and it is like bells in a graveyard, and the howling of dogs, and the touch of magic. His vessel smiles a demon's smile, all teeth and red eyes, and the demon behind the flesh quivers in anticipation and a sort of question.

Trivia ponders that question, but not for long. She is interested, engaged in the world much more deeply than she has been in a long time. She wants to see what road this demon takes, and where it leads him.

And she discovers that when you are a goddess of the crossroads, you need not make a deal to kiss a demon.

#crowley #crowleyxoc #trivia #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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ahrorha · 7 years ago

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Flame of Winter

I wish everyone the best for the year 2018.

I hope you all survived the Holidays in good health (and still love your family ;p ).

As always enjoy :)

Chapter 14

“Vishante kafas! Whose idea was it to go out here.” Ploughing through the snow Dorian pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

“What's the matter? Not enough slaves to rub your footsies?” Iron Bull slapped Dorian lightly on his back sending him almost tumbling into the snow.

“My footsies are freezing. Thank you very much.”

“I could warm them for you.” Iron Bull grinned broadly, raising his eyebrows suggestively a couple of times at the shivering mage. Dorian ears turned a shade darker and quickened his pace, muttering something about preposterous and barbarian.

“You guys have it way to easy.” Varric huffed behind them, the snow reaching far past his knees.

“Need a piggyback ride?” Iron Bull laughed.

“No thanks. I am good.” he looked at Solas and Eirlana leading the way. “I have always wondered. How do you elves do that?”

Solas looked around. “Do what, master Tethras?”

“Getting around without shoes. I always thought Daisy and Broody to be crazy for walking around barefoot in Kirkwall, but to have no shoes on out here.”

“May I suggest you broaden your definition of shoes.”

“You can't call it a shoe when your toes are sticking out.”

“You should give it a try.” Solas smiled.

“No thank you. I love my toes.”

“At least someone does.” Krem snickered. “But Dorian is right. Why are we out here anyway?” He, Dalish and the others had left Skyhold in the early morning. They had already walked a good hour deeper into the mountains.

“Well, for bow training of course.” Dalish gestured with her 'special' Dalish bow.

“Not all of our current allies appreciate our particular talents.” Solas agreed. “I can't imagine the current residents of Skyhold would be thrilled if we would train in the courtyard. Out here we will not be disturbed.” He walked further. Initially, he had planned to come out here to explore his current limits of his powers. He had asked Eirlana to accompany him, but Varric had overheard them, and it somehow had turned into a group endeavour.

They had a few days free to rest and train before they would travel to the Dales. The civil war raging in Orlais had hit that region hard, and the Inquisition hoped to gain more allies and information to prevent the planned assassination of Empress Celene. There was a temporary cease-fire, but the reports coming from that region were strange. Fearing Corypheus was somehow interfering they had decided to go there next.

Apart from this small outing, Solas had used this short rest researching the condition of the Veil and Corypheus movements. He had received several reports from his agents throughout Thedas, informing him about the Venatori exploring many ancient ruins. He was relieved that his agents had been able to save some artefacts and that crucial ruins still lay hidden and protected, away from prying eyes.

They reached a shallow valley and spread out to train their skills. Dorian focussed on his lightning spells. Dalish and Eirlana sparred with Varric, Krem and Iron Bull, to improve their defences. Varric fired blunt arrows at them, while Krem and Iron Bull charged them with wooden sticks.

Solas walked a little further and sat down under a tree. He let out a sigh; he should have made up some excuse to go alone. He closed his eyes, blocking out the chatter and distractions around him. In the past few weeks, his magic was coming easier to him and was less exhausting. It was a sign that finally, his body was stabilising after his long slumber. Because of his aid to the Inquisition and the constant fighting, he was adapting more quickly to the presence of the Veil. With a few breaths, he emptied his mind and went into a meditative state. He focussed his will on the Veil, the barrier he had created so long ago. He could feel his connection to it, and beyond it, the endless realm of the Fade. It was time to test the limits of this connection and his control over it.

Moving her staff, Eirlana forced snow up over her forcefield to block Varric's vision.

“Nice one Snowflake.” Varric laughed firing more arrows at her and Dalish. Dalish had more problems keeping up her defences while trying to block Krem's attack. Her concentration wavered, and she grunted when Varric hit her in the shoulder before she was tackled to the ground by Krem.

“You need to focus more on your right.” Krem laughed before pulling her up. They both stood and watched Iron Bull charging Eirlana. Varric was now focussing his fire solely on her, but he had trouble to make even a dent in her forcefield. As Iron Bull came closer, Eirlana dodged to the side and attempted to strengthen her shield in his direction. She wasn't quick enough. Iron Bull grinned as he breached it and tried to hit her with his improvised weapon. Just as he thought he had her, he suddenly felt a snow-cone colliding with his exposed ribs. He jumped aside as a reflex and Eirlana whirled around him and tapped him on his back with her staff.

“Did you see that Krem!?”

“Sure thing chief. If she had been serious, you had a scar you couldn't brag about for once.”

A little shaken and out of breath, Eirlana was leaning on her staff. She couldn't believe she had managed to fend off Iron Bull and Varric at the same time.

“Good job.” Varric laughed and holstered Bianca after giving her a loving pet. “By the way what is Chuckles doing? Varric asked as he joined the others. “Did he drag us out here so he could just sit in the cold?” He looked at Eirlana for an explanation, who stared at him intensely. There was a strange sparkle in her eyes he hadn't seen before.

“No, he did not.”

“What is he doing then?”

The moment Varric asked, Solas stood up and grabbed his staff. Reaching out to the Fade, he called forth a piece of its raw, primal matter. Quickly he formed it into a fist and fired it at the closest tree. Satisfied he watched as the bark shattered from the impact. It shook the whole tree, and all the snow fell from its branches.

“Shit what was that?” Krem asked, shocked by the magic he just saw.

“Now that was extraordinary.” Dorian stepped towards Solas. “Was that a manifestation of pure Fade energy? Interesting you seem to manipulate it without converting it. How are you able to stabilise it?”

Solas flexed his fingers. At last, some of this old strength was returning. He had succeeded to bypass the Veil and draw raw power from the Fade. Although he was still a long way to go, it was a start.

“It is not that much different from manifesting fire.” Solas explained to Dorian, though it was far from the truth. “I simply didn't focus on a specific element and shaped it to my will.”

They were all gathering around Solas. “Do that again.”

Now he had more control it was a simple feat. It felt good to have a part of his strength back.

“Krem you should try to block that with your shield.” Iron Bull laughed.

“I think I have to pass on that one chief.”

Suddenly there was a crash behind them, and they all turned around.

Eirlana had sensed how Solas' energy reached out. Concentrating on the Veil, she saw him forming a soft spot. She felt him pulling, calling out to the Fade. She had never seen anything like it. Curious she had tried to mimic it, and what she experienced was extraordinary. It was like she was in direct contact with the Fade, her second home. It was similar to the time she stood directly under the Breach, back then it was as if the Fade reached out to her. Her mind and hands moved on their own. Almost natural she shaped the raw energy that appeared at her fingertips and let it propel forward.

Everyone was staring at her as the small tree she had hit fell over, broken at his base. Especially Solas looked dumbfounded, his eyes big with surprise.

“All right, so both of our elven friends are Fade manipulators.” Dorian broke the silence. “Is this an Elven thing? If so, you better keep this quiet from my countrymen.”

They all started to chat and joke as they made their way back to Skyhold. Solas kept to himself mulling over what he just had witnessed. It troubled him that Eirlana's magic was developing so fast. How could it be possible she manifested an art that hadn't been seen in ages? He also felt a little jealous. It had taken him months to regain some of his abilities, only to see her do it in a blink of an eye. She shouldn't be able to do what she does, yet her techniques felt oddly familiar. They had a touch of effortlessly, something that he once took for granted. Had she really learned this level of skill from the spirits? It was ironic that he to some extent claimed the same as a cover-up. But to see someone do it, it almost seemed impossible.

Eirlana walked silently next to Solas. She had the feeling she had done something wrong. She was surprised like the others about what she could do, but the look in Solas' eyes had been different. It was one of disbelief and something darker she couldn't place.

Was he angry at her that she copied him?

“I am sorry.” she whispered after a while.

Solas could almost feel her nervousness physically. Realizing something was wrong, he stopped and held her by her hand. He waited until there was some distance between them and the others.

Noticing they weren't longer following them, Varric looked back. He saw them standing close together and had to smile, clearly they wanted some alone time.

Eirlana's was growing more anxious by the second. Solas' silence made her fears only worse. Not knowing what to do she looked at her feet. Solas heart ached, seeing her so fearful and frail. Gently he touched her chin and lifted her head until their eyes met.

“Vhenan, what are you sorry for?” he asked her calmly.

“I...” as usual she bit her lip when feeling uneasy. “You didn't like that I did that.”

Solas couldn't deny his brief moment of jealousy. “I was taken aback. The spell you cast is not some common feat. It has taken me many years to master it.”

He studied her intensely. “How did you know what to do?” He knew she was very sensitive to magical energies. She had copied him before, but that were much simpler spells. Manipulating raw Fade energy shouldn't be something you could replicate after seeing it only once.

“It is hard to explain. I saw how your magic influenced the Veil. I could feel the call of the Fade beyond it. It felt right, and I tried to do the same.”

Solas thought about what she said, and he remembered her earlier comments about the Anchor. “You saw what I did to the Veil?”

“Yes.”

“No one can see magic to that extent.”

“It is not exactly seeing, it is more like sensing the magical energy, and it's effect. I learned from the spirits how to recognise this energy. That is also how I was able to find you when you were hurt.”

Thinking back, Solas remembered all those times she had found him in the past. He had wondered how she did that but never asked. “How?... Could you try to explain it please?”

Eirlana was silent for a moment. “Did you ever wonder how spirits can find mages in their dreams? It is not like they simply wander around and find you by accident. They can hear the magic. For them, spells are like whispers, soft melodies, strange music or loud roaring sounds.” She had to smile thinking back at how the spirits tried to teach her. “I tried to hear it and of course, I couldn't. I am no spirit. But as I spent more and more time in the Fade something changed, I began to sense something. Slowly I became aware of the shades of magic. It is like I can feel their colours. I have to concentrate to sense them, but every mage, every magic has its own flare, its own unique mixture of tints. It is not something I can do all the time; it has its limits. For example, I can't be too far away, and it is more difficult if there are many different effects. When you went missing in Haven I almost didn't find you, there was too much chaos, and you were so wounded.” she squeezed his hand, glad he was alive. “Sometimes it helps me to understand a spell.” she continued. “When I saw you preparing your magic, I wanted to try to do the same. Like you, I was as surprised that it worked.”

“It must be wondrous to see it with your eyes.” Solas smiled at her. In part, it explained a lot about her magical sensitivity. He had heard stories about people developing strange abilities from prolonged lyrium exposure before, but even in his time, that practice was shunned. The risk of death or insanity to the subject was practically guaranteed. It horrified him when he imagined what she had endured, how much she must have suffered. She had paid a horrendous price for her uniqueness.

Her ability worried him. To be able to sense magic to this extent was a very powerful and dangerous talent. If anyone, especially the Chantry and it's templars, would ever find out what she was capable of, she could be forced to find every mage alive. It also brought risks to him. He wondered if she could notice he was regaining his strength. He needed to be careful and come up with another plan if he ever had to leave.

“It would be wise to use your skills with caution. With our current allies, it is hard to tell when they could turn on us.” It was the same warning he had given her before, and he was grateful she agreed with him that a certain level of secrecy was needed towards the others.

“I know. I will be careful. It is just...”

“What is it?”

“Cassandra already knows I can sense magical energies. I have revealed some of it by accident during our escape from Haven. She doesn't know everything, only that I can sense clusters of mages. She doesn't know too what extent, and she hasn't brought it up since then.”

“As far as we can tell she isn't one to exploit others.” Solas softly kissed her forehead. “We should return here soon and explore your ability to manipulate Fade energy. It is an old art with countless possibilities.” Placing his arm on her shoulder, they started to walk again.

After a short hike, they found the others waiting for them.

“Already finished?” Varric grinned at them.

“Come on some alone time is important” Iron Bull tried to sound very seriously.

“Says the Qunari.” Dorian shook his head. “I still find it wondrous that they have allowed you to stay. An actual Ben-Hassrath, just walking around unchecked and that doesn't strike anyone as a bad thing?”

“Says the Vint, when we're fighting Vints. Maybe I should pay you some special attention. Who knows what you have hidden under those fine robes of yours.”

Dorian sputtered “Nothing you would know to appreciate.”

“Oh, I can appreciate a whole lot.”

Varric shook his head. “Flirting Qunari, what's next?”

“It's been a while since I saw you pull out your moves chief.”

Eirlana giggled, she enjoyed listening to them. The talking and laughing continued on their way back to Skyhold. Even Solas had to smile at their amusing banter.

They walked past the training area at the edge of the village that had formed outside Skyhold. Sweaty and bruised a group of soldiers were just leaving it. Ryan was among them proudly wearing his new templar insignia, the flaming sword of mercy. Eirlana felt uneasy seeing it on him.

“Iron Bull, Solas, Eirlana. I have something for you.” Ryan called out to them. They followed him to the stables located between the trees, next to the training grounds.

“Woo where you get one of those.” Iron Bull walked towards a massive horse standing in one of the enclosures. It was the biggest horse Eirlana had ever seen in her life.

“It's an Asaarash a special breed from Seheron. Never thought I would see one out here.” He patted the horse's neck carefully.

“Now you can ride something decent.” Ryan smiled. “Solas, Eirlana. We have also been gifted some mounts you might be interested in.” He led them past the still growing numbers of horses and oxen. In another enclosure away from the bustle, two harts were eating hay. Nervously their ears twitched when they came closer. One of the harts was dark brown with light brown markings and dark antlers; the other one was grey with white markings, his antlers were a light grey colour.

“Until now, no one has been able to get even close to them. I have heard that they have a liking for elves. Maybe they can serve you. Otherwise, I will set them free. There is no reason to keep them if no one can ride them.”

“They are beautiful.” Eirlana stared at them, her eyes big.

Slipping under the fence, Solas walked slowly towards them. It had been a while since he had seen these magnificent creatures. He reached out to them. “Welcome watchers of the deep forests and great planes.” The harts ears twitched as he spoke to them in Elvhen. Slowly they came closer smelling his outstretched hand. Letting them get familiar with him, he stroked their noses. He turned towards Eirlana “Come vhenan, let them get to know you. They are magnificent creatures and can form bonds for life.”

Hesitant Eirlana slipped into the enclosure. The harts noticed her nervousness and shied back. “Ssshhh she is a friend. She means you no harm.” Taking her hand in his own, he carefully placed in on the nose of the grey hart. It took a deep breath, smelling her scent.

“He is so soft.” Eirlana slowly stroked her fingers over the harts nose, who seemed to like her ministrations and stepped closer. She smiled broadly completely taken in by the animal.

Solas stomach fluttered, seeing her so joyful. “We can go for a ride later if you like.”

“I would love that.”

“I thought only the Dalish could do that.” Varric had heard stories from Daisy about how they spoke to their halla, but now he saw it for the first time.

“I have never seen a flat-ear done it.” Dalish said, looking suspiciously at Solas and Eirlana. Their Elvish sounded fluent, and she could barely make out half of the words they were using. Even among the Dalish, the Elven language was an almost dead language. Too much had been lost and only common phrases and words were used nowadays. To have a casual conversation in it, she didn't think even the First of her former Clan would be able to do that. How could they know the language so well? Something was strange, especially with Eirlana. One thing she knew for sure, Eirlana couldn't have learned it in Tevinter. She left Varric and Krem to seek out the chief. This was something he would be interested in.

That evening Solas and Eirlana took their new mounts for a ride. Solas had fitted them with a simple leather bridle and a riding blanket. He would ask Dennet later to make a custom light saddle and harness for them. For now, this would suffice.

Eirlana stood next to the grey hart wondering how she would get on it without a stirrup.

“Here, let me help you.” Solas stood behind her, with his hands around her waist he lifted her up onto the mount. “They are more sensitive than horses. You can ride them better without heavy saddles.” he explained.

Together they rode out of the valley. The harts were fast and sure-footed, both following their light instructions. Eirlana had to get used to riding them a little, after all, it wasn't long ago that she had learned to ride a horse. They rode up the mountains until they could look out over the valley and Skyhold, glowing warm orange in the setting sun.

It was a beautiful sight, but it went unnoticed to Eirlana as she stared at Solas. He looked almost majestic sitting on his dark hart, his back straight, looking at the fortress with piercing eyes. Somehow his whole demeanour had changed, it was more cold, sharp, primal, determined. For a fraction of a second, she envisioned him, standing here looking over the valley she had seen in the Fade. It was both right and impossible. She made her uncomfortable, and a shiver ran through her.

Solas noticed it. “Are you cold vhenan?” His eyes turned softer, back to the warm, caring, loving gaze she knew so well.

“No.” she shook her head wondering why she had that thought. A gust of wind tugged at their cloaks covering them with fine snow that fell from the pines. She laughed when Solas brushed it from his head, shivering when some of it slipped into his neck.

“What was your hair like?”

He stopped brushing off the snow. “Pardon?”

“You hair. What was it like? I can't imagine you were always bald.”

He chuckled. “No, I was not.”

“How did you lose it?”

After a moment of silence, he answered. “A magical accident.”

Eirlana couldn't believe it. “You and accidents?”

“Mistakes and accidents pave the road of learning. Even the wisest make them in their lifetime.” His eyes twinkled. “How do you think my hair was like?”

She attempted to look like she was thinking seriously, but Solas could see at her hold back laughter she was picturing him with ridiculous hairstyles. He loved to see her so free, enjoying life. With each passing day, he noticed small changes. She was growing, coming out of her shell, finding her true self.

“I don't know. Maybe...” She turned her hart. “Maybe you had two enormous buns at the side of your head.” she giggled.

To retaliate Solas had prepared a small spell to push the snow from the branch above her head, but before he could do it, she did the same covering him in snow. Laughing she rode fast away.

He shook the snow off him. With a predatory grin on his lips, he spurred his hart on and chased her. Being more practised in riding he quickly overtook her laughing. Eirlana felt her stomach flutter, seeing him so relaxed, so free. This was the Solas she loved the most, the Solas that was the most real.

Laughing, they chased each other through the woods, using magic to cover each other with snow.

Suddenly from the corner of his eyes, Solas saw movement.

“Vhenan! WATCH OUT!” he reined his hart.

Not having his riding reflexes, Eirlana flew past him. She saw the snow in front of her disturbed and tried to stop. All of a sudden a net was pulled up in front of her and her hart reared. With force, she was thrown off his back into the snow.

“Vhenan!” Solas called out to her, but before he could reach her arrows flew in their direction. In a blink of an eye, both of them had their forcefields up, deflecting them. The air filled with lightning as Solas attacked the archers. Eirlana shot ice-shards at two men who tried to sneak up at them. Before the fight started, it was already over. Five men lay dead in the snow.

Quickly Solas dismounted and ran to Eirlana. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I am fine.” she accepted his hand as he helped her on her feet. “Who were they?” alert she looked around in case more would show up and attack them.

“Solas!?” he had picked her up and put her on his hart. “Wait here. I am going to look who they were.” They both were cautious as Solas walked towards the archers. He pulled one of the arrows out of the snow and noticed the slight discolouration. Poison. Carefully he smelled at it and discovered they were coated with a sedative. His face wrinkled with concern, why would they try to knock them out. His concern grew when he saw that their attackers were Venatori. Why were they here? And why were they here in such a small group? Quickly he searched their pockets, and one had a crude note on him.

'The elf is rarely seen alone. Often accompanying the Inquisitor. If a chance presents itself, proceed with capturing. The Elder One commands it'

“Solas did you find something?”

“No nothing.” he crumbled the note and set it aflame. “They are Venatori. They probably are trying to scout our new stronghold. Let's head back and inform the Commander.” He mounted the hart behind her, taking the other at his reign. On their way back Solas noticed the tracks of the Venatori, they had followed them up the mountain. What could they want with either him or Eirlana.?

Back at Skyhold, they informed a messenger about what happened. The information spread like wildfire. As they walked back from the stables, many people asked if they were all right. Though Solas also got his share, most questions were directed towards Eirlana. In just a few months she had not only captured his heart but had found a way in many others. As more and more people asked them, he noticed that she was getting anxious. Just when Solas wanted to ask what was wrong, Cullen ran towards them.

“I heard you were attacked. Are you hurt?” he asked them out of breath.

“We are fine, thank you.” Solas answered. “I believe we surprised some Venatori scouts.”

“I will send out extra patrols. There probably more of them out there.” Cullen saw that Eirlana kept quiet and avoided his eyes. Concerned he stepped closer. “Eirlana are you sure you are all right?”

“Enough!” she suddenly yelled. Both Solas and Cullen and the people around her fell silent. Everyone was staring at her; she felt cornered. “I... I am sorry. I am okay.” quickly she walked away. Not thinking, she entered the great hall and stopped in her tracks. It was full of people eating their evening meal. She was trapped by a wall of people; her panic was rising.

“Vhenan?” Solas placed his hand softly on Eirlana's shoulder and turned her around. She was upset about something, but he had no idea why. He bowed his head to capture her downcast eyes. They glistened with unshed tears. Quickly he guided her away into the empty rotunda. He sat with her down on the sofa, but she was still avoiding his eyes.

“What is the matter?” patiently he waited for her to answer.

“I don't know.” she whispered.

Solas stroked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Talk to me vhenan.”

“I... I am not used to this.”

“To what?” he asked confused.

“All of this.” Eirlana still didn't look up, fidgeting at her sash. “You, Cullen, everyone asking. I don't know what to do. Why does everyone worry? I am just...” she fell silent, and tears fell on her hands. Why would anyone care about her? She was no one, just a former slave.

“Vhenan.” Solas whispered taking her in his arms. He could see the rabbit-hole she had fallen into on her face. Her self-esteem was healing, but the scars and memories remained. She had been treated as an object all her life and learning her own self-worth was a confronting and difficult journey. She was so strong and yet so vulnerable. He held her tightly, hoping she would calm down to understand his words.

“I was worried about you; we were all worried about you. It is normal for people to look after those they care about. Think about all you have done for these people; they want to give something back.”

Eirlana freed herself from his arms, but still avoided his eyes.

“Wouldn't you do the same if Varric or Iron Bull would be hurt?” he still didn't get a response.

“Eirlana!” Hearing Solas speak out her name was unusual. Startled she looked up directly into his eyes. “You are not a slave anymore.” he took her hand and slowly brought it to his lips. “You are kind.” he kissed her hand. “Smart, talented, beautiful, loving.” he kissed her hand and fingers each time with each word he said. He heard her breath hitch when his lips lingered on her fingertip. With a grin, Solas continued placing kisses all over her fingertips “Book stealer, snow thrower, blanket snatcher, apple devourer.”

Suddenly he had a pillow in his face, and he let himself fall back, Eirlana on top of him. Laughing he added “Pillow bandit” and pulled it off his face. He caught a glimpse of her smile before she captured his lips in a tender kiss.

“Thank you.” she brushed his nose with hers.

“I have to add the sweetest kisser.” Solas mumbled and captured her lips again in a long deep kiss.

A young elven servant walked in on them, and they reluctantly let go of each other. “Miss Eirlana, Lady Montilyet asked if you wanted to look at these for tomorrow.”

Eirlana sighed and took the folder, thanking the servant.

Curious Solas took it. “May I?” he opened it and saw different sketches of dresses. “What are these?”

“Josephine told me I have to come to the fitting tomorrow.” she groaned.

“For the imperial ball?” he hadn't paid much attention to the preparations for the event. He had just agreed when Josephine told him that he would have to wear a uniform. He flipped through the drawings; one dress was more hideous than the next. It was apparent that Vivienne and Josephine both had a hand in these designs.

“Why do I have to go? There already have enough other people that are going.” She felt uncomfortable to go there. The Game of power and intrigue of the Orlesian court was legendary. She knew it was important for the Inquisition to be there, but she had no idea why she had to be part of it. Seeing the sketches made her even more reluctant to go. It would display her like a peacock to people that saw elves as pets, playthings, lesser beings. “What if I do something wrong?”

Solas could understand her apprehension, but he also wanted her at his side. He stood up, and with a bow, he knelt before her on one knee.

“Solas?”

He took hold of her hand and gently touching her with his lips.

“My Lady, would you grant me the great honour to accompany you to the ball?”

Eirlana blushed at his formal display. She smiled shyly as he looked expectantly at her. His gesture and assurance he would be there, made her feel like she could handle the world.

“I would love to.” Her eyes went back to the folder. “I guess I could also wear a uniform like you.”

He laughed. “I agree those creations are not your style. Do you have no idea of your own?”

“The only clothing for a formal feast I know are from the past.”

He brushed another lock behind her ear and could imagine how beautiful she would look in a gown of his time. “Why don't you take those as an inspiration.” he stood up and bowed before her. “And if I have to accompany you. I will have to choose something that matches your radiant presence.”

His words made her blush, timid she mumbled. “I am just me.”

And I would spend an eternity at your side if I could, Solas thought. Painfully aware that that never could happen. Quickly he suppressed the thought. “And I wouldn't want anyone else at my side. Let's show them that we are not mere servants.”

The door to the great hall opened, and Varric and Iron Bull came into the rotunda. “There you guys are. Come the party is starting without us.”

“Coming.” Dorian called from the library above them.

The Herald's Rest had it's opening night. Eirlana stood up to join them, but Solas walked to his desk.

A little surprised she asked him “You are not coming?”

He could hear her disappointment. “I am sorry. I have other plans for this evening.” He didn't want to go; already he was growing too attached to some people. It was becoming difficult for him knowing that he couldn't save them. The world as they knew it had to end and he needed to keep some distance to be able to fulfil his responsibility. He started to arrange the contents of his desk.

“Then, I will see you later.” she heard at his voice that she couldn't change his mind. Although she knew he had this strange habit of distancing himself, she couldn't help but feel disappointed. It was odd that he was encouraging her to be more outgoing when he was often staying behind.

Solas could feel her eyes lingering on him as she followed the others. It tugged at his heart that he was disappointing her, but he had no other choice.

“If you change your mind Chuckles you know where to find us.” Varric called out to him.

Dorian hovered for a few moments longer in the rotunda. “You know if you are afraid about the Inquisitor spoiling the party you don't have to worry. A little bird told me he has a more private arrangement with our dear ambassador.”

“I am sorry, I have work to do. Have a good night Dorian.” Solas replied and began to unpack his special delivered supplies.

“Your loss.” Dorian said before closing the door.

Solas let out a sigh and shook his head to clear his mind; he needed to stay strong and not forget his purpose. From a distant, he could hear the laughter and cheering of the party. For a while, he closed his eyes. Then with newfound determination, he stared at the empty walls around him. Grabbing his new brushes and special pigments that had finally arrived. Focussing his mind, he started the, to him, familiar procedure of preparing and mixing the colours.

It was crowded and noisy in the Herald's rest. Iron Bull paved a path to the Chargers and Sera. They had kept a corner free, and before Eirlana could feel overpowered by all the people, Varric sat her down on a chair against the wall. He joined her with Iron Bull, Dorian and Sera. The chargers kept partying outside of their small circle, so Eirlana had room to relax.

“I heard you had a run in with some Vints.” Iron Bull passed her a mug of wine.

It was okay they were her friends, Eirlana thought. Remembering Solas' words. “Yes, they ambushed us, but luckily it was only a small group.”

“Tsss, how stupid of them. Bet you showed them who's boss.” Sera balanced two mugs in one hand. “Where is mister elfy elf anyway. This place to human for him?”

“I don't know if you noticed Buttercup, but this is the non-human corner.” Varric laughed.

“Hey and what am I?” Dorian protested.

They all laughed. When Iron Bull suggested, he needed to check him first. The evening went on, and Eirlana was enjoying the company and laughter. Animated Sera and Varric told outrages stories, Iron Bull kept flirting, and Dorian displayed his incredible talent of describing the various flavours of the drinks they consumed. As the party went on singing contested were held, and the groups mingled.

Varric returned from the bar and flopped in the chair next to Eirlana, giving her another mug of wine.

“So tell me. How are you two doing?” he asked after a while

Not knowing what to say she sipped at the wine.

“He makes you happy. Doesn't he?

She nodded and started blushing. Yes, he made her happy. Happier than she ever thought possible.

“That's good. A blind nug can see you love him.” Varric was silent for a moment searching for the right words. “Hey Snowflake I know you had a shit life until now. I have seen what it can do to people. If you ever feel like you want to talk to someone, I am here for you.”

“Thank you Varric. I will.” Grateful she gave him a small hug. The first hug she had given to someone other then Solas. It was strange to do so but rewarding. Solas was right she was a slave no longer.

The rotunda was lit with candles and veil fire. Solas sat on a scaffold painting the wet plaster on the wall in broad strokes. Quietly Eirlana stepped closer in awe of the mural he had created of a giant eye filled with eyes. He was now painting beams that shot out from it. She had seen many such paintings but never how they were made. “May I?”

Solas looked down at her holding the ladder. Her cheeks were red from the wine she had consumed.

“Of course.” He held a hand out to her to help her up.

She sat down behind him. It was strange she instantly felt calmer when she was with him, now even more in her slight intoxicated state. She had enjoyed her evening with the others, but something had been missing. With a sigh she leaned against him, taking in his scent, his presence.

“I missed you.” she kissed his neck.

Solas shuddered and tilted his head back. Her arms encircled him as he leaned into her touch. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, and he told himself he had to be careful and not take advantage of her intoxicated state. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he turned towards her.

“Yes.” she kissed him, and he kissed her back. She pressed her body more against him, sparking every cell in Solas' body to react. Swallowing down his desires, he broke the kiss.

“How was it?”

“Crowded and loud. Especially Iron Bull and Varric were very enthusiastic. I have heard a lot of new stories involving bars.

“I can imagine.” he laughed and freed himself from her arms. “I am sorry vhenan, but I have to finish this before the plaster dries.”

Not wanting to be in the way she climbed down. Sitting in his chair, she watched him paint. “It is beautiful.” she whispered, hoping that these murals wouldn't suffer the same fate as those in the Fade.

“It is an old hobby.” Solas explained. “Sadly I don't have the opportunity very often.” By the time he had finished Eirlana was asleep in his chair. Carefully not to wake her, he carried her to their room.

The Inquisitor's quarters had been transformed into a makeshift atelier. Racks of cloth, samples and tables with other materials had been brought in. Master Amar was busy to get his seamstresses to hurry up and arrange the patterns and everything else.

“Master Amar I hope everything is to your satisfaction.” Josephine addressed him, her clipboard in hand as always.

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet. It will suffice. Now, where are the customers? We don't have much time before the Grand Masquerade.”

“I agree. Some of us are desperately in need of your talents.” Vivienne was the first to join Josephine.

“Madame de Fer.” he bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you well.”

One by one the whole inner circle joined them, some were more hangover and reluctantly than others. Sera had refused altogether to go to any noble prick gathering. And most advisors had agreed that it would be better if she wouldn't attend the ball.

Josephine coughed politely, to get everyone's attention. “I would suggest for the men to go first, so the ladies have more time to decide on the fabrics. Most of you will be fitted with a uniform. To be recognisable, the clothing will be embroidered or feature a decorative pin of the Inquisition's insignia .”

Slowly the group spread through the room, looking at the choices.

Cullen for once not wearing his armor was muttering. “Is this all really necessary?”

“Do you have anything in pink.” Iron Bull asked one of the seamstresses.

Blackwall and Ryan both chortled at the thought of seeing Iron Bull in that colour. Varric scribbled down another note for his book.

Dorian looked shocked at Iron Bull. “Pink? You can't be serious.”

“What? I like the colour.”

“We already decided on a red fabric.” Josephine intervened. “Cassandra, for you we were thi...”

“NO!”

“But I haven't.”

“I will NOT wear a dress.” Cassandra's eyes were hard as she stepped towards Blackwall whose measurements already were being taken.

“Dress uniform it is then.” Josephine sighed making a note. She was clearly disappointed.

A young seamstress standing on a stool squealed when Iron Bull flexed his muscles and snapped her measuring tape out of her hands.

“Show off.” Dorian muttered while he and Varric were looking at the fabrics for their formal costumes.

“Hey, Hero couldn't you shave. They need a few inches more with all your back hair.” Varric joked.

“Says the dwarf with a carpet of chest hair.”

“Please, this is a trademark. The ladies wouldn't buy my books without it.”

Vivienne sighed dramatically at their unprofessionalism and Josephine tried to refocus them on their task. No one was paying any attention to Solas. Within a few minutes, he had found the fabrics he wanted and had sketched a design.

Master Amar looked at it. “Yes, we can do that. Nolana take his measurements. Then he is finished.” His voice was loud enough for the others to notice.

Vivienne and Dorian both raised their eyebrows sceptically.

“Right the hobo suit is finished first.” Vivienne muttered.

Josephine quickly walked towards him. “Solas I don't think... Oh, my.” she looked at the sketch and fabrics “That is an unusual but exhalant choice.”

“Let me see that.” Dorian asked and was quiet for a moment. “So tell me when you can do this. Why do you dress like an escaped woodsman all the time?”

Solas looked down at himself. Even though he had gotten new clothes, he always chose the poorer, more rougher fabrics for his daily attire. They often frayed at the edges given him an unkept appearance. He suppressed a smirk. If only they knew how familiar was with this whole procedure and courtly business. “Because it suits me.” he smiled at Dorian.

With the men finished it was now the ladies turn. Vivienne was first to demand Master Amar's attention, and Josephine was already handing Leliana's measurements to a seamstress.

Eirlana looked at the racks. She had never seen so many rich fabrics. Beautiful silks, satin, brocade in a variety of colours. Some sparkled, embroidered with glittering jewels, silver and golden threads. How could she choose among all these? She remembered what Solas had told her when he braided her hair that morning. “People dress to express themselves. Remember the feasts you have seen in the Fade. Remember the feeling those people reflected. For example in the spring people tend to wear more vivid colours. Autumn calls for browns, rich reds, yellow, orange. Or they want to convey a message like Vivienne who wants to express power and wealth.”

What do I want? She thought, and her eyes wandered to the softer lighter fabrics.

“My dear. I see you will match Solas in your attire.” Vivienne commented when Eirlana was finished.

“I am sure you will look lovely in it.”

As always Eirlana found it hard to pinpoint if Vivienne was being serious in her remarks.

“Now you need some jewellery.” she guided Eirlana to an elven servant who was a jeweller.

“What can I do for you?” he asked politely. His eyebrows raised when she asked for an earpiece. The elf smiled at her. “Of course My Lady.” and he quickly sketched a beautiful design for her. He was clearly enjoying her unusual request. When Eirlana was finished having her ear measured, Solas returned with a sealed letter. He had a special order for the jeweller.

When I thought about an out of character hairdo for Solas, my mind went to Princess Leia. Beware Fen'harel with headphone buns XD

#flame of winter #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age solas #Solas #solas romance #solas x oc #eirlana

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