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hotteoki · 11 months ago

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change of heart (j.w.y.)

pairing: suitor!wooyoung x princess!reader

genre: arranged marriage, medieval era, strangers to lovers

cw: one swear word

wc: 5k

notes: hi @daesukiii i was your secret admirer! i hope you like this fic i definitely went overboard on 😭 this was heavily inspired by the 'brave' movie!

synopsis: when you're forced into an unwilling, arranged marriage where your husband is decided by a competition with three contests, will an stranger be able to find his way into your life to befriend you and turn your future around?

you sat on your throne, picking at your fingernails while waiting for the clans to arrive. to your right sat your father, and to his right sat your mother, and your brother jongho sat in his throne to your left. he was trying to catch your gaze so he could apologise, except you had no intentions of forgiving him anytime soon. he had told your mother about your complaining towards this whole arranged marriage; since then, your mother had been keeping an exceptionally close eye on you, determined to make you look as “presentable for the suitors” as possible.

upon jongho poking your arm, you snapped your head to him, giving him the worst glare you could muster, which didn’t faze him at all. he gave you a gummy smile at your narrowed eyes, before leaning over to you, speaking quietly, “i am sorry, truly, but i thought it would be really funny… and it is!” he laughed at his own words, leaning back into his seat. you honestly had half a mind to snitch on him to your mother about the real reason why there were muddy footprints everywhere in the throne room yesterday. “i will kill you!” you whisper-shouted at him, sending him a threatening look, resulting in a harsh call of your name from your mother. you turned to her, and found her glaring at you with her index finger raised to her lips shushing you. you spluttered, gesturing to jongho, “he started it!” “it does not matter who started it! the suitors will be here in any minute and you are still not sitting up straight!” she responded sternly, facing the entrance of the room to indicate the end of the conversation. oh, you were so going to snitch on that little bastard.

before you could think of any other plans to get back at jongho, the grand doors to the throne room opened. out of instinct, you straightened your back and placed your crossed hands on your lap. the three clans marched in, each led by their leading lord and his son, who was to be a suitor for your betrothal. as the clans settled in their respective areas, you distinctly heard jongho scoffing at one of the suitors flexing his muscles. your mother began her speech about the three challenges the suitors will have to compete in for your hand in marriage. you blocked out her words, having heard it one too many times while she was practising, your eyes accidentally landing on possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. you prayed to every deity in existence you hadn’t stared at him for too long.

you waited impatiently for the first two lords to introduce themselves as clan park and clan kim respectively, unable to contain a smile forming when it was time for the third and final clan to introduce themselves. “your majesty, i present my heir and only son, wooyoung, who single-handedly took down a fleet of 1,000 men, and retrieved the ships the once-standing clan chun had stolen from clan kim and clan lee.” ‘wooyoung’ stood confidently, hands resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of the impressive weapon pressed against the stony ground. when the focus was no longer on him, you caught sight of wooyoung shaking his head subtly, holding an aggravated expression on his face. you couldn’t help but tilt your head in confusion over his behaviour, but decided to push it to the back of your head, turning to look at your mother once more.

you took your seat on your throne, now moved outdoors to watch the first challenge: javelin throwing. the suitors took their places behind the line, each standing next to the javelin they chose. park youngjae of clan park was first. he swiftly picked up his javelin, throwing with ease, turning away without looking at where it landed to blow you an arrogant kiss, smirking at the loud cheers from the members of clan park and letting out a holler himself, flexing his muscles smugly again. you stared at him, appalled and disturbed at his actions, giving a pleading look at a laughing jongho, silently begging him to put you out of your misery.

next was kim chanwook of clan kim. he walked a few metres away from the line, before charging forward and letting go of his javelin. you had to contain your snickers over the pathetic landing a mere 20 metres away from the line out of politeness. you hadn’t even thought such a low score was possible. your father sucked in a deep breath through his teeth from beside you, “i would have run off in shame if i were him. poor guy.”

wooyoung was the final contestant. he tossed his javelin lazily, barely putting any effort in, scoring himself a solid 45 metres. you couldn’t help but find it impressive; despite his attempt at a weak throw, the distance of his javelin was a good score. good to know someone’s fed up as well, though, you thought to yourself. your father nudged you with his shoulder, leaning closer to you to whisper, “he definitely could have beat mister show-off here.” he gestured to youngjae. you nodded at his words, earning yourself a scowl from your mother. you were also almost certain you were the only one who noticed wooyoung scoffing at youngjae basking in the compliments from the circle of servants and maids alike who had crowded around him.

though you were glad you could relate to wooyoung about the ridiculousness of this all, you silently wished he would at least try in the competitions, deeply hoping he would be the winner, and allow you to take his hand in marriage.

you laid in bed, tossing and turning, unable to find comfort in your normally cosy bed. your mind constantly travelled to wooyoung, finding irritation in how he hadn’t spared a single glance at you all day, behaving as if the whole purpose of the competition wasn’t for you. perhaps that was a little hypocritical of you to think– hating this forced marriage yet wanting a slimmer of attention from one of the attractive suitors more than anything.

as you threw your thin duvet off, goosebumps travelled down your entire body for a second and caused you to shiver slightly. you swung your legs off the bed, hoping a walk around the castle corridors would soothe your head. retrieving the unused candle from your bedside drawer, you lit it up using the torch and stepped out of your room, eying up and down the empty corridors, only a select few soldiers standing near every entrance, seeming to be dozing off.

your hands trailed along the stone-built walls to support the dim lighting from your candle, attempting to ignore the pounding feeling in your chest over any dangers that could be lurking around the corners. despite jongho’s continuous convincing of how safe your castle was, your gut couldn’t help but send signals of something different about tonight. you paused in your tracks, debating whether to continue or not. breathing out through your nose, you listened to the voice in your head and turned around, deciding to return to your room after all.

you managed to make around fifteen steps before a body walked straight into you. you jumped backwards, instinctively shoving the candle in the person’s face, illuminating wooyoung’s stoic expression. “oh. it’s you,” you stated simply, silently berating yourself for acting so embarrassingly in front of him. he raised an eyebrow, “you are not asleep, princess?” you shrugged, “couldn’t sleep. then again, neither are you.” he looked away for a second, before focusing his gaze back on you, “that’s fair.”

the awkward tension in between you was palpable, neither of you speaking aloud, his eyes remaining on your figure while yours darted anywhere but him. “well, i shall see you tomorrow, then.” he manoeuvred around you, beginning to walk away from you. you couldn’t let this opportunity go now. you had to do something.

he turned back at you, sounding confused as he asked, “yes, princess?” you were just as confused as him for a moment, before letting go of his sleeve. you hadn’t realised you grabbed it in the spur of the moment. you opened and closed your mouth, attempting to form your words. he gave you a small smile, almost to encourage you. swallowing thickly, you ignored your flaming cheeks and answered him, “we have a courtyard. it is my favourite spot to escape a sleepless night.” you mentally pat your back, congratulating yourself for managing to speak to him without stuttering, sending him one last glance before turning back once more to return to your room.

“you have not told me its location.”

fuck.

you turned back around sheepishly, avoiding his expectant eyes while rubbing the back of your neck, “continue down this hallway and go down the corridor at the first turn on your right. the courtyard should be a few metres down.” your face was burning up, and it was definitely reddening. you could only hope wooyoung took it as an illusion from your candle and his.

he nodded with an amused smile, raising his eyebrows, “alright. thank you, princess.” he bowed slightly, leaving you to your own thoughts in the middle of the corridor as the light to his candle fades in the distance.

you sat at the empty dining hall, having woken up earlier than anyone in the castle. it was a habit you found yourself having picked up a week before the suitors arrived. perhaps the peace and tranquillity of being by yourself grounded you subconsciously.

needless to say, you weren’t expecting the grand doors to open slowly. you looked up from your plate, startled, only relaxing until you met the soft gaze of wooyoung.

“apologies. i did not realise anyone would be awake already,” he spoke with such tenderness you never thought was possible. “neither,” you replied, gesturing at the empty seat to your left for him to sit. he obliged, albeit hesitantly, clearly unfamiliar with what to do to get his breakfast.

you nodded once to the servant by your right, “he shall have the same as me, please.” she responds with a great bow, scuttling off to inform the cooks and other servants. your focus returns to wooyoung, who had his head tilted in curiosity. “what is it?” you ask politely, finding his unfaltering gaze unsettling. “nothing. i have just never seen a princess be so… kind to her servants.” you frowned slightly at that. the way you treated your servants earlier was the bare minimum, just how bad were the princesses he’s met before? his meal arrived soon enough, brought to him by a different servant, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

“so what-” you were interrupted by the bursting of the grand doors to the dining hall, accompanied by loud clamouring from the rest of the suitors and their servants. wooyoung stood to move away from you so as to not be branded a cheater by attempting to get closer to you in private times.

“and what do we have here? our beloved princess and a sneaky little fox?” youngjae laughed loudly, but there was no humour behind it. he nudged chanwook by his arm, gesturing for him to chime in as well, though from his expression, it was more of a command from youngjae. “y-yes, it seems so, youngjae.”

he wrinkled his nose in disgust, “do not call me by my name.” he bumps past chanwook to loop an arm around wooyoung’s shoulder, squeezing around his torso, almost as a threat, “so? anything to say for yourself, jung? or will this be a problem i will have to bring up to the majesties-” “i asked for him.”

youngjae faltered at your now standing form, stuttering a little, “w-what? what, uh,” he chuckled nervously before continuing, “what are you talking about, princess?” you stepped around the corner of the table to stand in front of both wooyoung and youngjae, plastering a stern look, initiating the one permanently etched on your mother’s face, “i asked for him. is that a problem, park youngjae?”

he immediately stepped back, putting a distance between both you and wooyoung, bitterness leaving his tongue as he spoke, “no, it is not. you are the princess, after all.”

he left swiftly, yanking on chanwook’s arm to follow, leaving only you and wooyoung along with a few servants remaining in the room. you released the breath you had been holding, having lost your appetite now. “you didn’t have to do that, princess. i would have left on my own volition,” wooyoung murmured, finding it difficult to meet your eyes for the first time since he met you.

“is there a reason why i should not have done what i did?” you replied back with sincerity, beginning to doubt your previous actions. wooyoung was silent for a few seconds, and you thought he was trying to find a way to thank you, until he opened his mouth: “do not ever do that again.”

you blinked, and suddenly you were left alone in the dining hall.

what?

afternoon came and it was time for the second contest. you sat on your throne once again to watch the suitors take their places behind the lines, ready to run. you couldn’t help but frown at wooyoung’s lack of interest at you, a strong wave of deja vu washing over you .his eyes only trained at the finishing line in front; you thought you had been getting closer with each other, but at the same time, you weren’t so sure you wanted to speak to him at the moment either way.

the pistol rings and the suitors sprint off. your father hollers in excitement, cheering the suitors on, egging jongho to do the same as well. your breath hitched as the suitors got closer and closer to the line, approximately 30 metres away.

25 metres.

youngjae was in the lead.

20 metres.

wooyoung overtook him.

15 metres.

youngjae quickly regained his spot.

10 metres.

wooyoung ran with a sudden burst of energy.

5 metres…

4…

3…

2…

1…

youngjae won.

you exhaled sharply. wooyoung turned to your direction, meeting your strained face. he turned away immediately.

your mother jerked her head once towards youngjae. you swallowed with difficulty, getting up from your throne and making your way over to him, passing by wooyoung in the process. you didn’t bother sparing him a single glance.

“congratulations, young lord park,” you spoke stiffly, tempted to tug your hand away from him as he held it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “why, thank you, princess. do i get a prize now?” he barked out a greasy laugh, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. “no,” you responded simply, retracting your hand from his grasp.

youngjae’s expression turned cold, his snarky attitude morphing into a disdainful one, “i see.” his eyes landed on wooyoung’s behind you, a smirk growing on his face. he looked back at you, “no worries, princess.”

you could practically see the gears running inside his head.

you found yourself sitting alone on the ground of your courtyard, a book perched on your lap. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t focus on its contents. your mind was befuddled from the idea of having to marry youngjae, given the chances of that happening was growing with the way he had won both contests, and was likely to win the third one. you shuffled further backwards, allowing the shadows of the large tree engulf you whole, hiding you away from even the stars’ sights.

you closed the book, shutting your eyes briefly, focusing on the sound of crickets chirping quietly and the gentle swishing of the leaves, until the calmness was broken by two chittering servants walking past. you moved your ear to the general direction, hoping to eavesdrop in their conversation for some form of entertainment.

“did you hear lord jung’s talk with his son earlier? what was his name again?” “wooyoung,” the other servant finished for her friend, “i did hear. miyeon told me everything. he said he didn’t want to marry the princess, right? that’s why he’s losing on purpose.” you faltered at that, did you truly read into his behaviour too much? “i know. so unexpected! the princess is one of the sweetest people i’ve ever met, why would he not want to marry her?” you smiled at the servant’s words, finding it refreshing to have a good reputation amongst the residents of the castle.

“i suppose he thinks he’s too young to marry, and i agree with him. i mean, we’re both the same age as the princess, and i’d be mortified at the thought of having to marry so soon!” the two girls murmured in agreement, before the first servant continued, “i do feel horrible for the princess, though. she’s most likely to end up with the young lord park, and the heavens know what he’s doing to her.” your ears perked up, eyebrows furrowing over what she said. “what do you mean?” the second servant voiced your question out, seeming just as unaware as you.

“have you not heard the rumours? he’s been telling everyone about how the princess approached him and has been in an attitude because he rejected her.” you sat up completely straight at that, fighting the urge to cry out in bewilderment. “how do you know it’s just a rumour?” “my brother was there at the dining hall that day. he himself served young lord jung his breakfast. young lord park was the one who was turned down by the princess.” the second servant scoffed quietly, “how pathetic of him!”

“shush!” the first girl hissed, speaking much quieter now, “do not forget, we are still below the suitors, no matter how horrid they are. should they hear what we’re saying, they’ll come for our heads!” their retreating footsteps fade after a few seconds and you could only assume they had a silent exchange in glances to continue their gossip later, away from prying ears. you leaned back against the bark of the tree again. you had to tell jongho.

you never got the opportunity to. your mother spent the entirety of the next morning dressing you up in extravagant wear, chiding you for not presenting yourself as desirable for the suitors earlier. you were reminded constantly by her that you would have to prepare to be a suitable wife for your husband soon, no matter who he will be.

you didn’t see wooyoung either. he wasn’t present at breakfast nor did you see him during the time before the third and final contest; contrasting to youngjae, who seemed to be everywhere, flirting with the maids and proudly bragging about his archery skills, which was the sport of the day. chanwook stuck close to his father throughout the morning, whinging to him and looking like he was on the verge of tears.

you felt your mother pat your cheek with her palm, driving you out of your thoughts. her lips were pursed into a tense line as she caressed your cheekbone back and forth, beginning to speak in a hushed tone, “i know you do not want any of this, my daughter, but you must also realise it is necessary. breaking this betrothal could harm our kingdom deeply, you know this.” you exhaled deeply, shutting your eyes in defeat, “i do.” she nodded once in satisfaction, stepping back and moving to leave your room, “i shall see you at the field in a while, then.”

moving to your window, your eyes scanned the large field below. it was filled with men from the three clans, servants and maids from your own castle, the three lords bickering with each other by the front, and their sons, the suitors, standing behind a white line, facing a target stood up at a long distance from him. you noticed wooyoung was on the field, fixing the bow in his hand. judging from his nervous stance, you suspected he was not experienced in archery. almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his head tilted up to the direction of your tower, until he met your shocked eyes through the glass window of your room. you immediately recoiled backwards until your back touched the wall opposite the window, a few metres away from where you were just now. you swallowed thickly out of nervousness before making your way down to the field.

the conversation between the two servants from last night still ran wild in your head. if what they said was true, if wooyoung was truly losing on purpose, then this contest is pointless, for chanwook stood no chance against youngjae. you feel the frustration inside your body bubbling up, though you suspect it was mixed with the bottled up dread and anger towards marrying a complete stranger, his obnoxious behaviour only adding to it. “hey,” jongho’s concerned voice rang in your left ear. you turned to look at his worried eyes, his hand reaching for your shoulder, “are you okay?” you batted his hand away with a reassuring smile, “i’m fine.” he was about to say more, but was interrupted by the loud bellow of the starting horn to indicate the beginning of the contest. knowing his personality, he would bug you about what was bothering you until you gave it up, though.

youngjae pulled his string backwards, flexing his muscles intentionally to swoon the multiple servants standing behind him. deja vu kicked in for the second time when you saw wooyoung roll his eyes once again, and your frown morphed into a barely concealed smile subconsciously. before you realise it, youngjae had already released his arrow, landing on the red circle of the target, only a few centimetres away from the yellow centre. you were impressed by how he played off his embarrassment, however. he commented coolly about the scorching sun being in his eyes and locking eyes with wooyoung menacingly, almost daring him to do any better than him.

you didn’t bother paying any attention to chanwook, only concentrating on wooyoung’s microexpressions. your attempts proved futile when he carried a blank face throughout chanwook’s failing try, the wailing boy scoring himself null points when his arrow landed nowhere near his target. you wished you could say you ignored wooyoung the same way you did to chanwook, but you couldn’t. you were transfixed on his smooth movements and the way he seemed to tug on the string of his bow with ease, youngjae’s sniggers having no effect on him whatsoever.

you’ve already planned out how your new life with youngjae would be. you would have to worship the grounds he walks on, praise his every miniscule movement even if it was something as simple as breathing, stand by his side permanently to make him look good-

your nightmarish thoughts were cut short by your father’s whoops, along with jongho jumping up as well, their excitement so contagious even your mother was unable to help but stand and clap. you instinctively followed her movements, moving up to your feet but raising an eyebrow in confusion, what were they cheering for? that was when you saw it.

wooyoung’s arrow.

shot dead centre of the target.

you stared in astonishment, realising your previous assumptions about wooyoung being inexperienced had been entirely wrong. when you flickered your eyes to him, he was already watching you, and you would’ve said he was watching you emotionlessly had his sparkling eyes not given him away. you knew then, he was just as exhilarated as you were.

“it does not matter, though, does it?” youngjae’s voice boomed over all the music and cheering. the field turned quiet once more as everyone listened intently to his echoing words. “i won the first two contests. i win overall, no?” there were a series of agreeing murmurs, wooyoung’s bright eyes flashing with worry over them. “no.” for a moment, you wondered where the voice came from, until you realised from all the peering eyes that you were the one who spoke out.

you breathed in deeply, stepping down from the small platform and out into the sun, walking slowly and steadily towards the suitors. your mind was screaming for you to turn back around, to accept your fate with youngjae, to listen to your mother and simply be the perfect wife; but your heart overrode every indecisive word in your brain. “it wouldn’t be fair on woo- on young lord jung to discredit this spectacular win,” you gestured to wooyoung’s arrow, mentally cringing over how over-dramatised your words are, yet they seemed to be convincing enough for the people, as another wave of murmurs came about.

“princess-” “we shall have one final contest to determine the final winner,” you cut youngjae off short, finding delight in the way he begrudgingly shut his mouth. you allowed a few tense moments to pass before revealing, “a dance.” “a dance?!” he spluttered incredulously, spinning around to watch others’ reactions. “i don’t see a problem with it,” wooyoung retorted, speaking from behind him. “of course you don’t,” youngjae sneered at him. there was a deadly silence until your father clapped awkwardly, “well! if the princess decides on a dance, then a dance it shall be to decide the final suitor! whichever suitor– young lord park or young lord jung, wins the heart of our daughter shall be her future husband!”

you sat on the stool by your vanity, putting on your accessories and checking yourself in the mirror, doing anything to calm down the nerves in your system and your pounding heart. you heard a knock from outside your bedroom door and you called them in.

jongho, all dressed up in his princely attire, peeked around your door, coming inside and shutting the door behind him. he makes himself comfortable on the edge of your bed before opening his mouth, “choose jung.” you looked at him through your mirror wordlessly, before standing up to smooth out your grand ball gown. you dared yourself to ask, “why?”

jongho rolled his eyes, giving you an exasperated face, “i know you. you are my sister, after all. you like him.” he stood to help with your necklace when he saw you struggling, “besides, i hear things too, you know.” he didn’t need to say it aloud for you to know he was indicating the rumours youngjae started.

he stepped back, allowing you to turn around and look at him gratefully. “thank you, you can be really helpful sometimes when you’re not absolutely annoying.” he let out a loud laugh at your words, shrugging slightly. he held out his elbow for you to take, which you did, and he guided the both of you to the ballroom.

you loitered around the busy ballroom, eyes moving from one excited person to another. you were glad everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same when you couldn’t even find wooyoung. you already had a dance with youngjae earlier, and it was uncomfortable, to say the least. he spent the entire dance bragging to you about his achievements and gripping your waist tightly to bring your attention back to him whenever your eyes strayed.

you were worrying endlessly over your fate. if, by the end of the night, wooyoung hadn’t come to find you and ask for a dance, youngjae would be the automatic winner by default. he would indeed be the final suitor and become your husband.

“may i have this dance?” someone tapped your shoulder gently. you spun around to meet wooyoung’s awaiting eyes, and words couldn’t describe the relief you felt seeing his now familiar smile. “you may,” you placed your hand on his outstretched one, following his steps to the centre of the ballroom.

you allowed a few uncomfortable moments to pass before blurting out, “why are you doing this?” the question you had been pondering for the past few hours would finally be answered now. wooyoung unintentionally clenched his hand resting on your waist at your words, before he relaxed once more, his fingers tracing circles around the area he just squeezed on accident. “should i not be?”

you pursed your lips at how vague his answer was. he noticed your reaction and modified it, “i meant, as a suitor, is that not what i am expected to do?” you contemplated whether to tell him what you heard from the servants or not, before deciding on a half-truth, “i suppose it was odd, considering what you said that morning and the unwillingness you had been carrying for the past week. it left the impression you were not looking to marry me…

wooyoung chuckled at your hesitance, choosing to answer you truthfully this time, “ah, i see. no, princess, i merely would not allow youngjae to stir up rumours about me cheating my way into winning, which caused my harsh reaction. i do apologise for that,” he flashed you a comforting smile, “and you should know, princess, i actually do enjoy sports quite a lot. ironically, i am the best at javelin throwing and archery. well, not so much in running.” you laughed softly at his last comment.

“i will admit, ashamedly, i had been pretending not to be the athlete my father promotes frequently– not at all to do with you, princess, of course. i simply was not sure i was ready to marry yet,” wooyoung paused for a couple of seconds, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth and continuing, “after the second contest, however, i’ve had a change of heart, you see. what young lord park said…” he shook his head in disappointment, “how could i let such a vile man marry the sweetest soul i’d ever met?” you found yourself shying into your figure at his comment, head lowering to look at his shoes until he squeezed your waist gently, causing you to look up at his endearing face again.

“but i suppose it all boils down to your decision now, does it not?” he tilted his head playfully, his eyes twinkling with mischief. neither of you had to voice out the fact that wooyoung had already won from the start.

networks: @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films @pirateeznet

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mysticwolfshadows · 9 months ago

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Taken - Zutara - Part 2

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It's towards the end of her second year in the Fire Nation that things take a turn for the worst.

First, Lu Ten falls during the Siege of Ba Sing Se. Then, Azulon passes, and it is Ozai that ends up on the throne. Iroh concedes the throne, and leaves the palace. And somewhere, in all that mess, Ursa vanishes.

Zuko is, of course, upset and distraught, and he lashes out. Katara, who had been in her care, is not left to the whims of Ozai. The new Fire Lord, as cruel as he may be, is not an idiot. He knows that a water bending healer is valuable. He saw what a barely trained one could do. So, rather suddenly, Katara is shoved into the role of apprentice under the Palace physician.

Katara, only 10, is pushed to her limits day in and day out. She heals generals and governors, the physician constantly testing how fast, how successful, how great her healing skills are. At night, when she can finally rest, Katara finds herself barely able to sleep, and trains in combat under the moon.

It only takes a few months before the stress becomes to much. Her body, young and still growing, becomes weak and feeble, unable to handle the strain. The physician finds it fascinating. Ozai is only enraged.

"I keep you only for your usefulness to me," Ozai tells her from behind his wall of flame, when he has her limp body dragged in by guards. "You will work, or you will have outlived your purpose. Think carefully about what you decide to do next."

Its that night, as Katara stares blankly up at her ceiling, to weak to stay awake but to pained to sleep, that she contemplates just... giving up. She could let go. There was nothing holding her in the Fire Nation. She couldn't go home, Ilah was gone, Ursa was nowhere to be found, and Zuko wasn't speaking to her. There was nothing to stop her from giving up.

That is, until she heard the door open. She had been moved from her private little room to the physician's office, to be on call at all hours. Even now, so close to the brink, she remained there. While anyone could enter, very few ever showed themselves at night. Was it a soldier, injured and needing healing she could not provide? A governor, demanding healing for something nonsensical? Or, perhaps, an assassin sent by Fire Lord Ozai?

It turns out, it is none of the above. It is Zuko, nervous and awkward, peering at her from the door.

"Katara? Are you... awake?"

She thinks about not saying anything. After all, he had ignored her first. But there was the smallest bit of her that could not ignore him. "Yes..."

Her voice was so weak, somehow smaller than when she had arrived in the Fire Nation and first spoke since being taken. Zuko moved closer, concern on his features. He came forward, standing almost anxiously next to her bedside.

"I'm sorry," he eventually says. "I... I'm sorry I..." He can't seem to find the words, and ducks his head. not looking at her.

She can't help it. She smiles. "Did you practice that before you came here?"

His cheeks flame red, and Katara almost thought he was about to bend. Instead, he inhales sharp and deep.

"You just need to rest," he says instead, as if he were in any position to give that kind of order. "You're going to be okay. I still need to take you home, remember? So... Just rest."

That little bit of her that couldn't ignore him grew, ever so slightly. She watched him, cautious. Curious. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

Zuko's eyes darted up to meet hers, and there was a rare fire in them. She'd seem it only a few times, before it had been squashed by someone. She had seen it when he had been proud of finally mastering a firebending more he had been working so hard on, only for that spark to vanish when Azula announced she'd mastered that years ago. It had been in his eyes when he spoke of how deeply he wanted his parents approval, only for a scowl from Ozai to douse it. And now, it was there, dancing for her.

"Yes," he said, voice more determined than she had ever heard. "I will be here."

Closing her eyes, Katara lets out a slow and calm breath. "Than I will rest."

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#fanfic idea #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfic #zuko #zutara #katara #Taken AU

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archangelween · 4 months ago

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>The God in the S1 narration to me seems very much into people making their own choices and not at all down for any Ineffable Plan.

God is the one who tells us that she's playing an ineffable game of her own devising. She calls herself a dealer who won't tell you the rules, etc. That's called horror. And she's clearly amused by it. God is an actual demon by nature, as opposed to the other demons who are forced into terrorizing people.

>What if anything that's happening is the fault of The Metatron-- an evil angel telling everyone that he speaks for God when he really can do no such thing?

I think the Metatron is indeed Lucifer, but that's because Jesus is a horror just like god herself, and he and Lucy swapped places after the fall. Just like A&C have been swapping places, playing for the other team. Literally and figuratively. Because Jesus is a horror who loves running hell and Lucifer is the "good guy". Lucifer played Jesus on earth, he's the one who died on the cross. The Satan we saw in s1 was Jesus putting on airs.

>God can do nothing about any of it because if She intervenes, She's robbing all of Her creations of free will. If even one of them doesn't have it, none of them do.

This is the problem of evil. We have seen that standing by and doing nothing is treated as immoral. Futzing around worrying about the consequences to yourself or burbling about how to justify it does not excuse inaction. If the worst of the demons would intervene to help people, and god would not, then the worst of the demons is infinitely morally superior to god.

>She's cheering on our main characters as they fight the system.

Much as any other game we ourselves play, much as any other fictional story we tell about serial killers and chainsaw murderers....she set up the rules. She set up the game. Fictionally enjoying a chainsaw massacre is fine, because it's not real. As we have explicitly been told, these are real people and you can't treat them like blorbos. Which circles back around to the nature vs nurture, the "rules are reality"....

>Or, God didn't actually program anybody. What if God loves Her creations and gave them free will and dominion over their universe?

I said "program" specifically because that's what rules=reality is. Does it matter if you innately create someone who is unable to obey, vs telling a completely naive person that they can't disobey? It's what we do to children: expect them to obey, hit them when they don't, regardless of who's in the right because children have zero ability to judge for themselves or to fight back. Indeed, "fighting back" is punished by being hit more. Simply "talking back", even when the child is in the right, is punished. You cannot question anything, because that's called disobedience, disloyalty, treason--that's the fall.

Might does not make right. Rules are not reality. But that's what we teach, and that's what people do not question....because questioning reality is treason. Change is not possible. Might makes right means that what the mightiest wants, she gets, and that's what makes reality. You can't change that until.....you have your own house and make your own rules, which isn't actually changing the status quo at all because now you're the embodiment of might makes right.

Tons of feudal fiefs mean you are the king in your domain, and you don't change a single thing about how stuff works that makes you king. Because the rules were already established, that nobody can question those above them.....so as much as you tell yourself you created Eden for your underlings, if they can't leave, if they believe they aren't allowed to question anything---that's not all the different than every other fief lord. How are your underlings to know you won't hurt them just like everyone else would for being treasonous? That's literally what "god is testing me" means. None of them respond with "she's evil and this is wrong". Because loyalty tests, shit tests, are considered perfectly fine, because might makes right and we can't question her. So....obviously.....anything god does is the highest of morality and she deserves to be abusive, because dontchasee it's not actually abuse, you deserve it. Just like Job.

>She's cheering on our main characters as they fight the system.

That's the ineffable game. Will anyone throw caution to the wind and break the system? It's great entertainment. Tell people it's impossible, because you made the rules like that, and then see if people will cause an apocalypse--that's what upending the system IS--to.....just to talk to you.

So yeah, god is cheering on her own chainsaw massacre victims. She's got the chainsaw. Just like we cheer on fictional people in horror movies, but listen, they're not real, and we created that story. We are the fictional serial killer. God did the same thing....except with real people. She created a horror game with real people, she's the one chasing them down to kill them. She will not stop, she will go ahead and kill them. She's the knife at Issac's throat, but this time she does not tell Abraham to stop.

Under might makes right and the rules are reality, that means everything that happens to you because you can't stop god--and no one can stop her--is your fault and you deserve it. Like Job said. If you do not fight back, if you do not win, you deserve it, and it's not abuse, it's "edification", suffering makes you a saint. If you're not a saint, then clearly you just need to suffer more.

>God never says there's an Ineffable Plan-- She says there's an Ineffable Game. A game means everyone has free will & is making their own choices. It's Heaven that's trying to tell everyone that they're doing the will of God but God herself is saying go live free so that's why I trust Her more than The Metatron. :) I know, there's so many theories-- it's great fun!

But rules are reality, might makes right, and so anything god says is treated as immutable reality. We see this a lot in Star Trek with the "vulcans never lie/you lied/no, I implied or made an error". Except god does lie, because she told everyone she doesn't--that's what "don't question me" means: she is never wrong. Which is a lie.

God wrote the Great Plan. With the intent that it be carried out. To see how people act--again, she's the chainsaw serial killer. It is not mercy if she does not kill you, it's just serial killer behavior. Mercy requires that you believe you deserve to die, that she's right to torture people. She told people that the plan is reality, deliberately deceiving people.

Who has free will when you're told something is immutable reality? When the rules say it's not, and rules are reality? Unless you want to die--and nobody ever chooses death, do they? so predictable--you cannot fight. Nothing changes. You can't do anything. Because you will get caught, god will know because she said she has omniscience, you can't get away with it, you can't overthrow god under might makes right. Fighting immutable reality means you die, means you deserved eternal torture. Means you were wrong to do it.

And again, if everyone has free will and these are real people, what does it say about god that she sits back and allows all this? Deliberately deceives them and does not correct them? Is she just too stupid to understand that's what she's doing? We don't even tolerate that from toddlers. She cannot be both that stupid and omniscient. She also cannot be called benevolent. It's outright neglect. Toddlers also have "free will" but if your parents go "oh well, he's drinking bleach, freeeee willllll" that is called abuse through neglect and you lose custody. If god is lord our father, then at the very least hold her to the standards we expect of even the most incompetent parents.

>The Fly is… I think it's like… think of his mind like a computer and The Fly as a flash drive containing all the files he backed up onto it. The files are also still in his mind itself [...] Throughout the week, he exhibits behavior that is like what someone who has suffered trauma they can't recall is like.

It is a depiction of trauma, yes, but the reason isn't "this is ptsd" in universe. If you take files off a computer, you can still access them if you go get the external drive. The fly is a container, storage, and he can access that with great effort. But his head isn't built for that anymore--you can't just plug in any drive and expect it to work, a floppy disk doesn't fit into modern computers. You can still get the info off it with great effort, but it'll be corrupt. You have to access it correctly or you lose everything. Doing it with great effort results in partial or corrupt access.

He could have also chosen which memories to keep, which to shunt to the fly. He didn't keep "all the angels shouting for joy", he seems to have only kept his song. Factory reset, with a few exceptions. Wipe the drive. Except the fly isn't actually a computer so having "leaks", or the fly/aka Gabriel choosing to back port some more info can happen.

Gabriel is a stand in for Christ this season (the role swaps around, but mostly it's him). In the bookshop attack, it's the harrowing of hell; when Christ died, his body didn't go to hell but his spirit did. That's the split: it's why the demons reject Gabriel (not literally, metaphorically) and it's why Crowley is the one who saves the people and goes up to heaven. Jim is the body, the fly/Gabriel is the soul, and Crowley is the divinity.

I think that's also why Jim tries to kill the fly. They are not completely separate things; what your body does affects your soul, vice versa. If you kill your soul, you get to live free of sin when it goes to hell and you stay behind. But giving that up means you don't know who you are, you live in ignorance. Ignorance is bliss only if what you don't know doesn't affect you. What you don't know can still kill you, as with the dealer won't tell you the rules or even let you see at all.

>And FYI-- I'm really excited to find someone else who also thinks that Gabriel knew Aziraphale was lying in the Job minisode and went along with it because he could get away with it since Crowley and Aziraphale had given him a way out of killing the kids. 😊

:D Gabriel is the one who "suggests" to Aziraphale that there is a way to save the kids at all. Idk if he knew Az was rogue already; he could have, given what we suspect about him and the Ark, but I think Gabriel just takes every opportunity to plausibly deny there's other ways to do things. Gabriel was playing the "wiggle room" interpretative dance long before Az ever tried to bend the rules. His idiot persona is cover for that.

if the fly was outside the box when aziraphale went to pick it up. and the fly is his "him". do you think the fly lead him to aziraphale? from where ever he was before?

#good omens #god #the fly

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obeymebabes · 4 years ago

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Hello there! I've just found your blog and you do wonderful work. I hope that you're doing well and the Holidays were good to you.

If you're feeling up to it (please don't feel pressured if you don't), I was wondering if you were feeling up to writing a little flangst (angst to fluff) for a MC that sadly gets very nightmare prone the more stressed they are, but doesn't want to worry anyone, so they keep it to themselves and childishly opts instead to pull the 'I'll sleep when I'm dead tactic', only to fall asleep on one of the brothers (preferably Lucifer, but I'll leave it up to you)?

I hope you have a wonderful day today.

As someone who has constant and frequent vivid nightmares, I understand this struggle so much. Snuggling up to a demon boy would be the ultimate cure.

Sweet Dreams At Last (Lucifer x MC)

Warnings: Fluffy asf None!

Summary: Having been tasked with tons of work and the annoyance of the restless demon brother drama, MC ends up having nightmares and refusing sleep. A certain peacock boy notices and takes action to ease some stress.

Everything seemed to be happening all at once. Lord Diavolo had appointed you as the leader of a “fun” school event, the brothers kept arguing, and literally nothing was going the way you wanted. Regardless of what you did, it seemed like all of the realms were against you. To say that you were incredibly stressed with all of what was happening was in fact the understatement of the century.

Is this what Lucifer deals with on like, a daily basis?

To top all of the terrible things, each night when you were nestled all snug and cozy in your bed, you’d wake up with a shiver running down your spine as your brain began to play it’s annoying tricks on you during your sleep. Your worst fears come to life as you’re unable to do anything but sit back and watch.

The only quick fix that you knew of was to just avoid sleeping. No, it wasn’t practical or logical, but it was easier than dreading the moment you closed your eyes.

Lucifer was the first to notice you weren’t doing well. He could practically feel the tension and stress dripping off of you. This was every day for him. If anyone is going to understand, it would be him. Of course you weren’t acting like your usual self. With the constant fear of falling asleep and slipping back into your terrifying mind, you were visibly more drained, sluggish, and perhaps a bit more snappy than he would like. He knew better than to bring it up in front of his brothers, so he waited, keeping a watchful eye from a distance.

Sitting at the table for breakfast you could feel the lack of sleep starting to fog your mind. Your eyes and whole body heavy with sleep. Hardly having the energy to eat, all you could do was prop your head up with your hand, trying desperately to keep yourself awake. The occasional slip of your head luckily went unnoticed as the brothers continued to argue over whatever it was they were fighting over this time. It took too much energy to try to keep a steady focus on their complaints. Soon it would all be over, and all you had left to do was make it through the day at RAD.

Stopping you before you had strayed too far from the table after breakfast, he spoke quietly. “MC, will you come to my room with me please?”

With a low energy nod, you could feel your chest tighten with mild panic. Lucifer? Speaking to you this early? What could have gotten you in trouble this time? Are you not wearing the RAD uniform correctly? Were you failing a class? Was it about the event that Diavolo insisted that you plan?

Upon entering his room, it was warm, and dimly lit. His bed looked so comfy. So tempting. Oh what it would be like to curl up and recover sleep in such a large cozy bed.

But you were quickly snapped back to reality after hearing Lucifer call your name. Turning to face the first born, you suppress a yawn, trying to keep up the facade that you weren’t actually tired, when every bone in your body was screaming at you that you needed to sleep.

“Is there something you would like to tell me?” He questioned, waiting for you to relax in his presence. His voice was calm, soft, understanding even. It may be rare for him to show it, but he genuinely cares about you and your health.

You were quiet. What are you supposed to tell him? So many things ran through your head.

“You haven’t been sleeping properly, correct?” Lucifer inquired, taking a seat on the couch in his room, coaxing for you to join him.

Joining him, you hesitated, but finally gave in to his curious gaze.

“I keep having nightmares. I don’t know how you do it, Lucifer. The stress from Lord Diavolo asking me to prepare the event for RAD with all of the schoolwork on top of that, and your brothers arguing over absolutely everything is just so tiring. I haven’t been this stressed out since I got here. Then I started getting nightmares so I just stopped sleeping. I’m sor-”

“No need to apologize, MC. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Lucifer’s interruption caught you a bit off guard, but looking up into his dark crimson eyes you could tell he meant it. He was listening, and he was aware that you needed help.

“I brought you here to let you relax. I told Lord Diavolo to overlook your absence at RAD for today. My brothers will be away for the time being, and there is a curse placed on the door so you will not be able to hear their return.” Lucifer stood, heading over to the vintage vinyl player he had in his room to put on some of his soothing classical music.

“As for your nightmares,” He paused, handing you a cup of warm tea, “I advise that you drink this. It should prevent you from having any, and will ensure that you will sleep peacefully.”

You were speechless aside from the soft “thank you” that made it’s way past your lips. This was strange, especially for Lucifer. You had never seen him so generous, so caring, so willing to tend to your needs. It was a new side to him that you were happy to see. He wasn’t just the uptight and strict demon that he always portrayed. There is indeed a heart in his chest.

Lucifer took the opportunity to sit next to you after handing you a soft blanket. Both taking the chance to make small talk until you dozed off. Things were peaceful. The Avatar of Pride letting his guard down, telling you little stories about his life over the years. Doing his best to keep you relaxed and ease your mind from the stress you kept dwelling on.

You were beginning to feel the tea working it’s magic. The soft music lulling you to sleep as the fireplace kept you cozy. It was almost too perfect. Like some sort of fairytale.

Unbeknownst to you, your head had found its way onto Lucifer’s shoulder. But he didn’t move. Instead, he simply rested his head against yours. He had the same peace and quiet that you had, so he was going to make use of it.

As he began to doze off, he clung to the hope that when he opened his eyes, this tender moment wouldn’t just be a dream he got lost in. He hoped that you would still be snuggled up peacefully with him, feeling relaxed, comforted, and well rested.

“Sweet dreams, MC.”

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theredsuzuran · 4 years ago

Text

Muzan x reader ~ Lily [pt 2]

Took me forever to complete this song fanfiction, wouldn't have been possible if my friend didn't help, thanks to him. Please check out the first part to understand it better. Here.

Warning : abusive themes, mention of blood and gore.

Enjoy

She knew she was hypnotized.

The sound of a loud slap echoed throughout the room, your father who was furious about your escape have just hit you hard on your face infront of everyone, including the servants. On other hand your mother holding your father's arm tightly to prevent him from hitting you any further.

"Get away, you callous women, it is for you that she tried to run away, you should be ashamed of yourself", he shouted, shoving off your mother roughly onto the tatami floor.

"This is wrong, the Gods will punish us", she murmured under her breath making muffle sounds, your father dissatisfied by her futile attempts of protests turns his attention away from you to hit her right in the stomach with his bare fist in pure fury, making her scream in agony coughing out mucus. Your mother being a fragile women of timid personality, rarely talked to anyone let alone protest or stand up against vile play, always seen behind the shoji doors praying to the gods and chanting prayers, constantly intimidated. Witnessing your father abusing her inhumanely infront of her children, family members as well as the servants, evoked a sense of rebellion inside of you.

"Don't hit my mother, you are angry because of me hit me instead, as much as you like, but not her", you growled furiously at your father, making your mother jolt towards your direction as she shook her head violently.

"Stay away from this brat", he said apatheticly, disappointment hinted in his voice turning his head away from you once again in utter disgust. Receiving such cold treatments from your father made your heart shattered in pieces. Then, your uncle step up.

"Take her to the room and increase the guards, this shall not happen again", your father ordered the servants which was immediately followed without any hesitation or delay before you could protest you were taken away. However you wonder why did your mother reacted that way?

As the time passed by, you grew up to be an elegant lady mostly within the confinement of four walls, while pushing down all the jovial moments deep into the unconsciousness... your mind engulfed with the thoughts of your demise. It was getting harder and harder each day for you to keep your sanity intact. A constant state of melancholy always prevailed within your aura, even your own shadow seem deceitful.

Walking on cold thin nights

Then the night of that cursed full moon occurred. You glanced at the starry night from the now open window of your cell with your souless (e/c) eyes. Succumbing towards the void of eternal darkness. Heaven knows what grave sin you might have committed to receive such heavy punishments. As you were busy getting drowned in your own thoughts the shoji door slightly opened and the maids rushed inside your room one by one with cloths and accessories in their arm.

"It's time m'lady" the head maid bowed respectfully infront of you, then motioned the other maids to help you get ready. You could feel them pitying you, sympathizing the miserable state you're in. You simply nodded and get up to dress for your deathbed. At this point you didn't care much you just want it to get over soon, trailing off in the sea of your own distorted thoughts.

You approached your family to bid farewell before heading towards the palanquin. Everyone wishpering behind your back something that they are not allowed to speak infront of you. That didn't bother you anways but you wish you could atleast see your mother for the last time. Is it that hard for a mother to witness her daughter's departure that she needs to constantly hide indoors avoiding her like plague?

A herd of maids accompany you as your bridesmaid to mount Akakura. The norimono stopped infront of a shrine. The bitter cold outside and the solemn atmosphere made it difficult for you to enter through the main gates. All of them left at once after escorting you inside the shrine. While you sat there facing the kami observing the interior, The light of the lamp beside you flickering slowly. The shrine was enormous filled with shofisticated designs, paintings and detail descriptions of the great folklore of Japan. Gods like susanoo killing Yamamoto no orochi in order to restore peace, you were completely lost admiring the aesthetics of the shrine.

But then it broke,

Did she awoke again?

"This is not what we were expecting", you felt a strong gust of wind behind your back as if something was breathing behind your back, you could feel saliva dripping over your expensive uchikake and to your exact horror was standing your living nightmare, a disfigured seven headed monster signifying those of a dragon and a serpent hovering on top of you covering almost the entire shrine glancing directly at your fragile figure with pure malice and hunger.

"Nay, certainly not, she's not one of them, fufu", another head cooed grinning creepily. You looked at them with utter confusion, raising your head slightly to look over that hideous thing above you.

"What do you mean?", Asking almost frustrated, your voice still shaking.

"Oh", the head at the centre replied, his voice calm and steady, facing you with it's long wide neck, his eyes glowing dangerously, inches away from your face, breath stinking of something you'd probably not keen to know as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I fear mortal, but you are not blood-related to any of the seven maidens we have devoured so far", you were taken aback. Not related? You were bewildered, unable to process the new set of information displayed before you, fresh stream of tear forming in the corner of your eyes.

"No, you are lying", You snapped at them angrily.

"What a clueless human, what do we gain by that?", The head in the left hissed irritatedly.

The ground beneath you seem to slide open whereas the sky above began to crumble. For eighteen years you have been raised by people who are not even blood related to you but most importantly they were using you to save themselves, you stood their perplexed, overwhelmed with the new reality. How cruel can people become? An urge to confront your parents came in demanding for an explanation, about their selfish lies, for hiding your true identity, stealing your childhood and a chance to live a normal life. Now that perfectly made sense why your mother always prayed to the Gods for forgiveness, barely talking to you or look in your eyes and why your father is so detached towards you and not your siblings. They were never your own and you were never there's.

"Those human thought they could deceive us, we will kill them", head to the left spoke.

"No, not so soon, they might have deceived us but the girl lying below us is a marechi, no no no we cannot let her go" the main head chuckled darkly, showing its true nature all of them at once looked at you with their protruding eyes, as you shut your eyelids for the worse accepting your misfortune, a heated argument broke among the seven heads.

"You have eaten all the seven women previously, I will have this one" the right head hissed, accompanied by other heads, all of them screaming and cursing at each other. You notice the unlocked gate it must have been open since the demon arrived. It was your golden chance to escape, as they were busy fighting, you took advantage of the situation, slowly crawling your way towards the entrance of the shrine . They seem to not notice you trailing off their sight.

"Stop fighting with one another, we all are literally the same, anyone of us eating her would be enough to make us stronger and please that man", the head at the center erupted fuming with anger.

"She's gone, she's gone", one of the head shouted. Indeed you were missing the only thing left was the wataboshi you wore on top.

Then she ran faster than-

You ran through the dense forest lifting your kimono, the smell of fresh air hitting your nostrils, the feeling of nostalgia came back as you can finally taste that long lost freedom you constantly craved for since forever but unfortunately that didn't last long. As you were running blindly you could feel something gigantic chasing from behind. Being too frantic you stumble and fell onto the ground your leg getting caught in the fabric of your kimono in the process.

Start screaming, "Is there someone out there?"

Please help me

Come get me

"You thought you can ran away from us? What a foolish human", the sound of loud laughter resonated through out the woods. The demon wrapped its tale around your waist squeezing you tightly in attempt to crush your defenseless body lifting you up opening its mouth to shove you inside.

Behind her she can hear it say-

"Let go of me!" You screamed on top of your lungs, a last desperate attempt to exist. When out of the blue a large mascular tentacles flew towards your direction cutting the tail swiftly in a blink of an eye, releasing you from its bone breaking grip but instead of crashing against the ground, you were caught by a pair of strong masculine arm. You looked up in disbelief. A familiar fair male in texudo emerged, his flawless features shining underneath the moonlight coming through the branches.

"Muzan..."

"We met again (y/n), I hope am not too late", he smiled at you gazing softly. Tears came rolling down your cheeks as you cannot believe was it real or just a dream.

History always seem to find it's way of repeating itself.

His previous soft look instantly changed to that of a menacing one as he trailed his glance towards the disfigured monster.

"Crouch down and lower your heads", all the seven heads bow down infront of the demon lord, Cowering with fear at once as if they were struck by lightning.

"Pardon my lord, we didn't realize you have arrived before us or else-", the demon yelped immediately like a lost puppy.

"Who gave you the permission to speak?" Muzan replied indignantly, his eyes glowing threateningly at the petrified creature. You knew he was a demon but you were unaware that he held such authority making a powerful demon like Akai that supposedly haunts the mountain for centuries to lower his head in terror on his command. What was unknown to you that he infact was the progenitor of these morbid creatures.

How ironic being saved by none other but a demon.. being first of his kind.

"Have mercy, my lord" the demon begged, while one of his head thought why's he saving that human girl?

"Why am I saving that human girl? Go ahead, continue", muzan narrowed his eyes making the demon quivered with shock. He can read my mind?

"What makes you answer my authority?" The demon lord demanded furiously, veins popping out from his head.

"Beings like you should not be allowed to exist" with that said, his one arm stretched, injecting a sharp blade into the creature allowing his blood to overflow, creating chaos in the demonic cells of that creature eventually turing it into a pile of molten flesh.

It's over, the nightmares. Fresh tears rolled down your face, mixed with all sorts of emotions, the tables have turned, the heavens seems to have listen to your prayers. A pair of large hands cupped your face breaking you from the chain of thoughts

Follow everywhere I go

"Why are you still crying, dear?" Muzan replied with his smooth, monotonous voice, removing his hand as he placed you gently on the surface. His mood changed in a matter of seconds, you wonder how much more he was capable of doing beside that but brushing aside those feelings of negativity you moved closer.

"Took you long enough" engulfing him in a tight hug, startling him in the process. The idea of being intimate with a lowly creature was good enough to make him puke in disgust. How can a mortal like you have the audacity to touch the all mighty kibutsuji Muzan? He believed himself to be above everything even viewing his own subordinates as puppets of his play. His twisted sense of morality speaks that affection holds a person from attaining superiority and is a sign of weakness, the more ruthless and cold hearted the more close you are to perfection. He shows no value to people who possess such emotions which he is foreign to. Your vulnerability makes him want to ripped you to shreds, torment you and break your mind, yet he finds himself at ease. It was hard for him to admit that his pride was hurted against someone so delicate and somehow he felt those feelings of warmth to be tolerable with you, even to the extent of craving it.

After a while, a sudden realization hit your senses as you parted from the tight embrace, your (s/c) countenance painted with dark shades of red, averting your gaze from the demon. The moon shone brightly above you exhibiting your breathtaking beauty just like a piece of art. The way your shiny (h/c) locks fell over your smooth skin, the way your pulm lips parted to speak and the way your eyes sparked with adoration, was enough to drive him insane. From the very moment he laid his eyes upon you, he knew a masterpiece like you belonged only to the epitome of perfection. He will do anything to keep you to himself.

Top over the mountains or valley low.

"(Y/n), you have a very rare blood, a marechi" said muzan, as you recall the conversation you had with the demon in the shrine saying something similar on this note.

Give you everything you been dreaming of

"What's with that muzan?" You asked curiously, to which muzan's tone changed into that of a viscous one.

"Its a great meal for demons", silence broke out as you were too shock to say anything. Muzan knew he can take advantage of that situation and mould you the way he desires.

"(Y/n) are you scared of me?"

"No", you replied almost immediately with no hesitation.

"Do you trust me?" He questioned again looking at you directly with his glowing ruby orbs. Beginning his sick games of manipulation.

"Yes I do, with all my life, you are the only one who saved my life not once but twice, you cared so much for me when no one did" you paused.

"Beside my mother"

Just let me in, ooh

"Your family abandoned you, when you needed them the most" he replied creating doubts about inside of you, making you back off a little towards a tree.

"My mother was helpless" you answered.

"They used you for their own benefit", pinning you against the tree, he whispered venom into your ears. The proximity between you two, send shivers down your spine. Seeing you helpless excited him, making him determined to claim you even more.

Everything you want in gold, I'll be the magic story you have been told.

"How do you k-know?" You trembled, gasping your mouth and before you could lift your hands to cover your face muzan held your hands into his bigger ones looking directly in your eyes.

"Tell me (y/n) am I wrong?", you knew he wasn't although it didn't make sense.

"No.." is all you replied, satisfied with your answers muzan proceeded into the next step.

And you will safe under my control.

"I want to keep you safe, (y/n)", he moved closer to your face.

"You and I shall rule the world"

"I don't know muzan"

"No one can harm you ever again"

"But-"

"Don't you want to be free?"

Free? That's what you have been wanting for so long, freedom. He made you believe that you can be a boundless bird stretching its wings in the infinite magnitude. All of your doubts stopped growing from then and there, muzan knew he has struck the right cord, creating a ray of false hope about your vision of a perfect free world, thereby controlling your perception just like a predator luring his victims with lies. Seems as if you were destined to be deceived.

"Yes" you replied hypnotized by his convincing.

"Then become a demon"

Just let me in, ohh

Muzan moved his hand across your face caressing it gently, his face inches apart from yours, as his lips crashed against yours. For someone who recoiled from physical touch, to be felt loved by something that isn't supposed to be God's creation. A warm feeling crept inside of your chest as it was pressed against his. Feeling your joint heartbeats.

I never bothered to feel my chest for a heart beat, now I do. As I looked down to see my hand moving towards my face, the slimy red droplet broke away, disconnecting our lips. Demon? This man who gave me this new life? His eyes, so calm and fiery, How can I feel such duality? I lifted my other hand, without knowing it went to his chest, On his chiseled chest, there. You thought.

"A demon?" You replied with your now quivering lips turning your face away with embarrassment, realizing your lips connected with burning passion. Your eyes teared up you know not why, to be embraced by one who was supposed to be cold, to be embraced by someone who stood against armies through out time, you wanted to be with him.

"you will be", said muzan, as you felt your consciousness fading away, you know now why... Why all of them follow him, despite the abuse..Despite the sacrifices... you know now why your body moved craving for his touch although you could feel your throat burning yet it didn't matter, the warm embrace is all that you wanted.

That night you abandoned your humanity.

#kimetsu no yaiba #muzan x reader #muzan kibutsuji x reader #kny muzan #muzan kibutsuji #demon #fanfic #kny fanfic #demon lord #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kny writing

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years ago

Note

89, 91 or 98 please if you're taking prompts!! i can't decide !!!🥵🕊🕊

Me neither haha! So ... here’s all three. ��👶🏻💖

(89: “Mondays are your diaper days”, 91: “Oooh... someone’s got a tummy ache and 98: “I think we should have another.”)

i think our story needs more pages

There’s an unmissable smile of contentment on Jake Peralta’s face as he wipes down the last section of the kitchen bench, softly humming the theme song to Transformers while he rinses the washcloth under the tap. (The original, of course - the remakes all have their merits but when it comes to theme songs, nothing beats the classic version, and that is the hill he will die on.)

Not so long ago, a perfect day for him would have undoubtedly involved some sort of high-speed chase (or diffusing a hostage situation … or jumping from an exploding chopper with a knife between his teeth … he’s not fussy when it comes to the details, really) - but after spending the majority of today at their nephew Aaron’s third birthday party, he finds himself completely unable to hide the sheer joy that is thrumming through his veins.

He knows that he could attribute a certain portion of his great mood to the lasting effect of that second slice of ice-cream cake he’d had mere hours ago (or the light-up keyring he won during pass the parcel), but it all really came down all of the sweet moments in-between: standing in the shaded sun, surrounded by family, and watching as his son played with all of his cousins.

It’s the kind of life that once upon a time would have seemed totally implausible, but now was absolutely his reality, and just the mere thought of a thousand more days like it put Jake on an all-time natural high.

It has been fifteen months since the birth of their son, a child born of liquid fire that went by the name of Mac. Fifteen months of diaper changes, screaming fits and mashed food everywhere. And also; fifteen months of the softest of cuddles, impossibly tiny hands wrapping themselves around his fingers, and the deepest of brown eyes that took in everything imaginable. He misses sleep (oh, how he misses real, uninterrupted SLEEP), but if that was the tradeoff for having a miniature version of him and Amy taking wobbly steps around their apartment, Jake would do it all again in a nanosecond.

He had no idea how powerful the sound Dada would be, but the first time he heard it on his son’s lips, he straight-up cried. And … maybe again when Mama followed shortly after. Now, Mac’s vocabulary has expanded to five whole words (including Wowo, which both he and Amy are 90% certain stands for Aunty RoRo, and have agreed that it’s best for everyone if Charles just simply doesn’t know), and both parents couldn’t be prouder if they tried.

There’s been an idea in the back of his mind for a few months now, one that has grown all the more after today’s festivities, and after pouring both he and his wife a half glass of wine each Jake makes his way over to the living room, still unable to wipe the smile off of his face when he takes in the scene in front of him.

Mac lay stretched out on the couch, his tiny duck printed pyjama shirt riding high and exposing his belly button as he rests his head on Amy’s lap. Fast asleep, his eyes remain closed as Amy’s fingers run gently through his hair, his tiny chest rising and up down in even breaths. It’s a sight Jake’s seen a hundred times before, but one that he never truly gets enough of, and after quietly placing the wine glasses on a nearby table he reaches out to tug Mac’s shirt a little lower.

“I think someone’s got a tummy ache,” Amy whispers, mirroring Jake’s responding pout as he settles down on the couch, their sleeping son in between them. “He only had the smallest taste of the cake .. but I guess when combined with the excitement of the day and all the dancing he did, the poor little guy is just completely wiped.”

(Mac’s ‘dancing’ was really just an unsteady yet adorable bouncing in place, both feet planted to the floor as his arms flail about to whatever music just happens to be playing, and the similarities between that and some of Amy’s dance moves have not gone unnoticed.)

Jake furrows his brow in response, instinctively reaching out to run a soothing hand over his son’s stomach. “He’s all Mac’d out.” He’d watched from the rear view mirror on the drive home as the gentle bumps of the road lulled Mac to sleep, his tiny curls squished along the edges of the carseat he was buckled into. His (at times, endless) energy had been renewed by the time Amy had carried him up the stairs, the sneakers that Uncle Charles had given him making high-pitched squeaks as he’d run with tiny toddler steps around their apartment (the contents of which by now were entirely child-proof) for the rest of the afternoon.

It was exhausting chasing after a toddler, but also strangely exhilarating, and watching Amy settle onto Mac’s play mat and help him with his building blocks as Jake had began to prepare dinner had just felt so right, it was hard to imagine what their afternoons used to be like pre-child.

With his fingertip gently tracing the outline of one of the ducks on his son’s pyjama set, Jake watches as Amy uses her free hand to take a sip from her wine glass before speaking.

“I think we should have another.”

His eyes squeeze shut as soon as he’s blurted it out, twisting his mouth into a wince. There were a thousand different ways he could have phrased it (and lord knows he’s practised a few versions in the past few weeks), but nooo. Great work as always, Peralta.

Amy’s head is cocked slightly to the side when he opens his eyes again, and she gestures vaguely at the glass. “Another wine? I’ve only just started this one.”

“Oh. Ahh, no - sorry. Ugh. That was my terribly unsubtle way of saying that I’ve been thinking that maybe … we should try and have another baby.”

Raising her eyebrows, Amy’s hand stills amongst their son’s curly hair, and after a (thankfully brief) pause, she replies. “You do?”

Jake can feel a soft smile begin to grow on his face, and he nods. “Yeah, I do.” Lifting his hand so that he can run his fingers ever so lightly along the bridge of Mac’s nose, he gives Amy a half shrug. “I mean … I’ve watched you with your brothers over the years, and it’s just amazing the kind of bond all of you have.” Mac’s eyelids begin to flutter, and Jake pulls his hand away before he accidentally wakes him. “Even when you hate them with a passion, you still love them, and there’s just some things that you intrinsically know about each other without any prompting. It’s the kind of closeness that can’t ever be replicated, and I would just really love to give Mac that kind of childhood.”

Amy smiles at the thought, giving Jake a tiny nod of encouragement to continue.

“I know that I had Gina a lot of the time, but at some point she would go home to her family, and then it was just me and my mom … and don’t get me wrong, that was great, but there were definitely times when I had wished that I could have had somebody to hang out with. Especially when my mom started working two jobs and I saw her less and less. TV and cake did an okay job raising me, but I do sometimes wonder … what if.”

With her nods growing bigger, Amy glances down at Mac. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking the same thing.”

Jake’s heart skips a beat, and he leans forward slightly. As much as he might want to try and expand their family, it all really came to do Amy, and how she felt about it. He’s never pressured her into anything, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. “You have?”

“Yeah. Been thinking about it a lot, actually. My family was loud growing up, but it was also kind of great.”

They grin at each other over their son’s sleeping form. Maybe, this was actually going to happen.

Mac wriggles in his sleep, his sock-covered feet stretching out slightly and nudging against Jake’s thigh, and Jake lifts them up to rest on his lap as he shuffles a little closer to Amy. “This morning, when I picked him up out of his crib, he just had the biggest, gummiest smile on his face, and then he hugged me like there was no tomorrow and I just … it’s only the best feeling and … well, you know.”

“I do. That little Mama! that I heard this morning? I wish I had recorded it, it sounded so sweet. He’s just the cutest.”

“Exactly!” Jake reaches his left hand out, resting it on the portion of Amy’s leg that hasn’t been occupied by their sleeping son. “And honestly, I just keep getting this image in my head of a mini Amy walking around; with tiny little binders tucked under her arm and the same gorgeous eyes as her mother, learning so quickly whenever her big brother shows her how to do something. Can’t you see it, Ames?”

Laughing, Amy shakes her head. “She wouldn’t have binders, Jake” and he nods because obviously a toddler wouldn’t have a binder, but then she continues. “She’d have a notepad. Binders are serious business. You gotta work your way up to them.”

“Right, of course. My mistake, babe.”

Covering his hand with her own, Amy links slides her fingers in between Jake’s and rests them there. “It does scare me a little, though.”

Picking up on the sudden softness of his wife’s voice, Jake looks over carefully. “Having another baby?”

She nods, a tentative smile lifting the edges of her lips for a mere second before falling. “Yeah. I mean … it wasn’t exactly easy last time. What if next time, it’s even harder? Or it just … doesn’t work?”

Jake’s eyes fall back down to their son, this miniature version of both of them had wished so hard for. Amy was right - it hadn’t been easy last time, and there honestly weren’t any guarantees that it was going to be any better the second time around. It’s one of the main reasons why it had taken him so long to talk to her about it. But as he feels her fingers gently shift against his own, Jake realises the most simplest of truths, and looks back up at his wife.

“I know that this is probably going to go against all of your instincts, but when it comes to this I think we just kind of need to let fate play it’s hand. We can only try, you know? If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.” Shifting his weight, he rests his shoulder against hers. “We’re a family, no matter what. Whether there’s three of us, or four, or five. We can get through anything, Ames. If there is anything the past ten years have taught us, it’s that.”

The side of Amy’s head rests against his, and he feels her nod. “I love you, Jake Peralta.”

Squeezing their fingers, Jake cranes his neck marginally to the left to leave a kiss against Amy’s hairline. “I love you too, Ames.”

From below them, Mac rolls onto his side; one hand curling into Amy’s sweater, and both of them seperate slightly to watch him sleep.

Taking another tiny sip from her glass, Amy sighs happily. “You know … if we do this, we’d really need to look into moving somewhere bigger.” Her eyes wander over the room, eventually landing on a framed photo of the three of them that had been taken five months ago. “Maybe even buying something, if we were really careful with our finances.”

Jake’s smile grows impossibly bigger, and briefly he wonders if he’s going to have sore cheeks tomorrow from all of it. “Honestly? That sounds kinda amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean …” Jake pauses, sliding his right hand along the back of his neck in a move that his wife has long since called ‘The Dropping of Peralta’s Guard’, feeling one side of his mouth slide up ever so slightly as he turns his attention back to Amy. “I love this apartment, and living in the city, but … the only thing I’ve ever really owned is your heart. And that beat up Mustang I had for a while there, but money-wise that was mainly on loan, so … yeah. Just you.” His hands raise quickly, showing his palms in surrender. “Not that I own you or anything, because that’s ridiculous, I just meant that you totally own mine and that’s - mmff” the rest of his sentence is muffled, the press of Amy’s lips against his stealing the last fragments of thought, and by instinct his arms wrap tightly around her waist, as best as he can with Mac still resting on their laps.

Amy’s smiling as she pulls away, her hand sliding down his cheek until she’s resting her thumb in the tiny dimple at the bottom that he’d always hated until the love of his life made it a favourite, and honestly, how she makes his heart flutter even after all this time is just pure magic.

“I know what you meant, babe, and I love you for saying it. You absolutely own my heart … well, you and Mister Mac do, anyway. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sliding his right hand further up his wife’s back, Jake pulls in her for another kiss. He would happily share the space with Mac, and any other children that they might end up having, for the rest of his life (and maybe a hundred or so more years after that). Toying with the ends of her hair as they part, Jake’s shoulders rise in a tiny shrug. “Honestly, falling in love with you is the best investment I’ve ever made. But the thought of actually buying a house with you, and turning it into a home that our kids will grow up in? A backyard filled with toys and swing sets and maybe even a cat or two? It sounds like the greatest idea ever.”

“And maybe a park nearby, where we can teach our kids to ride a bike?”

“Plus a basketball hoop over the garage door - because their Dad can dunk, and he’s totally going to show them how. Not to mention a study lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, all of them filled to the brim.”

Amy’s eyes begin to glisten slightly, and she leans in to rest both of her hands on Jake’s forearm. “Don’t forget the front porch for us to sit on when we’re older, rocking in our chairs and stealing all of the other kid’s frisbees when they land on our lawn.”

“Of course! We’re going to be the COOLEST house in the neighbourhood, with the dopest Halloween decorations. Acting purely as a distraction, naturally, while we carry out whatever version of the heist we’re up to by then.”

Raising her chin slightly, Amy’s eyes turn suddenly serious. “Your mind is going to be blown when you realise what I already have planned for then, Peralta.”

“Yet another reason to have a second baby! One on each team!”

One of Amy’s eyebrows raises coyly, and she whispers “That’s what you think” as she leans in for another kiss, shortened by the soft laughter that falls from Jake’s mouth.

“I really do love you, Ames. Pre-emptive plotting for my children to heist against me and all.”

She giggles, and Mac lets out a tiny grumble as he begins to wake. Scooting his butt to the edge of the couch, Jake slides his hand along his son’s back, holding him warm against his chest and tightening his grip as Mac nuzzles into his neck, still half asleep. “Okay, time to take this party animal to bed. Say goodnight, mommy!”

Raising herself up until she’s kneeling into the couch cushions, Amy leans in to press a kiss against Mac’s cheek, replicating the action on Jake’s as she pulls away. “Goodnight, my sweet prince. And babe, I think a diaper change might be in order.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jake nods. “Yeah, I agree.”

“Want me to do it?”

“Nah. Mondays are your diaper days, Sundays are mine. I’ve got this. You sit back and relax, and have a look at our schedules for when we can book a babysitter so that we can … practice.”

Resting her weight back down on her heels, Amy sinks her teeth into her lower lip. “You know I’m a big believer in practice makes perfect, Peralta.”

“Indeed I do, Santiago.” Lifting up one of Mac’s arms to mimic a tiny wave, Jake heads slowly towards Mac’s bedroom, intent on getting him changed and into bed with minimal disruption.

(There ends up only being one tiny meltdown, but it’s nothing that a combined goodnight hug from both Mommy and Daddy can’t fix.)

In fifteen years time, there will be a house in Brooklyn - just outside the city centre, so close enough for the daily commute - that has contained so much love within its four walls that it has long since seeped into its foundation.

There will be a doorframe near the kitchen, marked with a variety of ascending lines drawn in marker, catalogued by both name and year as they rise. A myriad of photos and commendations will line the walls (in no particular order, a fact that is made very clear), and the memories of each captured moment will last long after the images have faded.

It will be their home - the Peralta-Santiago fortress against the rest of the world - and although life will forever throw curve balls their way, if there’s anything their children know for sure it’s that as a family, they’re always going to be there for each other. No matter what.

(Also, that Wario cheats.)

#i hope you enjoy!#mac peralta #future baby talks #♥️❤️💗♥️❤️💗#this ended up being a little longer than anticipated #peraltiago fic #b99 fic #jake x amy fic #thank you Johanna for the title!!!

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sarehime · 5 years ago

Text

Might Comes from the Heart Chapter 12

Rael and Karias watched the scene before them. They were surprised because of the unexpected guest and were curiously waiting for what would happen next. Why had Eden stopped Frankenstein? Of course this was not the most important question right now. How had Eden stopped such a great power with ease? This was the most important question right now because if Eden decided to become their enemy, it would be difficult to stop her.

"Rael." Came a calm voice behind them, they both turned to where the sound had come from. "Hyung!" Rael cheered excitedly when he saw his big brother. "Why are you here?"

"We came to avenge the previous attack," Lazark said. It was hard to tell how he felt, because of the mask covering half his face, but still he looked calm. Well, typical Lazark, Karias thought. "Why are you here, then?"

"One of our companions was kidnapped by the werewolves. We came here to rescue him," Karias replied. Lazark nodded, then turned his gaze towards Eden. He frowned slightly. A strange but familiar energy was radiating from the girl. Weird. He was sure they hadn't met before, then why did he feel like they had?

"Who's the lady?" Lazark asked unable to hide his curiosity. He couldn't stop looking at her. Karias smirked at him sarcastically. "She is very delicate, isn't she? Since she caught, even your attention." Lazark rolled his eyes, "I'm wondering if she's our enemy or not. It's not that hard to understand, Karias." Karias raised his hands. "Come on! You can't deny that she is beautiful."

"Karias..." Lazark closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He didn't have time to deal with this nonsense. He wanted to learn if the lady was a potential danger and, if necessary, help Frankenstein. "Ah okay!" said Karias, finally giving up. "Her name is Eden. For now, I'm not sure which side she's on either, but she is a good girl. I don't think she's our enemy." Lazark sighed again at the lack of explanation. "That was not helpful at all," he said. Karias shrugged. "Let's just wait and see, my friend," he responded and returned to the scene from earlier.

"Are you going to say something?" said Frankenstein finally. "There is nothing to explain, Sir Frankenstein. I have to protect this werewolf. Please understand."

"What do you expect me understand? Are you making fun of me?" Frankenstein barked. Eden didn't respond and turned to the blond werewolf, "You are Dorant, right?" Dorant narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest. "Yes. Who are you? Did The Lord send you here?"

While Dorant asked this questions, Frankenstein rolled his eyes. She ignored him... again! "Eden answer my questions first," he said as he began walking towards them. Eden immediately raised her arm in front of Dorant. Frankenstein was annoyed at that. Apparently, she was serious about protecting Dorant and would not allow them to fight again. Since she just stopped the previous power easily, he couldn't force her aside either. Frankenstein stopped where he was. Eden wouldn't protect Dorant for no reason. There was someone who gave her this ridiculous order. Muzaka!

He was once again filled with rage. He had no idea how Eden was persuaded to leave Muzaka but looking at the young woman's face, it was obvious that his job was not easy at all. Damn werewolf! I will make you regret this when I next see you, Frankenstein thought in rage and he'd really do something about it. Even if he had to face Eden again... For some reason, Frankenstein hated the idea of fighting Eden. She had a power that made him excited, he wouldn't deny it, and Dark Spear didn't help at all. But, Eden's delicate and fragile appearance always made him stop. She looked like a glass that would break easily. He knew it wasn't true, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking that way, whenever he saw her.

"Eden, that werewolf you are protecting right now isn't innocent. Please don't make things harder for me, I don't want to hurt you." Eden raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't want to hurt her? Why? Ah, I don't like that child. You attract the attention of very unnecessary people, Eden. When Seraphiel whispered these words into her mind, she blinked innocently. What do you mean? Nothing. You don't have to worry about that but still be careful with this Frankenstein person, please. Seraphiel and his unnecessary jealousies... Eden smiled slightly. When Frankenstein saw her smile, he forgot how to breath for a moment. Why was she smiling? He turned his eyes away immediately and coughed. He suddenly felt a dryness in his throat. He focused on a random rock on the ground. He frowned, wondering why he felt like that? Because she looks delicious. Dark Spear hissed in his mind. Shut up! He could understand that Dark Spear was trying to take control, but he wouldn't allow it. Fortunately, he was stronger right now, and Dark Spear didn't have a strong grip, although they had surrounded him completely. Generally, his skin was blazing and he felt like he was going to drown. Yes, he had an obsessive and very possessive lover. He didn't want to think about that any longer and turned his attention back to Eden. He opened his mouth to say something but another voice interrupted him.

"Eden, thank you very much! I'll handle the rest." When she heard Muzaka's cheerful voice, Eden immediately bowed and moved over. Dorant looked at Muzaka in a rage. "You..." he hissed taking a step forward but then stopped suddenly. He took a glance at around him and then, dropped his fist. Damn, his situation wasn't good at all. He had wounds from his previous fight, and his teammates were dead. He was too weak to face Muzaka alone, plus he had Lunark and Kentas on his side as well. He turned to look at the girl who saved him, as she turned to look at him as well. It seemed as though she was going to attack him if he made one false move. He couldn't be in a worse situation than that. He grit his teeth. He couldn't run away, but he couldn't stay either if he wanted to live. "Dorant," Lord Muzaka called his name. Dorant gave his attention to him instantly, in this situation he had to focus on his enemy. Muzaka could see Dorant's hatred for him, in his eyes. His eyes were filled with sorrow and disappointment. He always thought of Dorant as his successor, but after seeing him like this. This was a really big disappointment. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Dorant asked. "Why did you come here? You're even collaborating with the humans and the nobles! You really are a traitor!" Muzaka ignored his words and asked a different question.

"Garda... Were you there when she was caught and taken to the lab?" Dorant widened his eyes in bewilderment. Garda. She was a very good friend of his as well as his comrade. She was the most powerful werewolf warrior after Lord Muzaka. However, these things were no longer important because she was a traitor like Muzaka. He shouldn't be ashamed of what he did. He frowned at his thoughts and looked Lord Muzaka in the eyes. "Yes, I was there," he said confidently. Muzaka narrowed his eyes. "You let me down."

Dorant's eyes darkened at Muzaka words. "How dare you say that to me?" he hissed. "Me, disappoint you? Do you know how big of a disappointment you are? You were useless even when you were our Lord!"

Eden clenched her fists at Dorant's words. He is right, Eden. Muzaka has never been a good Lord. Maybe, but he still thinks of his people. Enough to endanger himself. I don't think that matters for his people, he always left them alone. However, I should intervene before this goes any further. Let them solve their problems among themselves. This is their problem. Remember your promise. Eden sighed.

Seraphiel was right. She'd promised not to interfere in their problems but still she didn't like seeing Lord Muzaka so broken. Did Lord Muzaka really deserve these words? He had come all this way to save his people, even though he knew the danger. He was thinking of the happiness of his people even though he was no longer a Lord. He was aware of his mistakes, she could see it in his eyes. It's too late to understand all of this now. When Seraphiel said this, she turned her sad eyes towards Muzaka. Was it really too late?

When Kentas and Lunark finally intervened, Dorant left furiously and no one stopped him. Only Lord Muzaka watched him leave. When he'd gone into hiding before, he didn't expect to find a very angry Frankenstein in front of him. The crazy guy was still covered with that weird, dark matter and stared at him sharply. Muzaka grinned and started to speak. "Sorry," he said. "But I can't let you kill him."

"Shut up!" Frankenstein shouted. Lunark and Kentas hissed at him. How dare he...

"Oh, you look pretty angry," said the former Lord widening his grin.

"I'm going to go crazy!"

"What a pity!" Lord Muzaka responded trying to pushed him around. "You look stressed."

"Stand still." Frankenstein said calmly.

"What?" Muzaka asked in a daze but it was too late. Frankenstein picked up Dark Spear and swung it towards him. When Lord Muzaka saw a monsterlike weapon approaching him quickly, he shielded himself with his arms, when nothing happened, he lowered his arms with a feeling of deja vu, he saw Eden blocking Dark Spear with one hand.

Frankenstein looked at the young woman in front of him who was now holding his weapon. "Sir Frankenstein, please calm down. Otherwise, I don't know how long I will tolerate your disrespectful actions."

Eden said these words calmly but he could see her beautiful, violet coloured eyes blazing with anger. Frankenstein exhaled and then, his muscles relaxed. "Okay," he mumbled and pulled Dark Spear to himself, but, there was a problem.

Dark Spear refused to leave Eden. Frankenstein frowned with fear in his eyes. Dark Spear was stuck on Eden's hand. When Eden understood this, she tried to pull her hand away but she couldn't. Eden! Seraphiel's anxious voice filled her mind and she started to feel a little worried as well. "Eden!" said Frankenstein starting to worry.

"What's going on?" Lord Muzaka asked holding onto Eden's arm. He seemed afraid too. The sticky dark matter began to sprawl up Eden's arm. Eden clenched her teeth with the pain, as she tried not to scream.

Frankenstein was trying to separate Eden from Dark Spear and Lord Muzaka helped him. He wrapped one of his arms around Eden's waist and wrapped his free hand around Eden's arm. He'd have to stop the dark matter from spreading somehow.

"Let go of her!" Frankenstein shouted. His heart began to beat quickly when he saw dark matter spreading up her arm. He couldn't understand, he was shaking with a feeling that he couldn't make sense of. Eden cried out in pain unable to hold herself anymore when a rumble occupied her mind. Focus, Eden! The weapon is trying to conquer you, break your mind. Save us, we didn't deserve this! Eden widened her eyes when she heard a baby crying. The crying mixed with Seraphiel's restful voice, but it was still there. What is this? A human soul. Eden don't let them break you. Fight! But it's a baby... Just focus! I promise after destroying this weapon, I will free them. Now just focus! Eden was at a loss. A baby... She was sure she heard a baby crying! What was that weapon?! Crombel has same weapon, Eden. She closed her eyes in pain. But this time, it was a different pain. She didn't think about it, no! It was so merciless. He couldn't be... In a moment of anger, she held the weapon tightly.

Frankenstein continued trying to save Eden from his crazy lover. More precisely, he screamed, at Dark Spear to let her go in his mind. He didn't expect an attack from Dark Spear. He knew that his weapon desired Eden like crazy but he had not thought they would escape from his control, like this at first contact. He turned his eyes towards her face. The pale skin of the young woman flushed, because of the pain. The sweat drops on her forehead shone in the moonlight, her violet eyes darkened. Frankenstein could see that Eden was suffering tremendously. Suddenly, his eyes widened in astonishment as he saw a glimpse of something, however, before he could understand the image in front of him, he found himself flying backwards from a great force. He found his balance immediately, after flying along the ground for a few seconds, he stopped himself using Dark Spear. However, there was something wrong with Dark Spear, they were lighter. He looked at them, unable to believe his eyes. His mouth opened in surprise, he gawked at the edge of Dark Spear, it was completely torn. The weapon tried to regenerate themselves but it was obvious they were having difficulty, probably because of all the glittering light surrounding the area where they were shattered. What was that? This glittering energy that gave out a golden light. A familiar colour.

"You have a very dangerous power, Sir Frankenstein." When Frankenstein heard Eden's voice, he turned towards her immediately. The girl's arm was still surrounded by the power of Dark Spear, and the painful expression on her face had still not disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Frankenstein asked as he headed towards her but he stopped himself because of the way she glared at him. He wanted to ignore those glances and help her but, his instincts begged him to stay away. "What is it?" Frankenstein gulped but didn't answer, he didn't have an answer to give, Eden already knew the answer. "Very cruel..." He frowned at Eden's whisper. He felt a pang in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt that way. Yes, Dark Spear was a weapon that shouldn't have been created in the first place. After all these years, Frankenstein had to accept it, but still he couldn't convince himself. He'd created them after all, well technically he didn't, but the idea was his. If he knew what would happen, he would never have thought of creating such a thing. Never.

When Eden saw his face, she sighed. Her previous words hadn't been meant for him. Her master had the same power as well. She didn't know how Frankenstein gained his power, but she knew how her master did. He'd created the power for himself. That weapon hadn't chosen the souls. She'd heard the voice of a little baby! Her master knew and yet he... She glanced down at her wounded arm. Seraphiel, you should free them. I know. Close your eyes. She closed them as she felt Seraphiel's power thicken around the dark matter on her arm. Seraphiel's might was peaceful and bright but also painfully strong. Whenever she used his power, her mortal body couldn't bear it. Her bones were breaking, as her organs were crushed under the sheer weight of his power. She knew one day she would die while using his power. No matter how much Seraphiel told her, he would not allow it, but now it felt different. She felt Seraphiel's touch on her skin. Warm like life... he took the spirits one by one and freed them as though releasing butterflies that were caught in a web, she exhaled calmly. The source of her life, her friend, her companion. She knew he would never leave her alone. Never. Finally she opened her eyes and turned her head towards the sky. Bright golden coloured, lights drifted upwards like butterflies disappearing on the horizon, she felt a pain in her chest. Familiar but also foreign. She swallowed and took her eyes off of them, what was this painful feeling? She started panting when she felt the glances of others on her. She brought her hand to her mouth, as she felt a burning sensation in her lungs, but it was too late. She coughed and a dark liquid began to spread along her fingers...

***

Thanks @webcomictranslations for correction!

#noblesse #frankenstein #muzaka #dorant #lazark kertia

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alysmarylin · 5 years ago

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The war is over, my love is not

The second part of a fic about Crowley and Aziraphale during World War II, the first part is here (sorry, don't know how to insert proper links):

In this fic Aziraphale and Crowley meet for the first time since 1941 among ruins of Berlin. I'm a Russian myself and I entertained a thought that Crowley made friends with Soviet soldiers.

Aziraphale could smell the scent of Death in the air. He'd been on Earth since the very beginning of time, and he'd seen just as many deaths as anyone could. But it was different there, in ruins of Berlin, where bodies piled up among rocks and metal and ragged cloth. He knew, reasonably, that if the world was about to end, he'd be notified. It wasn't a horseman on a paled mare whose name was Death, not yet - it was nothing but works of Man. And yet, if felt like the end of the world. He was an angel, but even he started to fear that God wasn't there anymore.

Aziraphale came there by the end of April, out of his own will, wishing to help as many souls reach Heaven as he could. He filled those dying of despair and dread with hope and forgiveness, he eased the pain of children he couldn't save, he gave heartbroken mothers' souls respite, he healed festered wounds of those whose flesh was torn apart and rotting.

He wished he could've ended it all, long before it came to that, but one angel couldn't stop the madness of a Mankind, and God... God was silent.

"Animals don't kill each other with clever machines, angel, only humans do that" - he heard Crowley's words inside his head. Oh, to think he believed the guilliotine was the worst they could do... Crowley always turned out to be right. Aziraphale would get angry at him, but in the end, he'd always be right. Last time he saw Crowley, in 1941, they both thought they've already seen butchery and unmatched atrocities. That was before Auschwitz. He wondered, what Crowley would've said about Auschwitz. He wondered where Crowley was.

"Maybe I should've told him".

He often wondered if it was his love for Crowley that kept him going for past 4 years. He'd seen a lot of things that made it hard to still love humanity, or trust God with his ineffable plan. But his will to see Crowley once again - to take him for a long walk or to a dinner out, or just to look at him from afar, made it all worth surviving. Even what he'd seen in Poland. One could never forget those kinds of things...

His eyes filled with tears, despite his best efforts. If only tears of angel could heal the humanity, or just one single human soul.

He walked further from the ruins towards the street, when he hears a sudden noise that broke the silence. Aziraphale stopped.

That was a tank driving down the street, men speaking and laughing in some foreign language. Russians? Might be. It was a time for their victory, after all. It was their time to celebrate and laugh, before they come back to their ravished homes to cry once again.

Suddenly, the tank stopped and one man took off and walked down the street. Other men waved him goodbye as they moved forward.

The man seemed healthy enough to walk, and as far as Aziraphale could see, there was no blood on his face or his clothes. He was dressed in grey or dusty black, and his clothes seemed ragged and dirty, but so was everything else - there was nothing but dirt and blood and ashes around them. The man was walking towards him. His face was covered in dirt as well. And then, as sun came out from the clouds and lighted the entire street, the man's hair shone with flaming red tounges of fire underneath all the filth that covered it.

"A redhead", Aziraphale thought. "It's well past time I stopped shivering at every readheaded man I see". But he couldn't help it. He couldn't take that picture out of his head. And then he heard man's voice.

- You really don't change, angel. All that wreckage around and you're all in white.

He didn't want to believe his ears or eyes. He had already been mistaken for a couple of times before, and that bitter realisation had always been way more painful than no hope at all.

But it was unmistakenly Crowley, thinner than ever, in ragged clothes, white teeth shining like angel's wing, as he was grinning mischovously. His red hair was a huge mess, he was covered in dust, but he still managed to wear dark glasses in all this poorest state of affaies.

- Show me your eyes. - Aziraphale mumbled. - I want to know I'm not hallucinating.

- They shouldn't be surprised to see snaky-eyed lad after what they've done themselves, angel. - Crowley took his glasses off, but then put them back within a moment. - But I still prefer my privacy.

- Oh, Crowley! - Aziraphale grabbed him in his arms, unable to hold tears anymore. - I'm so glad to see you. I've seen such horror, I've.... I've been here since April, and I was in Poland before that, and I almost lost my faith...

- Come on, don't be like that. - Crowley gently pushed him away. - I can't blame you for your tears, though. There were things that could make Satan himself tremble. But it's not demonic work, of that I can assure you.

- I know. Works of Man. Our Lord's most beloved creation. - Aziraphale was well past the point when he blamed Hell for human atrocities.

- Well, I guess it's almost over now. - Crowley gently put his arm on angel's shoulder. - I was planning to go home soon enough.

- Home?

- London, not Hell. You wanna go with me?

Aziraphale felt bad for feeling so much joy amidst such destruction, and yet he couldn't help but smile.

- I do. I haven't been there in a while. The place I lived in was destroyed. My bookshop, though - I hope it's alright.

- I'll have to find myself a new place. Maybe you could give me some advice, I haven't been to England since I left in 1941. I left my Bentley in Paris, in some reliable hands. Well, I hope they're reliable. I have to believe car's fine, or else I won't forgive myself.

- I bet there's not a scratch on it. - Aziraphale smiled. He told himself he'd use all his powers if something happened to Crowley's car. - We can drive home together, if you wish.

- I don't think it's safe, angel. We'd better meet in London. At least there IS London to meet in. - Crowley smiled.

They walked past ruins, as sun was setting down.

- Those soldiers, - Aziraphale asked - That dropped you off... You spoke their language? You speak Russian?

- Why act all surprised? - Crowley sounded a bit offended. - I speak a number of languages, I've been there for a while, you know. Not that I'm fluent or anything, but I made it clear I'm not a German, for a start.

- Have you been there? On Eastern front? - One thing Aziraphale knew of Eastern front, is that young boys came back all white-haired from there, if they were lucky, or unlucky enough to survive it.

- For a while. I've been to a number of places. Not that I want to recall it now, when all this is over.

They reached the crossroads, and Crowley stopped.

- You're here to help people find their final peace, aren't you? - Crowley asked.

- I am. And you? I wonder if Hell still has any work to do, given the...

- I'll just make sure right people will make it to Hell. - Crowley smirked. - That's about all I can do now.

- I hope I'll be back in London by September. If my bookshop is still there, I'll be waiting for you to come. If not...

- I'll find you anyway, mr. Fell. Such a neat surname you made yourself - Fell. But you didn't fall, it's me who fell, no? - Crowley asked teasingly.

- I was never as good as you at making up names, Anthony J. - Aziraphale replied - If you're so good at searching for people, then I'll see you soon.

- Bye, angel. See you.

Crowley turned around and started walking down the street, his tall figure looking completely black in setting sun. Before Aziraphale could make himself start walking away, Crowley suddenly turned around and shouted:

- I told you we'd win!

, before disappearing completely.

He was right, Aziraphale thought. The nightmare of war was almost over. He was daydreaming of them, meeting once again in London, when he saw a tank driving down the street in his direction.

"It way be foolish of me, but..."

He took a bunch of flowers from inside his jacket - a miracle too minor to be noted - and threw it to the soldiers sitting on the tank. He didn't understand what they said - unlike Crowley, he didn't know a word in Russian - but they smiled at him, and Aziraphale laughed himself, for the first time in 6 years.

#good omens fic #fic #ineffable husbands 1941 #the ineffable plan #ineffable husbands #crowley loves aziraphale #crowley aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley x aziraphale #fanfiction #fanfic #crowley x arizaphale #love #pining #angst

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visionmarred-archive · 6 years ago

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43, "You're lucky you're cute" for Sky/Atton!!

thank you, Alexandra!! 😀 this is later than my fics usually are rip I’m sorry. Also u may recall a discussion we had a while ago about an idea I had… here it is. :’)

43. “You’re lucky you’re cute”

—

After an insane several months filled with Sith Lords, being trained in the Force powers he had been denying he had, getting dragged into the middle of a handful of wars, and finding himself working with the weirdest kriffing group of people the galaxy had to offer, Atton privately felt that there was something almost sweet in simplicity about how he found himself getting shaken up for pazaak credits again.

He’d love to say this wasn’t his fault if Sky asked, but really, he doubted that he could. At the very least, he had an excuse of how this wasn’t a recent game if she asked. The last time he had been playing pazaak on Nar Shaddaa was about two, maybe three standard weeks ago, and he had miraculously avoided trouble that day.

The crew of the Ebon Hawk found themselves on the planet and in a cantina once more for the sake of relaxing, but this time, no errands were ran first. After finally pulling herself from that week-long depressive stupor that had persisted after Kreia’s death on Malachor V, the Exile had slowly but surely started to act a bit more like her old self.

Considering how she admitted to him that her brand of cheerfulness tended to be more on the “smile to hide your pain” side, Atton privately wondered whether or not that was a good thing.

Sky had gathered them all into the main room of the Hawk, thanking them all earnestly for their hard work and for helping her on this journey. A lot of “I couldn’t have done it without you”’s and “You all mean the galaxy to me, and I’m so grateful for your help”’s. As a thank you, she decided to treat them all to a night out of their choosing on Nar Shaddaa. The only hiccup so far had been Atton and Mira arguing for a solid fifteen minutes on what the best cantina on Nar Shaddaa was, an argument that ended only when Bao-Dur had pulled up the holonet to search both and realized that they were, in fact, the same kriffing cantina, just described differently by both parties.

Atton ran into hiccup number two when he had left a conversation with Terran and Bao to smoke a cigarra in the corner. Instead of that satisfying smoke to top off his good mood, he found himself cornered by two Gamorreans who didn’t look that happy. Not that Gamorreans ever look particularly happy.

“You! Ugly human man!” The first one snorted at Atton, not-so-subtly drawing his attention to both himself (herself?) and the axe that it had on its back. “You owe the boss credits, and you’re gonna pay up now!”

“Yeah! One thousand credits, right now, or things are aboutta get a lot more fun in here!” The second one laughed.

Blinking rapidly and lowering the unlit cigarra from his mouth, Atton briefly ran through the list of everybody on Nar Shaddaa that he still owed credits to. With a private groan, he realized it was likely the Aqualish that he had taken on the Peragus job for; Atton had been out of contact for months, but he doubted that the gangster would forget him or think him dead that easily. It would make him feel warm and fuzzy if it didn’t mean that Roba sent goons after him whenever he got word that he was in the area.

“Look, guys,” Atton replied, conjuring the most people-pleasing smile he could muster. “If you’re here for Roba, then - ”

“Roba? Who Roba?” The first Gamorrean interrupted. “We here for Atton! Atton Rand!”

Clearly, their boss had sent the best and brightest.

Before Atton could reply, Sky crept into his field of vision, stepping around to tap the second Gamorrean on the shoulder. “Excuse me?”

The Gamorrean turned to look down at her, the same angry expression on its face. “Human girl, what is it?”

“We’re in the middle of something here!”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Sky said politely, stepping backwards and standing by Atton. She smiled as sweetly as ever, and the scoundrel didn’t know whether he was grateful, embarrassed, or annoyed that she was stepping in.

“Sargas, I can handle this myself,” He whispered to her, settling on the first two emotions.

“I know,” she whispered back before turning her attention back towards the thugs. “Gentlemen, I think there’s a misunderstanding here. Did you say you’re looking for Atton Rand?”

“Yeah, and this is him!” The second Gamorrean replied. “Boss gave us a picture, he looks just like him!”

At that, Sky snapped her fingers. “Oh! I’m sorry, I think there’s been some confusion here, but this isn’t the right man!” Reaching up to place her hand on his shoulders, Atton wondered where the krif she was going with this when she spoke again.

“You see, this is Atton’s twin brother, Randy.”

What.

Turning his head to look at her incredulously, Sky didn’t even break her gaze away from the Gamorreans.

“Your name… Randy Rand?” The first Gamorrean snorted, looking back towards Atton.

Smiling as much as he could manage, Atton gritted out, “Yeah, that’s me. Randy Rand.” Shooting a quick glance at Sky, he added, “Whoever named me must have hated me.”

The corner of Sky’s lips curled upwards into the briefest of grins before plastering back into the same mask as before.

“We’re so sorry for the misunderstanding, gentlemen. But Randy, you’ll let Atton know right away, right?” She said, looking up at him pointedly.

Look at her! She’s enjoying this. Atton thought irritably before replying. “Yeah. I’ll… get in touch with Atton soon as I can.”

The first Gamorrean opened its mouth to speak, but Sky began digging around in her satchel before it could. “Here. Why not relax and enjoy a drink? We’re sorry again for the misunderstanding.” She said, flashing a big smile as she held out a handful of credits.

The Gamorreans only took a brief glance at each other before the second one took the handful from Sky’s hand, both lumbering off to the bar.

Once they were out of earshot, Atton whirled around to face her. “Randy?!”

Sky burst into laughter, unable to hold it in much longer.

“Randy Rand?!”

“It - it was - ” She stopped, laughing for a solid twenty seconds before she had to take a breath. “Heh, it was… the best, most nonviolent solution I could think of!”

“Ohhhhh, don’t even give me that!” Atton said as she started laughing again. “You’re the schmoozing charmer, and you expect me to believe that Randy Rand was the best thing you could come up with? Really?”

Wiping away a tear from her eyes, Sky still snickered as she replied. “I thought of Randy Rand a while ago on Dxun and I’ve been waiting for the right moment to use it.” Eyes twinkling and grinning wide, she added, “They just gave me the best opportunity I’ve seen so far.”

Well. It was kind of funny.

Okay, objectively speaking it was pretty kriffing funny. Not that he was gonna let her know that.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, because Sargas? You don’t have a future as a comedienne, let me tell you.” Atton crossed his arms, though found he was unable to hold back a smile anymore.

“Aww. There goes that dream.” She laughed, wiping away another tear as she started walking back to the table where the others were sitting at. “I’m curious, though - who’s Roba?”

“How should I know?” He replied in a dry voice. “He’s after Atton Rand, remember? I’m his twin brother. Randy Rand.”

Sky laughed again, and this time, Atton couldn’t help but laugh with her.

#sierra's asks #kotor stuff #lotrificationer #OTP: Thought You Were a Dream #OC: Skysargas #atton rand #putting this in the main tag bc i feel bold enough sdguushdg #sierra writes #are my readmores gone again? guh #long post #catch the mild community reference

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the-land-of-eternal-winter-novel · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 29 – The Sons and Fathers

Grigoriy was sitting on the throne, feeling a combination of loneliness, hopelessness and tiredness he wasn't able to describe in any way other than boredom. He was looking at the paintings all over the walls, seeing the past rulers and their families. On days such as these, he almost felt like turning himself in to the revolutionaries, but he remembered his family's legacy, which he feared would be ruined. The guards notified him multiple times before he heard them, learning he was having visitors.

Outside, Anatoliy and Akim had just arrived, debating how to approach coming inside and explaining themselves. It was decided that Akim should go first, Anatoliy trailing slightly behind, to watch his uncle's reaction. Grigoriy ordered the guards to open the doors, until Akim was able to make it to the throne room. He walked slowly into the large room, trying to avoid startling him. Grigoriy, still sitting, wanted to ask him who he was, but he couldn't be bothered to speak. However, the closer the young man came, the more familiar he looked to him. Grigoriy already guessed who he was, but didn't allow himself to believe it. However, his legs got the better of him, and he found himself walking towards his son.

"Akim?... This can't be real, I'm just dreaming..." he said, eyes wide, unable to smile yet, and still trembling.

"You're not; I came here, and I'm here to stay! I even brought someone else with me, look!"

Anatoliy took this as a sign that he should come, and he walked up to them, trying to greet his uncle and explain himself. Grigoriy, however, fainted, but the young men were able to catch him. They sprinkled him with cold water, and he woke up within minutes.

"No, this isn't real... Be gone, ghostly visions!... Oh, I'd rather die than become mad!..."

"You're not mad, neither are you dreaming." Akim tried to calm him down, also helping him back on his feet. "It's a long story, where can we even start...?"

"Tolya, but you killed yourself!" Grigoriy turned to his nephew, still in great shock.

"I may have tried to, but I survived!"

Grigoriy tightly squeezed his arm, as if expecting his fingers to pass through it.

"Radek found me in the snow and took me to the hospital. That's also where I met Akim."

"I tried to come home, but I got shipwrecked and ended up in that hospital. Isn't that quite a coincidence?"

"...and how come you decided to come back? After all these years, I thought you hated me!"

"I lost everything I had there, and I realised I've been running from my family, and from God, for way too long. I wanted to do the right thing, so I came to see you."

"Akim, I... the only thing I... seeing you one last time was the only thing I wanted from life anymore! I've been praying for this, but I didn't really believe... nor would I have believed to meet Tolya again... I read your letters; I never knew you suffered like this!"

Grigoriy grabbed both of them in his arms, bursting into tears, and the two inevitably followed suit. He held onto them as tightly as he was able to, almost fearing to let go.

"My dear boys... I thought I'd lost you forever!... Kimochka, my dear son!... I missed you everyday!..." he said, crying, and he kissed his forehead. "Tolyuchka, my dear nephew!... You were like a son to me!..." he also kissed his forehead, still crying. "Thank you so much, Lord!..." he looked upwards.

Later during that day, they sat down to eat, being able to explain everything that had happened in the meantime. Akim shared almost his entire life story, Anatoliy talked about the time in the hospital with Radek and Akim, and Grigoriy listened to it all with great interest.

"I can't believe you were even president once! That can't be allowed, can it?"

"It isn't, and I got impeached once they found out my real identity. My family and I were kicked out of the country, and my wife left me, maybe for good."

Grigoriy got a bitter taste in his mouth hearing this, but he was trying to give encouragement appropriate for the context.

"Well... I hope you manage to reconcile, though..."

"Me too... But until then, I got to meet you again!"

"...I remember when you were still a child..." he couldn't help but smile. "You've changed so much, I almost didn't recognise you."

"I could say the same about you."

"I've spent all these miserable years working, hoping it would make me feel achieved. I'm sorry for having been so cold to you when you were a child. I took you for granted."

"I was so angry at you when I was a teenager, then I wanted to forget both you and mom, then I started missing you. And it wasn't solely your fault. I could've come many years ago, but I was so entrenched in this fake identity I feared I would blow my cover if I so much as sent you a letter."

"Maybe we could make it up for these years."

"Of course, we have plenty of time for that! I'm going to stay here for a long time, if not permanently." Akim concluded, making his father smile.

"...and, Tolya, I'm sorry for having made you feel much more guilty than necessary. It's all my fault you got into this mess..." continued the old man, turning to Anatoliy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Dr. Arseniev did tell me that your dad was poisoned, but he didn't tell me who did it. I immediately jumped at the conclusion that it was King Vaidas, as he was my political rival at the time, and I saw fit to provoke the revolutionaries, thinking we'd get to conquer them altogether. I shouldn't have made you do the work for me."

"At the time, I would've been ready to kill anybody whom I thought guilty... But you knew Vaidas was innocent, didn't you?"

"Yes, I'm so sorry for lying to you, and to everybody else."

Anatoliy was conflicted, because, knowing himself, he probably would have still committed the vendetta, but it was also true that his uncle persuaded him to go through with the assassination. He did ultimately forgive him. Grigoriy was the happiest he'd ever been, together with his son and his nephew, but as he learned of Akim's life, the resemblance pained him, and he began to remember all of his guilt. However, he didn't let that bother him in that moment.

Radek was still with his mother, Kęstas and Elena, but he spent the majority of his time with his children, instead, also advising his brother to steer clear of petty arguments with their mother. The three children clung tightly to Radek, as they felt unsafe where they were. All of them were deeply bothered by having been separated from their parents, even though not both at once, and Petya was the most vocal about his concerns.

"Even grandma betrayed us!"

"Are you saying that because you heard me yesterday?"

"No, I knew the word long before that! And it's true! Everyone in our family tried to harm us, from uncle Tolya to uncle Grisha to grandma."

The younger two started crying upon hearing their brother's words.

"What happened? There, there." he tried to comfort them.

"I miss grandpa!"

"And the other grandpa!"

"I hate uncle Tolya!" said Petya.

The others didn't verbalise it that way, but they remembered how they distrusted even Ingrid.

"Don't say that!"

"Why?"

"We must forgive those who do us wrong."

"I don't want to!" he shouted, then started crying as well.

Radek was upset to see such reactions in his children, but he let them calm down, figuring out they were too confused about their emotions to act otherwise.

"I know it's very hard to forgive, but eventually, you must."

"I'll wait until he comes and says sorry!" he crossed his arms.

"He did apologise to me."

"And did you forgive him?"

"Yes, but not quite right away. I didn't say you had to do it right now, either."

Petya was confused as to how his father was able to tolerate somebody established as an enemy, but, after he felt less angry, he resolved that his father knew what he was doing.

"Daddy, what is going to happen to us now?" asked Katya.

"I don't know. Just stay close, alright?"

"We will..."

Radek was thinking about all of the possible scenarios and how he was to act in every case, especially so that he could protect the children. He didn't believe his mother, who seemed sure the revolutionaries wouldn't turn on her, so he started to make a defense plan for when they inevitably struck. When night came, he stayed with his children until they fell asleep.

"Daddy, what was your own dad like?" asked Volodya

"He was an officer in the military, and he fought in a war."

"I didn't know grandpa Vaidas did that."

"No, Vaidas was my step-father, meaning your grandma got married to him after my dad died in said war."

The children suddenly became very disturbed at the thought of a father dying, inevitably thinking about their own. Instead of urging him to take care of himself or even telling him not go take part in any war, they hugged him again, saying how much they loved him.

"I love you, too, my dear children. I'll be here for you for as long as I can."

Radek remembered that his own father also promised him he would always protect him, then he suddenly went missing, want was later found dead. Kissing his children goodnight, Radek now prayed only in thought that he wouldn't die so that children wouldn't go through the same hardships as him.

#the land of eternal winter #my novel #draft 1 #chapter 29

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