#and now lady FINALLY can refrain from smacking the others if they sit near her. and because it’s cold out

[pussymasterdooku]

just this week the cats have finally learned to snuggle but the only place all three of them like and can collectively fit on is this couch and specifically this couch with the blanket eva made from scrap yarn (that she calls her “crazy caron blanket”) and so every picture i get they are SO cute and the blanket is just. like this

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Charlotte’s birthday is right behind the corner, and it’s time to bake the cake with your friend Gwil. Or is it?

Author’s Note: So. Much. Angst. is coming your way. Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

With the help of your crutches, you skip your way to the kitchen and plop down on a pulled-out chair that Gwilym has prepared for you. Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, you let the heated porcelain warm you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble and take a sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gwil smiles and sits opposite you, placing a plate of croissants between you.

“Damn, that’s great coffee!” you cannot refrain from praising, wondering whether it has always tasted this good or whether your taste buds have changed for some mysterious reasons.

“Well, it’s from Hazel’s,” Gwil explains and grins at your face when the understanding finally hits you. “Yeah, you’d run out and I figured I might as well have gone get us something for the breakfast. We deserve something delicious, don’t we?” he offers and cocks his eyebrows.

“True,” you agree and raise your mug in a toast.

“I wish to propose something,” Gwil suddenly says and you notice the shift in his tone. You take a bite of one of the sugar-dusted croissants and answer with your mouth full.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

“If you’ve got another nightmare, you won’t stay here in your bed, alone, but you’ll come over to my place. No, don’t argue –” he lifts his hand when you open your mouth to protest, a small cloud of sugar landing on the table. “You really scared the shit out of me last night and I hated seeing you so distraught. You’ve got my keys and my permission to come over, even in the middle of the night.” His look turns thoughtful for a moment. “Just maybe wake me up gently. But don’t sneak up on me.” He chuckles, but you spot his fiddling hands.

You swallow down a couple of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. You have no idea how you could have ever deserved this man in your life. “Thank you,” you say earnestly, and with some difficulties, place your mug to your lips only to hide your face.

“You’re getting better with the crutches.”

Turning around, you let your eyes skim the two crutches leaning against the kitchen wall, grateful for the change of topic.

“Yeah, the wrist’s getting better so I can finally use them properly. I think I’ll give a call to Peter soon to tell him I’m returning to work.”

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks of rest, though.” Gwilym’s forehead creases with uncertainty.

“I know, but my job can be hardly defined as demanding and I’m sure Peter will more than welcome accommodating my needs, like the possibility to prop up my ankle on a stool, if that means he doesn’t need to cover for me any longer and can return to his working from home.” Gwil’s expression has not changed. “Look, I know it may seem sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. And now that I can actually walk with some ease, there’s nothing stopping me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

It takes a few moments of pondering over it but eventually, a defeated sigh leaves Gwilym’s lips and you are flooded with relief. For some reason, you have really wanted him to support you in your decision.

“I do,” he says softly, and you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates.

It has not yet been a month since you sat at this same table with Gwil for the first time. He came knocking on your door at a God-awful hour, drunk as a lord. You let him crash on your couch and made breakfast for him the next day. You smile fondly at the memory. Who could have known that such a sight would soon turn into a daily occurrence.

You watch Gwil over the rim of your cup. His kind eyes and lovely smile. And your heart skips a beat at the realisation that Gwil has quickly become one of your closest friends.

The companionable silence that you have fallen into, disturbed only by cups being placed on the table and lips smacking at the delicious pastries, feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Once you finish the breakfast, Gwil gets on his feet to rinse the plates and cups. With his back turned to you and with no intention looking into your eyes, he starts talking again.

“I’ve got another audition today,” he begins tentatively.

“Oh?” you urge him to continue, finding the nervousness creeping to the edge of your mind rather troubling. Gwilym’s voice is weak and you become painfully aware of how much he averts your questioning gaze.

“Yeah, I… well, it would be better if I were offered a job rather sooner than later. Might as well not be able to pay for the new flat in a couple of months.”

It’s as if someone poured a bucket of freezing-cold water over you. The sense of safety evaporating so quickly that no trace of the sensation remains, only the chill that makes the hair on your arms stand up and dread running down your spine. Now you understand why he has waited the whole morning to tell you and took the advantage of doing the dishes so that he didn’t have to face you.

He cannot just vanish from your life. He just can’t. Not now. Please.

Please, not now.

Everything you wish to say dies in your throat and you’re not sure whether the feelings of things unspoken that are forcing their way to the surface are something you want to deal with right now.

You stand up and gingerly limp your way to his figure standing at the sink, his hands in tight grips around the edge of the counter. Closing the distance between him and you, you press yourself against his back and snake your arms around his middle. You pour all your feelings into the embrace and release a relieved sigh when his damp hands find yours and he leans into you. Nuzzling your cheek against the dip between his shoulder blades, you’re filled with gratefulness he cannot see your face contorted in pain at the thought of him leaving.

You have no idea how long you stand like that in your tiny kitchen, the only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want him to leave.

~

With your return to work, you rarely get a chance to hang out with your lovely neighbour as much as you did when you were on sick leave. Even though your shifts are the same as they had always been, everything takes you at least twice as long, since your achy ankle protests every now and then, and even your daily routines such as putting your clothes on or taking a shower turn into a time-consuming task. Gwil, on the other hand, stays barely at home. He frequents more and more auditions, and you consider it a miracle if you run into each other at least in your building. Sometimes you make dinner together, but you’re both so exhausted from your days, you say goodnight early in the night and crash into your respective beds.

You cannot stop returning to the conversation you had in your kitchen and the mere thought of him not living so close makes your throat tighten. If it’s already hard to find opportunities to spend some time together, there is no way you would see each other enough if he lived elsewhere.

Your hands are shaking now, and you almost do not register a customer talking to you.

“You seem a bit distracted today, my dear,” Mr Dean’s voice reaches your ears as the customer says her goodbye and you turn to your friend. He has not taken his eyes from the book he is currently reading. “Actually, come to think of it,” he adds after a moment, “you’ve seemed distracted since the moment you got back to work.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh eventually and quickly plant a smile on your face as an elderly couple comes to your register. You ring them up and wrap their books into very nice and delicate paper, a gift for their grandchildren. They give you a grateful smile and with a ring of the bell hanging above the door, they leave the bookshop.

Gently closing the book and putting it back on its shelf, Mr Dean shuffles to your side and takes a seat on a vacant chair on which you occasionally rest your foot.

“My dear, is everything alright?” he asks, trepidation seeping into every syllable, and he takes your hand in his.

“I’m just worried about my friend. He’s been hunting for a job for quite some time now but to no avail.” Mr Dean’s dry fingers pet the back of your hand. “And the worst thing, I’m pathetic and selfish and afraid I might lose his friendship.”

“How so?”

“There’s a possibility he might let go of his flat. He’s my neighbour, you see,” you add hastily when you notice his baffled face.

“But dear, that’s not the end of the world!” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure he would remain your friend even if he lived at the other end of London. The two of us don’t live in the same building and we’re still friends, aren’t we?” He tilts his head to catch your gaze and gives you a wide smile when you can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your lips.

You truly missed his kind eyes and warm words he always has to offer.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” you confirm and squeeze his hands in emphasis.

“Good.” He returns the gesture and with softness in his eyes lets go of you, standing up to browse the aisles.

“I need to close a few minutes earlier today,” you tell him when the end of your shift nears. “We’re having a birthday party for my friend Charlotte tomorrow and I need to bake the cake.”

“I didn’t know you could bake,” Mr Dean replies, and you can’t miss the look of incredulity at your culinary skills in his face.

“That’s very low, Mr Dean, even from you,” you protest but immediately make a grimace. “But you’re right, I’m not gonna bake the cake myself, my neighbour has offered his assistance.”

“Good, you need supervision,” he teases.

“Oh, you didn’t! You’re going to take that back, Mr Dean, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“Whom, your boss?”

“No, your son.” A flash of winning grin crosses your face when momentarily Mr Dean stops in his tracks. “Or that lovely lady you go with for walks in Hyde Park.”

“Penelope has got better things to do.”

“Oooh, Penelope! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her name. And you’re already in the first-names stage, nice!”

“Oh, stop, you.” He walks over the register and brushes a kiss on your cheek. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes, Mr Dean, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, my dear.”

~

Where is he?

You check the time for an umpteenth time and swear profusely under your breath. Grabbing your phone, you give him another call, but the line is silent. Has he turned off his phone or has something happened? He did warn you that the audition might take a bit longer, but it is two hours after the time he claimed he would have been back by. But there is no sight of him. (Yes, you also keep opening and closing your windows to give a quick inspection to your street illuminated by lamp posts.) And you cannot even reach him on his phone.

You start biting your nails, an old habit from a kindergarten that you hated and that your mother pointed out every time she got the chance.

When your knee starts buckling too, you jump from your seat and dial a different number.

Two rings and the voice on the other end greets you gleefully.

“Hi, Ben, how are you? Look, I wouldn’t call you this late but Gwil hasn’t returned from his audition yet and I’m a bit worried.” ‘A bit’ is an understatement but Ben is not stupid and gathers the true meaning behind your words.

“It ended some time ago. I think I saw him chatting with the pretty assistant of the casting director when I was leaving. He’d told me not to wait for him. You guys had some plans?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bake a cake for my friend’s birthday. I…” You are not certain how to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea where he could be right now?” you ask eventually and hate how weak your voice sounds.

“No idea, sorry. It’s so weird, Y/N, that doesn’t sound like him at all. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe they let him give it another try. He was devastated when his audition ended, so it’s possible they gave him one more shot. People underestimate assistants but they can have huge power over their bosses if they know how to play the game. And she seemed quite enchanted by our dear Welsh friend, so who knows…”

You hum in agreement but then Ben’s words finally hit you. You are about to answer but you need to swallow down the lump in your throat that has formed in there in the past few seconds.

Honestly, you can say it is an option that has not crossed your mind.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond. “Yeah, that’s possible. Well, thanks, Ben, and sorry for calling you this late again.”

“No problem, lovely,” he says with a cheerful edge to his voice, a tone that does not match your mood at all. After exchanging a couple of pleasantries, to which you pay very little attention, you hang up.

You stay motionless for a moment, the grip around your phone tightening. You feel your lip starting to tremble but before your emotions can cloud your better judgement, you set your jaw and open a laptop. A quick search and you find a recipe that seems similar to that which Gwil has had in mind for Charlotte’s birthday cake.

You keep checking the recipe just to occupy your mind some more even though you have memorised it by now as you mix the ingredients and pour the substance into the cake pan. But Ben’s words are constantly echoing in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can’t silence them.

You close the oven with too much force, and the slam of the small door makes you jump.

So what? He’s got the right to chat with anyone he wishes to. And he doesn’t owe you anything even though he promised he would be here for you. Maybe he just forgot. He can do whatever he wants, he’s an adult and anyway, you’re neither his mum nor his gi–

Groaning, you lean against the kitchen counter and your thoughts come back to the day you spent in the hospital, the day he mentioned his agent had suggested he should bow and scrape before casting directors if he wanted to get a role. And even though it was clear Gwil was against that idea, he might have changed his mind.

Fuck, why does the image of him leaning over a beautiful casting director assistant in an attempt to charm the pants off her infuriate you so much?

And what if you’re jumping to conclusions? Who knows what Ben saw, and maybe the vivid images in your mind are truly just what they are – figments of your imagination.

But that would mean something awful might have happened to him and just the mere thought makes you physically sick.

Come to think, there’s something in the air that truly causes your stomach to turn.

Fuck, the cake!

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” You frantically swing the oven door open and start coughing as the smell of burnt sponge reaches your nose.

Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks but you swallow them down, toss the ruined cake into the bin, take a deep breath, and start all over again. This time you don’t forget to set the timer and while the sponge is baking, you also cut out star-like shapes from mangoes, kiwis and pineapple to decorate the cake with early in the morning.

This wouldn’t have happened if Gwilym was here.

Your mind keeps returning to your neighbour’s face and with thoughts swirling relentlessly in your mind, you finish the baking, get a couple more ingredients ready for tomorrow, wrap gifts, and change to bed.

You’re dead tired, but sleep is avoiding you. Wishing your brain had an on/off button, you toss and turn, your ears trained to every creak and rustling that the old house constantly makes. But there is no sound of keys rattling in the lock, and eventually you drift off to restless sleep.

~

Oh, no.

You almost can’t recognise your face in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under the eyes, messy hair and slightly hollowed cheeks, your reflection is anything like you. Not that you’re a sight for sore eyes in the wee hours of the morning, but you’ve never looked this bad.

That’s what a few nightmares and an occasional staring at the ceiling can do to you.

You run yourself a bath to allow yourself at least a moment of relaxation before Jane picks you up, and with some make-up, you manage to cover the traces of the sleepless night. She gives you a call to tell you she’s waiting on the parking lot when you’re adding the last touches to the cake. It’s a decently looking dessert. It would not probably make the cover of Good Food magazine, but it’s the effort that counts.

You’re confident enough to leave the crutches resting against the hall wall. Swinging a purse on your shoulder and carefully lifting the box with the cake, you lock the door and start descending the stairs with slow and measured steps.

When you make a turn on the last landing before the foyer, a loud bang of the entry door catches you off guard and your head flies up to find the source of the noise.

At first, a wave of relief washes over you. Gwil is alive. He’s seemingly unhurt, only his eyes are bloodshot and when he spots you at the top of the staircase, a flash of guilt strikes his features. And then you remember that awful pang of jealousy you felt yesterday, how worried and angry you were, how much stress and pain it caused you that he hadn’t shown up as he had promised, and your expression hardens.

You make sure your grip on the box with the cake is firm and continue your way downstairs.  

“Great, you’re alive,” you cannot deny yourself the dry remark that has been burning your tongue with every step you’ve taken.

“Y/N, I’m–”

“Save your apology for later, I’m kind of in the rush here,” you cut him off mid-sentence. Walking past him, you make sure your eyes are cold and distant as you give him a scornful look, hopefully meaningful enough that the slightly awkward limp does not undermine it.

“Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You turn to face him and lift your hand to silence him, the cake box precariously swaying on the other one. You hear how dangerously close your voice is to breaking. “Just don’t.”

And with that, you turn on your heel once more and exit the building, Jane’s questioning gaze follows your steps as you open her car, place the cake and gifts inside and take the front passenger’s seat without uttering a single word.

“In a bad mood, are we?” she mocks, and you’re quick to realise you’ve directed your anger at the wrong person.

“Sorry,” you say softly and take a deep breath to shake away the cloud that has settled on your shoulders. There are plenty of dark grey clouds gathering on the sky, no need to add your own. “I’m being a bitch. I just…” You’re looking for words but when you try to formulate your thoughts and feelings, it crosses your mind that you truly might be overreacting here. “I just didn’t sleep much. This,” you point to the white box on the back seat, “is cake number two. I burnt the first one last night.”

“Ah, I see,” Jane answers, although she remains reluctant to believe it’s the whole truth. But she knows when not to stir up a hornet’s nest and decides not to further comment on it as she shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb.

“Well,” she continues after a few minutes of a silent ride, “there’s gonna be plenty of booze so you can easily drown whatever’s troubling you in a tumbler or two. Or ten.”

Chuckling, you flash her a smile. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

~

Okay, so let’s sum up the facts. You really like Gwil, he’s been an amazing friend so far. Well, until he decided to stand you up. Whether for someone else or whether because of another pressing matter is irrelevant. But he doesn’t owe you anything.

And yet, he promised.

Urgh, your pondering is turning out to be unbearable. Maybe another glass of sangria will help.

The truth is, you suddenly come to the realisation, that you allowed him to get so much closer to you than you’ve allowed to anyone else. You let him spend his days and (occasionally) nights in your home and you were relishing that friendship and companionship with every fibre of your being. Every joke that you’ve shared, every moment of honesty and sincere confessions, every innocent touch or brush of his fingers. Hmmm, the skin on his hands is so soft…

You blink a couple of times.

But it should have been clear that sooner or later, he would let you down. And the problem is it’s not even his fault. At least, not entirely. When you open your heart this readily, it is doomed to get either broken, crushed or stomped at and there’s nothing left for you to do but to pick up the pieces again and let it heal in its due time.

Wait, your heart? Who’s talking about your heart? All you feel is just the disappointment of a broken promise, that’s all. That’s all, right?

Right?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You make a quick turn, staggering, which is in all honesty due to the countless number of drinks rather than your injured but almost healed ankle, but nobody needs to know.

“You’re having fun?” Charlotte asks, a tad of concern in her eyes.

“Totally!” You flash her a wide smile and, as an emphasis, down the glass in your hand.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. This,” she turns around to bring into your periphery a nicely dressed man, “is Daniel.”

“Hi,” you say in a weak voice, immediately sobering out.

“Hi, Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you answer politely, having only a distinct and vague memory of Charlotte mentioning a colleague of hers, whose name probably truly was Daniel.

“I’ve been wondering whether you would like to go grab a coffee or dinner with me sometimes,” he tries tentatively, and a sheepish smile is playing on his lips. Oh, right. He’s the guy she wanted to set you up with. For some inexplicable reason, Gwil’s face flashes in front of your mind’s eyes and a rush of heat reaches your cheeks.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut and will the picture of the piercing blue eyes, prominent nose, and the most beautiful smile away.

When your eyelids lift again, there is no trace of your inner turmoil and you look like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

“That sounds amazing!”  

~

Taglist: @lv7867, @spacedustmazzello, @queenwouldyourathers, @im-an-adult-ish, @fairestkillerqueenofall, @supernaturalee, @queenlover05, @geek-and-proud, @chlobo6, @mrsmazzello, @timeandpixiedust, @kerouacsroad, @gwilsmainhoe​

[caramell0w]

Soulsearcher

Parings: Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki is finally able to show his true self to you

A/N: This was submitted to me by my friend Lis and I am happy to host it. This is the first time she has written a fanfic; but she did a fantastic job on this! Please support her and leave lots of love!

Word Count: 2.3k

Here is the link to her: Masterlist

10 years ago:

“Come on Y/N, once more, show me your fondest memory,” Queen Frigga demanded.

You tried to focus but your brain was fried after hours of training. Your H/C lay in two boxer braids on your shoulders, held together with intertwining green ribbons. Your brow furrowed and you inhaled sharply as you felt the well known power stir. It didn’t shoot out as it usually did; the projection still appeared though.

It was the vaguest overlay of snow on Asgard; the crunching of snow beneath boots could be heard faintly. It was paper thin however and you could see the palace garden through the projection. The memory faded soon and you exhaled deeply. 

“All right, I think that’s enough for now. I’ll see you at the gardens tomorrow, don’t be late,” Queen Frigga boomed.

You quickly nodded and ran off towards your quarters in the castle. You were a princess by blood, although you weren’t exactly a girly-girl. You preferred warrior training, or training your powers with the Queen over tending to your hair and make-up each morning.

You kept running; not really looking where you were going. You were simply too excited, and wanted to tell Sif how your training session had gone. You saw a large shadow appear in your peripheral but you couldn’t respond in time. Before you could react; you felt yourself flush against something solid, something metal, and something muscular?

 Oh crap. You looked up very slowly to see two faces staring at you, one pair of green eyes and one pair of blue. The princes of Asgard; their gaze transfixed on your hands that were on their respective breast plates. You quickly dropped your hands to your sides and dropped into a small curtsey, you green gown flowing on the floor, and your face flushed.

“My princes, I-I’m so sorry, I did not see you there.”

Thor looked at you and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“We noticed that, look out next time,” Loki murmured.

You were blushing by now, “I’m really sorry, my princes. I’ll leave you alone with the queen no…”

“Hang on, that is your apology?” Loki asked, looking a bit confused, one eyebrow raised at you. He tuts, shaking his head, “that won’t do…. how about-“ He lets an awkward pause fall, his index finger resting on his chin, deep away in thought. His icy blues staring into the garden and straight through you.

It took quite some time and by now you had assumed the worst. Maybe a weekend in the dungeons, cleaning the stables or worst of all: being Loki’s personal assistant. Meaning you’d have to be near him at all times; unless he was sleeping or going to the bathroom.

“You can explain to us what you were doing with our Mother,” Loki finished. 

You looked up confused, but quickly masked it with small smile.

You nodded, “as you wish. I was practicing using my powers; I don’t fully understand them yet; making them harder to control. Queen Frigga was so kind as to help me better my powers. Maybe use it for good later on,” you ended in a soft whisper.

Thor was smiling, “Well, Lady- I’m sorry what was your name again?”

Loki smirked and answered before you had the chance to answer, “it’s Y/N. Mother just said it a minute ago brother, are you really that daft?” He sneered.

Thor grimaced, “Always so rough with words, Brother. It’s kinder to ask than to say it without her granting you permission to use it. Anyway, Lady Y/N, I’m sure Mother will be able to help you. She managed to help Loki even though Father and I always thought he was a hopeless case. You know, not having the warrior physique and all that.”

Did he really just say that? Thor could be so brutal sometimes when it concerned his brother. Lady Sif had told her about it, knowing how it hurt Loki, even if he won’t admit it. You steal a quick glance at Loki. Sure enough, she saw pain hidden in those emerald eyes at Thor’s harsh words.

He quickly masked it with a massive smirk and a loud smack to Thor’s arm, “says the man who couldn’t pronounce the name of his weapon until he came of age.”

Thor groans, “it’s was a tough set of syllables alright. Stop discussing it with every third person you meet.’’

Loki grinned. You cleared your throat, referring the attention back to you.

“Is that all you require, Prince Loki and Prince Thor? I would like to retire for the day; using my powers to this extent has exhausted me.”

Loki looks at you and he gives you a faint smile, “that will be all for now, Lady Y/N. Though I’d love to know more about your powers and how you came to be here on Asgard.”

You smiled, “you know where to find me, your majesty.” With that, you quickly picked up the bottom hem of your dress and quickly disappeared into the palace.

“See you around, Lady Y/N,” Thor called after you. 

You went off to find your cousin Sif, maybe she could help you figure out the brothers, since she knew Thor so well.  You didn’t see the two piercing green eyes that followed your every step.

“Brother? Why are you smiling like that?” Thor asked getting suspicious. “Did you replace my cape with a curtain again?”

Loki laughs, short and deep, “No brother, not today,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“Ah, it must be because of Lady Y/N then,” Thor reasons.

“It’s not, and this conversation has now ended. Let’s go. It’s time for dinner,” he sneers.

“Of course brother,” Thor said, knowing by Loki’s reaction, he had touched upon the truth.

5 years later:

After that day, you and Loki kept getting closer. Sif and Thor were afraid at first that Loki might hurt you. They stopped worrying when they saw how much Loki cared for you and how you seemed to improve his mood and behavior whenever you’d come by. You could even project Loki’s fondest memories for him. Digging painlessly into his memory and showing him happier times; playing with Thor when he was younger and learning from Frigga, and of course, meeting you.

What you hadn’t expected was that he’d also come to you when he was extremely upset or angry. He would storm inside and pin your wrists in one hand, his eyes flaring, he would be towering over you. His actions fierce and threatening but his eyes would betray him. They would be glazed over, tears threatening to fall at any moment, in the corner of his eyes.

You knew he wouldn’t just tell you what was wrong; he was too proud for that. He didn’t want you to view him as weak. So, you would softly release your hands from his grasp and put your fingers on his temples. Using you powers to get to the root of the pain, projecting it in front of you both. You power surged as you felt the heaviness of this particular memory, not good. The projection was vivid and in bright color. Seems your training with the prince and the Queen had strengthened your powers, after all.

The projection was of Odin, telling Loki how he never truly belonged in Asgard, telling him of his true heritage, you saw Loki’s skin change color and his lovely green eyes turning into a deep crimson. It scared you but you weren’t going to let that show.

“Oh, Loki,” You said instead, your finger brushing his jawline gently. “I’m so sorry that happened to you; I will never betray you, I promise. I won’t run away. You’re not a monster and I could never be afraid of you. I’ll be here for you, always.”

He looked up at you, “Thank you Y/N; that means a lot right now.” He said softly, the breaking of his voice exposing his true feelings. Loki laid his head against yours whilst you placed your hand in his hair, rubbing it softly, using the other hand to wipe away the tears that fell.

“It’ll be alright, I promise,” You repeated to him until he finally believed it too.

You managed to keep him on the straight and narrow. Every waiver of his morale, you would set him straight. You took him for frequent trips to Midgard, where you had fallen in love with the forests, loving to roam and explore them freely, especially when you knew no one was watching. Loki’s gaze would be fixed on you and your childish enjoyment of nature but finding it endearing as well. You even took him to Jotunheim once; though it hurt him too much to face his past like that.

You were the one that convinced him you two should join the Avengers. His illusions and your projections would prove to be very useful for them. Whether it was for distracting enemies or confusing them; and maybe mentally torture them with rough memories from their past. You two were a dream team.

Loki trusted you fully and knowing he never had to explain himself when he was around you, was a very calming thought. But the latest projection when you touched him, concerned you. It was Loki, sitting on an icy throne, scepter in hand, with blue skin and deep crimson eyes. Loki had refused to show you his true form, arguing that you had seen enough already.  You decided to drop the subject, for now.

Present:

It was finally here. The winter. You had always loved the winter; it reminded you of family, friends and coziness in general. Sadly, not everyone in the Stark tower shared your enthusiasm. Steve and Bucky got some minor PTSD whenever they’d be hit with snowballs or when they had to go through a snowstorm. Clint and Natasha would spend it together, ice skating, and drinking hot chocolate. Very cozy but also very secluded, away from the tower. Tony preferred to stay and work on ways to keep the tower and himself warm; you thought that was what a sweater and thick coat were for, but whatever.

You refrained from pulling Bruce into the snowball fights after the big guy showed up and used his arms as a snowplow, throwing a blizzard over the entire team last year. You skipped over to Loki’s chambers and gave three soft knocks.

“Who is it?”

“Thor,” you joked, talking in your deepest voice.

“Not up for it,” came the reply.

You smirked, “It’s me, you doofus.”

“Hello Love,” Loki replied. He transported you into his room and he stood in front of you.

“I have something to show you,” you smiled.

“Oh? What sort of thing?” He asked, a dark glint in his eye.

“Not that kind of thing. Oh stop pouting, you’ll like this surprise,” you promised, producing a blindfold from your back. “But, you’ll have to trust me fully and promise not to peek.”

Loki perked up, a smirk gracing his lips, “oh, darling are you sure we’re not thinking of the same thing?” He grinned.

You sighed and waited for him to calm down before saying, “come on, Loki; close your eyes. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Loki sighed, “Fine, but if this is a trick, you’ll regret it later.”

You felt a shiver going down your spine, that stupid voice of his. You hated and loved the control it could take over you. You slipped the blindfold over his head, keeping his hair from being caught between the strings. Next, you grabbed his hand and swung your left arm around his waist. He had no clue for how long you guys had walked until you finally pulled off the blindfold.

Loki squinted, his eyes adjusting to the bright light outside, before gasping in awe at the scene in front of him. You had led him into the middle of the forest. All the trees were frosted with snow, icicles hanging down rocks, reflecting the light and the small lake that was there was frozen over. No sign of any disturbance except for the boot prints you both left in the snow. It was a place that exuded serenity.

Loki stared at you for a long time. You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks at his intense stare and gathered your thoughts before you spoke.

“I remembered when I projected that memory of you in Jotunheim, in a frozen kingdom. I wanted to show you that you don’t need to go to there to experience the beauty of ice and snow; it’s right here and it won’t just disappear. Neither will I. Show me your true form, Loki,” you said softly, fascinated as you saw his skin change to the same frosted color the ice was. Small ridges tracing his sharp face and arms. His eyes were the last to change into a deep crimson.

Loki held his breath and kept his hands to his side as he waited for your next move. You smiled, stepping forward, tracing the figures on his skin with your finger.

“Beautiful,” you whispered.

Loki released the breath he’d been holding, feeling relief wash over him. He quickly placed his hand in your hair before you could protest, and pulled you towards him. He kissed you deeply, intimately, putting all his feelings for you into the kiss. He kept holding you close and tugged on you gorgeous long H/C hair.

When you broke apart you were both out of breath. You started chuckling making Loki look up.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, feeling ridiculed.  Hearing the anger behind his words, you placed your hand on his cheek.

You looked into his eyes and smiled, “this whole situation. How we met and how we learned to trust each other. How you’ve finally revealed your true form to me, after all this time. How you match the ice so beautifully, my prince. Most of all; how fate made our stories intertwine. I love you Loki.” You breathed against his lips, “All of you.”

Loki’s eyes turned back to their lovely green hue and he smiled, kissing you softly, “and I you, my princess.”

Tags:

@kamala-khaan @beautifullybarnes @bxchananbxcky @daffodilparker @dorkychris @shamptain-shmerica @spideyydarling @bucksies @pctemaximoff @killmongrer

[yoshizora]

ayooo

i wrote another mòrag/brighid fic instead of doing anything else productive

~2662 words, also at ao3 here as usual. largely spoiler-free i think, except for some allusion to a later heart-to-heart in fonsett 

“Word’s going round that a couple Jagrons from Godford Isle are wandering too close to Fonsett,” Rex says on an otherwise completely unremarkable morning. Of the entire group cramped around the kitchen table, only Mòrag and Tora seem to hear him, as the rest are too busy trying not to knock elbows while they help themselves to breakfast. “The village hasn’t really got any Drivers, and I already promised Mason I’d help him out with repairing that old building today, so I was wondering if…”

“Tora volunteers!” Tora eagerly waves a wing and smacks Zeke right in the face as a result. “Perfect opportunity to test out new mod for Poppi, too! What say you, Poppi?”

“Sounds like fun, Masterpon.”

Somewhat unexpectedly, Mòrag chimes in. “Brighid and I shall accompany you as well, Tora.”

“Great!” Rex smiles at them both. “That’ll take care of the Jagron problem, and we’ll still have plenty of hands for the work to be done here. Thanks, guys. Sorry to shove the task off to you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

---

Breakfast ends without any further incidents, aside from Zeke getting smacked in the face another couple times by accident, and the group splits in two for the day. Tora, Poppi, Mòrag, and Brighid set off for Ysheva Harbor, Tora leading the way with a merry march accompanied by Poppi’s mechanical rhythm.

“Tora knows that Mòrag and Brighid are super-duper powerful, but pleaaase leave some Jagron butt for Tora and Poppi to kick! Otherwise, won’t be able to test new Skill RAM properly. Okay?” Tora speaks as though they’re about to go fight some Bunnit instead, but he does have a point. If they wanted to, Mòrag and Brighid could have come out by themselves to exterminate the Jagron without any help.

“Of course. We’ll just divert their attention so you can attack them however you’d like,” Brighid says.

“What sort of modification have you whipped up this time, Tora?” Mòrag asks.

“Is called, Avenger II! Even Tora not quite sure what it will do.”

“…I see.”

Still, he sounds so excited that Mòrag can’t exactly begrudge him for that. It doesn’t take much longer for them to arrive at the neighboring island. The usual Bunnits are nowhere in sight, probably due to the presence of a pair of large Jagrons pawing around at the sand and grass. Mòrag draws her whipswords and Brighid automatically follows behind. It looks like there aren’t any people at the docks this morning, but it would still be best to eliminate them as quickly as possible.

“Tora, Poppi. Wait until they’re focused on me before you begin attacking.”

“Roger-roger!”

“Azure Striker, Form the Second: Blaze!”

True to their word, Mòrag and Brighid refrain from instantly burning the Jagrons into ashes, instead using the flames to draw their attention as Tora and Poppi run behind them. The Jagrons snarl and claw at Mòrag, so furious when their target deftly weaves around all their attacks that they hardly even pay any mind to the hits coming from behind.

“Wowow, friend Mòrag so fast, Jagrons can’t even touch her…”

“Tora! Less prattling, more battling!” Mòrag shouts. She strikes at the Jagrons’ feet with a flurry of flames when they turn just for a moment to see what’s been hitting at them from behind, and they both resume focusing all their attacks on her. Even Brighid appears somewhat concerned; with Mòrag purely on the defensive to allow Tora and Poppi to hit them as many times as they want, she’s beginning to wear out as the fight drags on longer than necessary.

“Friend Mòrag have very good point, Masterpon.”

“R-Right! Leave it to Tora! And Poppi! Steady Drill!”

“Lady Mòrag, watch out—!” Brighid calls out a split second too late. The Jagrons, now enraged, suddenly begin to move more erratically, and one of them spits something at Mòrag— and hits her, just as Tora and Poppi finally fell the first of the beasts. The remaining Jagron howls and strikes at Mòrag while she’s stunned, sending her tumbling to the ground. Brighid looks as though she’s about to rush right to her side but hesitates for some reason.

“Hold on, Tora and Poppi to the rescue! One more hit, Poppi! Big Boost!”

At last, the second Jagron collapses, dead. Mòrag is slowly sitting up, rubbing the back of her head and muttering something under her breath. “Urgh…”

“Tora so sorry! If Tora had not been distracted by Mòrag’s fancy footwork, would have been able to beat Jagrons much more quickly!”

“You make it sound as though it was my fault, Tora.”

Poppi flaps her arms as if she’s trying to fly off into the sky. “Please forgive Masterpon’s very poor choice in wording!”

Mòrag looks to Brighid, noticing that she’s keeping her distance and looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Brighid? What is…”

Then the stench hits her nose.

“… Ah.”

“That Jagron’s attack…” Brighid coughs into her fist, still making no move to come any closer to her Driver. “I’m sorry, Lady Mòrag, but the smell is unbearable.”

“Is true! Tora’s nose just about to fall right off! Peeewey!”

“Poppi doesn’t mind. Because Poppi cannot smell anything!”

“… Right. Thank you, Poppi.”

Maybe she should have told Tora and Poppi to stay with the others and come out to take care of the Jagrons alone with Brighid. Ah, well, too late to linger on poor decisions. Mòrag pushes herself up to her feet and tries not to gag, her mood taking a steep nosedive when she looks down at her ruined uniform. So much for an easy mission.

“On the bright side, test of new Skill RAM a complete success! Tora decide it is rather useless after all!”

Wonderful.

---

Thankfully, the others are still off on the other side of the village when they return, so Mòrag’s dignity is spared any jokes from Zeke or nose-wrinkles from the rest. Tora is quick to babble some excuse to get away from her and run off, supposedly to help everyone else, calling for Poppi to hurry along and keep up. It’s much more quiet now that she’s alone… with Brighid.

With Brighid, who is still walking several meters behind her.

“Is it really that bad, Brighid?”

“I wish I could say it isn’t.”

Mòrag sighs, and coughs. It really is bad, actually. She’s not quite sure why she didn’t jump out of the way fast enough, maybe it was because she was trying to keep an eye on Tora and Poppi, maybe because of other reasons, all of which are basically pointless to mull over now. Unsure where else to go, she heads for Corinne’s, half-hoping for Brighid to go tell her to swim in the Cloud Sea instead.

She doesn’t. Corinne, tending to the garden out front, puts a hand over her nose as Mòrag approaches. At least she doesn’t look too bothered.

“Before you say anything, it’s alright, I’ve smelled much worse from the children,” she says, an unsaid and Rex strongly hinted at the end. “Go on, then, the washroom is all yours.”

“… Thank you.”

They head inside. Mòrag pauses at the washroom and turns to Brighid, who’s still keeping her distance. “You don’t have to stay with me. Go join the others, if you’d like.”

Perhaps the hurt in her voice was too evident, because Brighid’s posture suddenly appears rather sheepish for a very brief moment, her flames flickering. “I’ll heat the water up for you.”

“There’s no need. If the smell truly is bothering you, I won’t keep you here.”

“You’re too gracious, Lady Mòrag.”

Assuming that’s that, she enters the washroom and closes the door behind her before she can see the look on Brighid’s face. Better just wash up and pretend like the whole thing never happened, then. Still, for the Empire’s most powerful Driver to be hit with such an affliction is just… undignified. Embarrassing. Mòrag runs a hand over her face with a long exhale and quickly sheds her uniform, still carefully folding the pieces even though it’s in dire need of a washing.

She’s just finished drawing the water and settling down in the tub when there’s a soft knock at the door. “Lady Mòrag? If I may come in?”

Ah. Mòrag pulls her knees up to her chest and half-heartedly glares at the surface of the water. The fact that this bothers her more than it should is only exacerbating it even more, which is wholeheartedly annoying all in itself. In the end, it’s like she’s just bothering herself, isn’t she?

“You may.”

Brighid offers an apologetic smile as she enters, carrying a bundle in her arms. She closes the door behind her and sets the bundle down on a small wooden stool. “I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re pouting, Lady Mòrag.”

“What?”

“It’s because I wouldn’t come near you, isn’t it?”

“That’s not…”

But Brighid just chuckles and sits on the edge of the tub, dragging her fingers through the water, too close to Morag’s skin. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I never said it was something to apologize for.”

“The look on your face said enough.” She dips her hand in, and Mòrag can feel the water already getting warmer. “It’s actually kind of funny. You’ve never been this open before. The influence of the Aegis and her Driver knows no bounds, apparently.”

Mòrag knows exactly what she’s talking about, but. “What are you saying, Brighid?”

“What I’m saying, is that the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain would have pretended like she didn’t even notice the smell, and expected me to act accordingly as well. I believe you’ve changed, Lady Mòrag.”

The water’s getting close to scalding now, but not uncomfortably so. Mòrag watches the water bubble around Brighid’s wrist and pulls her knees to her chest more tightly. “I am still the Special Inquisitor.”

“I know. You’re still Mòrag Ladair.” She pulls her hand out of the water and smiles at Mòrag. “And I still enjoy your company quite a lot.”

“Even when I stink of Jagron breath?” Oh, great, that sounded like a child’s retort. Perhaps Brighid is spot-on after all. Mòrag slips down lower into the water until her mouth is submerged.

“Yes. Even when you stink of Jagron breath.” Brighid kneels on the floor beside the tub and rests her arms along the edge. “Also, if you don’t mind me saying, you look quite good with a pout like that.”

Mòrag slowly shakes her head and extends her legs as far as they’ll go in the cramped wooden tub. “I am not the only one who has changed, seems like.”

“Mmh. We both have, haven’t we? Even though we’ll always be the same people, really…” They go silent for a moment, pondering the implications behind those words. Then Brighid quickly grabs a washcloth and bucket. “Here. Let me wash your hair for you, Lady Mòrag. It’s the least I could do. I even bought some herbal shampoo and a set of clothes for you to wear while your uniform is being cleaned.”

The washroom is small, and old, and not terribly clean in the corners, but Mòrag is still reminded of their days in the luxury of Hardhaigh Palace when they’d bathe together in Mòrag’s private baths. She misses a great deal of things even though their group’s been visiting Alba Cavanich frequently enough, but those days had been so vastly different from the nows when Mòrag takes a Jagron Corpse Frenzy attack head-on for the sake of a Nopon and his artificial Blade, when said Nopon and artificial Blade are just trying out new modifications.

She relaxes and closes her eyes as Brighid’s fingers work at her scalp. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you, in these tumultuous times.”

“Change isn’t so bad when you’re able to face it with a loved one, isn’t it?”

“Mmh.”

---

Despite their polite protests, Corinne takes on the laundry to allow Mòrag and Brighid time to relax in the village together after such a hectic morning. Mòrag doesn’t feel quite like herself in the clothes that Brighid had provided for her; they’re simple and the kind of thing that someone from Fonsett would wear, not the most powerful Driver of the Empire. But Brighid says that she looks soft in a nice way, so Mòrag has no objections.

“Who on Alrest is that with Brighid?” Zeke is the first to point her out when they go to regroup with everyone else. “Is that the Flamebringer? Really? Wearing the outfit of the common village folk?”

“Shut it, Zeke,” Mòrag calmly responds.

“Never said it’s a bad thing, Mòrag!”

“Hey! Mòrag, Brighid! Tora said you guys were a great help with taking down those Jagrons!” Rex waves from the rooftop, brandishing a hammer. “Thanks a bunch! We’re just about finishing up here, actually.”

Nia strides up to Mòrag and narrows her eyes, scrutinizing her up close. “… You’re like a whole different person, without that hat and uniform. S’weird.”

“Come now, Nia, surely you didn’t think I was permanently affixed to that one set of clothing.”

“‘Course not! I’m just saying! … It’s not a bad look at all, actually. Makes you look less imposing.”

“Is that so? Well, perhaps I could benefit from softening my image around the rest of you from time to time.”

All work on the building stops. Rex would have fallen off the roof if not for Pyra’s quick reflex to grab his arm. “Really? Y’mean that, Mòrag?”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you’re so… you?” Zeke scratches his head. “I mean, you’re the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain, for crying out loud.”

“Well, I like that!” Pyra declares. “Mòrag should do whatever makes her feel more comfortable. We should all support that too, right? So let’s not push her in the spotlight whenever she’s out of uniform.” She smiles down to Mòrag, still holding onto Rex’s arm. “You look lovely, Mòrag. I mean it.”

“That’s— also what I meant. I guess,” Nia turns away, arms crossed. “Not word for word, but you get it.”

“Yup, never hurts to go casual now and then,” Zeke says.

The conversation naturally lulls off into something else— something about Tora eating too many Tasty Sausages for his own good— as work on the building continues. Pyra insists that Brighid and Mòrag go enjoy the rest of the day by themselves since they already have more than enough hands for the work, and with not much else to do they take her up on that offer.

Mòrag slips her hand into Brighid’s once they’re out of sight and alone amongst the trees. The breeze gently tousles her hair, unrestrained from her usual hat, and Brighid wonders if she’d ever seen a lovelier sight in all her previous incarnations.

“You’re right. I’ve been changing.” She looks out at the Cloud Sea, a small smile on her face. “I will always be true to my duties to the Empire and His Majesty, but someday… perhaps, if it’s allowed, I’d like to live in a place like this. With you, Brighid.”

Something in both their chests flutter and Brighid squeezes her hand, her flames gently licking at Mòrag’s skin without burning. “Is that how you really feel?”

She nods. “It is exactly as you said. I can face any changes that are yet to come, as long as you are by my side.”

When they’re like this, together, fingers entwined and the heat of their hearts beating as one, it’s almost difficult to imagine that the end of the world is a very real possibility that creeps ever closer. The days of peace are not to be taken for granted, they know. They can banter with the others, run tasks for the villagers, fight Jagrons, hold hands, act like everything is okay— and everything will be okay. The future doesn’t seem so bad, at this moment.

Brighid leans into her, her smile wistful yet warm. “Someday then, Lady Mòrag.”

“Yes. Someday.”

[thran-duils]

Boldness

TITLE:  Boldness (Rise For Your King Part 7) PAIRING: Reader/AU King!Castiel SUMMARY:  The reader was betrothed to the prince but when a neighboring king decides to dole out justice to your future father in low, he destroys the royal family, leaving you with the two youngest princesses. The mage king takes an immediate liking to you, letting you live. What will you do with this opportunity? WORDS: 2,619

Part 6 || Part 8 || Masterpost  || Fanfic masterpost

The betrothal announcement was to be made from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. When you had been brought into a counsel and had the idea and plan presented to you – that felt more like you were being told by the King’s counsel – you had remained stoic. You were going to do whatever it took to get those girls back.

Castiel had been watching you intensely the entire time that his family head – captain of his army – Balthazar spoke. You wondered why it wasn’t him telling you this instead of Balthazar.

You met his eyes and felt a jolt of electricity go through you. You averted your eyes quickly, refusing to linger on him for too long. You had decided that you would only deal with him in short spurts, doing whatever necessary to complete the task and hold up your end of the agreement. You wouldn’t be distracted by him or the stirrings he evoked within.

“We plan to announce it to the Kingdom that is able to attend – or more so, fit – in the court yard. And then the King and you will travel – with a company of course – around the country that had more people who were not able to attend due to distance, resources, or finances. It is important to visit them as well.”

You nodded in agreement, taking in what he said. You and Castiel alone in a carriage together was more than you could bear about thinking about right then. You quickly pushed it from your mind.

Balthazar had stopped speaking and had turned his attention towards Castiel. Castiel finally addressed you since he had greeted you when you walked in, “Does this sound agreeable, my lady? And in accordance to the standards and traditions of this kingdom?”

So, he had taken to heart what you said about him consulting you about the customs here.

You knew you had to look at him again and you did so with as much grace as you could muster. You only hesitated for a second seeing him again. “Yes, your grace.” You paused before stating daringly, “But, it’s important you have King Orin’s family colors somehow. Along with your own. One last time. They see me as an extension of his benevolence and family line, so this should be presented as a merging this time – as a wedding should be – rather than… something less elegant.” You refrained from saying something along the lines of acquisition.

The room was silent. You knew that your proposition had been bold but if he truly meant to listen to you, this was something to listen to you on. The people had adored King Orin and no matter how well Castiel ruled the kingdom, if he treated this marriage as capturing one of the last things the people saw as a legacy of their former king, it would not bode well.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Castiel finally spoke, his voice even. You could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the idea but the fact that he was considering it was more than you had hoped for and opened up a new sense of trust.

You replied, “That’s all I was asking, my king.”

There were a few more moments of silence before Castiel stated, “I’m sure everyone is feeling peckish. I know I am.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the table and you requested, “May I request to excuse myself and a tray brought up to my room instead of eating in the banquet hall, your grace?” Castiel stilled and you added quickly, “I wish to rest for a while. The day is hot and I would like to relieve myself a little until it has cooled down a little.”

Everyone was watching the exchange with some level of tension. It was rare someone tried to get out of dining with their king.

Castiel’s expression was neutral as the moments stretched out before he stated, “Of course, my lady. I’ll have someone send something up. I would apologize for your state but you know that I’m not even powerful enough to control the weather.”

There were chuckles, the tension broke with Castiel’s jest. You gave him a small, courteous smile before thanking him. You made to get up from the table, ready to leave the room and the court. You had just heard an earful and agreed to seal your fate. You needed some time to yourself to digest it.

He was standing in front of you suddenly and you felt your chest tighten. Picking up your hand, he placed a light kiss on the back. His lips lingered against your skin as his eyes met yours and you couldn’t look away from him. You were losing yourself in his icy blue eyes, feeling the contrasting warmth from his lips against your skin. It probably only lasted the matter of a second but it felt like an eternity.

You cleared your throat and gave him a quick, shallow curtsy in your state. “Your majesty,” you breathed before standing straight and turning yourself around. You forced yourself to walk evenly towards the door where your two maids met you, coming into tandem behind you, as well as the two palace guards behind them.

The doors were opened for you and you exited, a large exhale leaving you in relief that you were not in his domineering presence anymore. You hated feeling out of control of yourself. And the feeling of wanting to be near him.

<> <> <>

“She hates it,” Castiel said exasperated the moment the door had closed behind Y/N. He moved back over towards his chair, but did not sit, merely resting a hand on it, looking put out. He looked disappointed.

Hannah spoke first. “You can’t expect her to be completely head over heels for the idea – or you, for that matter – considering all that’s transpired. Not to mention, sending the twins away was not a good mark in her book about you.”

“That had to be done!” Castiel snapped, rubbing his brow, annoyed.

“I’m merely saying the tactic and presentation could have been cleaner,” Hannah responded airly.

Once, a neighboring King had commented on the fact that Castiel held a woman in his court, using it as evidence of Castiel’s inferiority. The man had learned quickly why Castiel valued Hannah. Not merely her way with words and innovativeness but the swiftness of her sword. That had pierced the other King’s throat, cutting straight through. It made the takeover of that particular Kingdom’s riches messier but he felt the slight against one of his best soldiers warranted an opportunity for her to retaliate.

Sighing heavily, tapping his fingers on the table, Castiel reluctantly moved his gaze up to her, wordless. She knew she had made her point and averted her eyes to not insult him by keeping direct eye contact defiantly.

“I do not want to see her in Orin’s colors,” Castiel commented, his tone nasty.

Everyone knew this was said out of a matter of jealousy and possessiveness. As usual, Balthazar leaned forward and told him reasonably, “You’ll see her in your colors a thousand times over than you’ll see her in his.” Castiel shot him a look of annoyance. Balthazar continued firmly, despite the displeasure rolling off his king, “You know what she said was true. I know what she said was true. It would look more like a merger of the two kingdoms, which will be swallowed easier by the people.”

An annoyed sigh expelled from the king, feeling a sharp jolt of jealousy at the thought of his future queen in the colors of her former betrothed. The others waited for his decision on the matter.

Standing up stiffly, Castiel muttered, “It’s decided then.”

<> <> <>

You had recognized the dress the moment it was presented to you. It had been one of Queen Birgit’s. Except it had been resized and altered. But, you would recognize that purple silk anywhere. It had been one of her favorites. It was bittersweet you would wear it.

The dress’ bodice was tight and revealing now though, but still gorgeous at the same time. The amount of detail put into the embroidery was breath taking. It had always caught your eye and you’d wanted to trace your fingers along the design. Now that you had the chance, you felt a pang wishing that you didn’t because of what it meant.

Despite the beauty, one of the chambermaids had made an offhand remark about your breasts almost reaching your chin under her breath to another chambermaid in the room. Although you were in front of the mirror, another girl putting the finishing touches on your hair, and she was across the room, you had still heard it. And anger flared inside your chest. If Aideen had been here, she surely would have smacked the girl upside the head for commenting so lewdly on you, her superior.

Instead, you had to take her place. You were not going to let these jealous girls feel they could disrespect and walk all over you. “If you feel the need to comment on my outfit, you should bring it up with the King personally. It was him, of course, who ordered the design. I’m sure he would be extremely insulted that you were poking fun at something he thought was beautiful.” She was staring at you now, her mouth closed. You didn’t break eye contact as you finished, “So, any complaints should be directed towards him. Although, I know you aren’t that bold.”

She looked completely taken aback but your boldness though, considering you had kept your disdain to yourself for the past few days as they snickered since you returned, making comments under their breath.

There was some shuffling behind you and you heard some angry muttering. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, ready to start another row. Instead you heard feet moving towards the door and your eyes trained on the mirror, seeing the troublesome girl and her closest comrade leaving.

You felt movement behind you and one of the other chambermaids sat behind you, your crown in her hands.

She hadn’t never said much but she had apparently ordered the other two out of the room. You recognized her as one of Queen Brigit’s former chambermaids.

“I am sorry for their abrasive behavior, my queen,” the girl stated. “They will think better about what they say in the future once I’ve had a word with the majesty’s new head of household.”

Not knowing whether to trust her or not, you said nothing. You were frankly tired of trying to figure out who was on your side and who was not. But, you knew you needed someone on your side and she had been the closest you had come to since you returned to the castle. If she had been good enough for Queen Brigit to keep around, perhaps you should extend an olive branch at the expense of possibly being burned.

She accepted your silence and she carefully placed your crown on top of your head, making sure to not mess up the extravagant updo.

“Is this pleasing, my lady?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror, holding back tears. You were so nervous about what was going to happen and all you wanted to do was tear the crown from your head and run as far from the castle as you could. But, you were needed here and no matter how much it ate at you in guilt, you also wanted to be here. With him.

“Yes, thank you…” you trailed off, waiting for her name.

The girl gave you a small smile, “Kalin, my lady.”

“Thank you, Kalin,” you continued and you didn’t miss the look of pleasure on her face at you addressing her by her name. You figured she hadn’t been regarded lately by her name considering she was not a part of this new court’s servanthood. She had been the enemy’s. And yet, Castiel had let them stay. You didn’t have time at the moment to wonder why. “It looks lovely.”

<> <> <>

Castiel’s expression had faltered when his eyes had landed on you as you were presented to him. You could hear the chanting and yelling of the people outside the doors, down in the courtyard, waiting for the appearance of their future queen and king. He looked dashing in his black and gold, omitting the sword he usually wore. He apparently didn’t want to seem hostile or that he was keeping you here by force.

Recovering from his initial reaction of pleasure seeing you done up the way you were, he cleared his throat, holding out his arm for you to take. You did so gingerly.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked you.

“Yes, your majesty,” you answered stiffly. You noticed the look on Castiel’s face as he studied you, looking confused at your response. You didn’t have time to worry about his feelings right now. All you were focused on was not passing out from your anxiousness and keeping up your calm façade.

The doors were opened and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Castiel seemed at ease, easily slipping into his role of majestic royalty. He waved, a calm smile on his face. Your arm felt like lead as you lifted it up, giving a graceful wave, following his example.

Someone was announcing something as loudly as they could through a horn but you didn’t hear them.

You felt his opposite hand on your own looped through his arm. His fingers weaved into yours and your breath quickened. His thumb caressed your hand and you felt your smile wavering, your nervousness starting to get the better of you.

Castiel seemed to feel the change in you and he turned you to face him, making you focus on him instead of the crowd. You didn’t know which was worse at helping you keep yourself under wraps.

In a moment, you realized what this meant. The people – your people – were waiting for a declaration besides a royal letter and postings about the betrothal.

You were having trouble breathing. You didn’t want to kiss him in front of all these people. You didn’t want to look like a fool if you lost control of your emotions. You barely had had the strength to pull away from him the last time.

Castiel moved to you, leaning down and his lips landed on yours hungrily. There was a surge in the excitement in the crowd as your kiss deepened and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving one of your hands up and running your fingers into his hair, holding. You felt him give out a small moan of pleasure against your mouth. All you wanted to was to never stop kissing him.

But he left you breathless, pulling away with little to no effort at all. Blinking, you noted the flickering of triumph in his eyes before he turned towards the crowd again, receiving them again.

You felt weak in the knees and let him guide you away from the crowd back towards the doors. There would be a feast in the courtyard for the people. Castiel had every intention of joining them eventually after the royal court enjoyed their meal, which meant you would have to go too. You doubted you would be able to eat, your head was still swimming on the high of his embrace. You needed a few moments… just a few to gain some grounding again.

The doors had been barely closed for a moment before you collapsed, fainting in Castiel’s embrace still.

Before you went under, you heard an alarmed cry from him, “My lady?” Then nothing.

~~~

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