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kilojulietsierra · 2 years ago

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Do You Take This Man? (Ragnar the Younger x OFC - One Shot)

Started watching The Last Kingdom last week and already on season three lol Ragnar was definitly the first Dane that caught my eye

Warnings: 18+ content, they’re Danes so crude talk, marriage negotiations, mentions of violence, first time sex, outdoors sex, slightly au, pregnancy, brief mention of pregnant sex

~~~~

"Ragnar the Younger, It would be a better match than even our father could have wished." Tovah said as he sat by the fire, staring through the flames at his sister.

"It is. I am not arguing that." She snapped back at him, "I'm not arguing the man."

"You're arguing the marriage itself then." He wiped the grease from his hands and pulled another bite of meat from the bone, "Sister I love you, I do. But, i want a woman and Gods knows I cannot suffer another one until you are gone." He laughed as he dodged a stick flying at his head. "Let me hear your argument then."

"I have no argument." She took a bite of her own food. "I only wish to make the decision myself when the time comes."

"You know the choice is yours Teeva. I only ask that... "Her brother sighed deeply, "Do not deny him just for the sake of being a pain in the ass."

~~~

Ragnar Ragnarson, son of Ragnar the Fearless, Sat across from them in the hall that their father had built. Tovah and Teeva sat on either side of the fire, Ragnar between them. A tactic. Teeva wanted to see who he would address more, her or her brother.

He was tall, strong, fearsome and handsome, all things she was pleased to see. But also annoyed, these things would all make it the harder to refuse him if his offer was anything close to respectful.

"So tell me Ragnarson, what would you have my sister for?" The pleasantries, the little that Danes bothered with, aside Tovah got to the heart of the matter. They all knew why Ragnar was here.

Ragnar held her brothers gaze, "I would have her for a wife." He looked to her, calm and steady, "If you speak of price I have brought silver, though I'm sure it is not enough."

"Why do you say that?" Teeva cocked her head to the side.

He spoke to her brother when he said, "I imagine there is not enough silver in all the North, Wessex or Denmark," He then spoke to her, "That could convince Teeva Tovarsdottir to become chained to a man that sought to put her in her place, to claim her and tame her."

"Then why are you here." Her voice was cold as was her gaze but her heart pounded in her chest at the way he held her gaze and quirked the corner of his mouth in a smile.

"Because I am a man who would not do these things." He leaned forward, turned his gaze on her brother. "I was there when our fathers raided Heimsdeep together." Both the siblings flinched, and Ragnar spared them a pause out of respect. "And I was there with you when his man betrayed him there."

Tovah interrupted him, "Our families have always been good and loyal allies."

"And that will not change," His eyes flicked to her and then back, "No matter how this ends."

Tovah nodded deeply, raised his cup of ale in agreement.

Ragnar continued, "I was also there at Moran's, you know this, when the son and daughter of Tovar took their revenge." This time when his eyes landed on Teeva they did not leave, did not waver. Icy green boring into hers, dark and lush like the forest. "I saw you fight with sword and shield and bare hands along side your brother, and along side your father's men. A true shield maiden."

Her cheeks warmed and she hoped it was hidden by the hues of the fire. She had no words so she only nodded her thanks at the compliment.

" Any man that would try to take that fire from her would be doing all Dane's a dishonor. She's afraid I am that kind of man but I am not."

"Then what kind of man are you Ragnar Ragnarson?" Tovah braced his elbows on his knees and leaned towards the other Dane. "What would you give her if you are not these men that would see her... tamed?"

Ragnar smiled and looked away from Tovah, answering his question but clearly speaking to Teeva. "I am a man that would see her with braids in her hair and ink on her skin. I would give her a reputation, lands, a hall, people who would follow her and respect her as they would me. I would give her a good, strong name from a long line of warriors, all of whom would smile down on a woman like this." He was smiling now, tight lipped but a smile nonetheless, creasing his forehead and the corner of his eyes.

Teeva had almost forgotten her brother was in the room, nearly jumped when he asked another question. "And what would you have her give you in return?"

Now he smiled, truly smiled, and it made her nervous. She was certain this is where her silly, fragile fantasy would end.

"I would ask only of her to give me strong sons and clever daughters, a safe hall, respect for my people, and a warm bed at night." He winked with the last, his smile wide and his eyes dancing like the fire before them. "And an extra sword at my side should I need it."

They held each others gaze for a long, silent moment, sizing eachohter up. Teevas heart was pounding in her ears.

Almost as if he had forgotten him too, Ragnar turned back to Tovah. "I know how you care for your sister, and she for you. I wish not to stamp down that fire within her, I would rather stoke it. See her become the woman the gods mean for her to be."

The men shared a long, discerning look of their own before Tovah looked to her over the fire, "Well sister, the man has said his piece, and I am for it. In my eyes this would be a match our ancestors and his would both be proud of."

Teeva studied Ragnar, now slouched back comfortably in his seat, relaxed under her gaze. Dare she say enjoying it.

When she spoke she made sure her voice was clear and strong, "Give me the night to consider."

~~~

The small camp against the hillside was quiet, the fires doused and the men asleep in their furs. Canvas strung from tree branches made for a few simple shelters. On bare feet Teeva crept through the trees, her feet cold but light on the soft ground. She had paid attention, knew which canvas she needed.

He lay on his back, on a single, thick fur, with his arms crossed above his head and his feet propped up on his saddle. He did not snore, did not move or even twitch. His chest rose and fell and was bare, the night air comfortable enough to sleep that way, but a second fur was draped over his lower half.

Standing a few feet away she watched for a long moment, steadying her breath, until she was sure her approach had not awoken him. Then on soft, slow feet, with a dagger in her hand she approached. She paused, within arms reach of him. Satisfied she was still undetected, she moved. Reached for his throat with the blade and to cover his mouth with her hand.

In an instant , the mere beat of a heart, she watched in panic as his eyes snapped open, his lips turned in a smile and she was on her back in the blink of those green eyes, head spinning and the wind knocked out of her.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He whispered, crouching above her, keeping her pinned to the ground.

"Shouldn't you?" She whispered back through gritted teeth.

Ragnar continued to smile as he plucked the knife from her fingers and stuck in the ground next to them. "There are only two reasons for you to be here, I cannot wait to hear which it is?"

Her lungs finally full of air again she breathed deep, noticing the way his eyes jumped from her face to her chest with the motion. When his eyes came back to hers she was smiling back at him, a small, cheeky grin. "I have not made my decision yet."

He sat back on his haunches, keeping only one hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. "Decision? On if you will kill me rather than be my woman?"

"I did not come to kill you Ragnar Ragnarson."

Ragnar could not help but notice how relaxed she seemed in her position, he considered whether it was because she truly feared nothing... or only that she did not fear him. His eyes flicked to the knife again, "The knife leads me to believe otherwise, Leeva Tovarsdottir."

Her smile grew and Ragnar felt something spark within him, deep within him.

"It serves only to make a point."

"And what point was that."

"That I am in control."

He laughed, his grip on her shoulder tightening, as he fought to keep himself quiet. Again, he noticed she did not flinch away from him or his hand. "Says the one on her back."

"Is that not how you would prefer me?" Her eyes were dangerous. Daring, goading him into making a misstep and failing this little challenge of hers.

Ragnar chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting his next words before he spoke them. He let her go, plucked the blade from the earth and wiped it over his breeches. Flipping it gracefully over his fingers before offering it back to her, handle first. "I would have you many ways, all of which I would love to show you, but only if you speak plainly. Why are you here?"

Her face changed. Right before his eyes, so subtle he might have missed it in the darkness if not for their closeness. The warrior in her was gone, even for just a moment, and the girl was there. The pretty young girl, on the eve of a marriage. A nervous, beautiful, young girl.

Teeva fortified herself as much as she could, ignoring the heat in her cheeks and the tightness in her chest. "Is it so outside of reason for a girl to know?"

Ragnars face scrunched, brow furrowed in confusion, "Know what?" He still held the blade in one hand, braced against his bent knee.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. Noticing with a thrill that this time Ragnars eyes held firmly to her own and did not go wandering. So, there on the ground in his little makeshift tent, surrounded by the furs still warm from his body heat, she told him the truth. "I want to know that I will enjoy it." His face did not change, his brow remained furrowed as he shook his head, still not understanding. "That I will enjoy... being married."

Still, his face remained unchanged, if anything his eyes narrowed more.

"You know... being... with the man I marry." If the earth would open up and swallow her she would have thanked the Gods.

Then, slowly, his face softened, the creases disappeared from his forehead, his eyes widened, and his smirk returned. Holding her eyes captive with his he reached for her right hand and with his own, lifted it to take the handle of the knife he still offered her. He guided her to wrap her fingers around the leather grip and took in the way her breathing had become shallow and rapid. WIthout words he moved, taking her hand that held the knife and guiding it. Until her right arm was stretched to its full length out to the side.

Ragnar, hand still wrapped tightly around hers still holding the knife, leaned in closer. He placed the tip of the blade against the earth and pushed. Slowly, steadily, together they drove the blade into the dirt. His forehead nearly touching hers he finally spoke, "Beautiful girl," His voice was low and rough, his eyes took in her face. He had never been this close to her before and even in the dark of night she was breathtaking. "If you do not enjoy it, you can take that blade and cut my throat."

Teeva gasped, her whole body trembling as Ragnar laid his body over hers and claimed her lips. Their hands fell from the handle of the dagger and found each other instead. Fingers weaving together as Ragnar nipped at her tongue and swallowed down her moans. He moved, steadily, kissing across her face to her ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth before licking and sucking his way down her neck. "Tell me, is this what you wanted?"

"Yes." She sighed it out, tipping her head back into the furs, fighting for room to breathe. This had been her plan. Truthfully. She had snuck from the hall to lay with Ragnar, but things were not going to plan at all. She was not in control. She had meant to stay in control. Ragnar taking control of her mouth again brought her back to reality.

Her free hand, moving on some sort of baser reflex, moved to dig into his bare, muscled back. It seemed that one small movement spurred him on.

"Tell me beautiful," His voice was raspy, he was sucking in breath like a man emerging from the sea. His eyes drove into hers, "Do you want me to take you? Do you want me to show you what it will be like? To be my woman, to lay with me." His smile came back, his eyes darkened, "Did you come out here tonight to hump me?" Ragnar was near chuckling as he said it. but his one hand still held hers tight and his other was wrapped around her thigh.

She had to fight for the breath and for her voice but she answered him, clearly and truthfully, "Yes."

His smile doubled and for the second time he moved too quickly for her to stop him. Only this time she found Ragnar on his back, smiling up at her where he had her straddling his hips. "Go on then." His hands slid up her thighs to her waist but did not move further.

Again she found herself incredibly bashful, "I have clothes on." She narrowed her eyes at him, motioning to herself, "I'm fully dressed!"

"Does not matter." He chuckled. Carefully he began to move her hips with his hands, pulling her forward, "Ride me."

Her gasp, the expression on her face, as she finally felt the hardness of him beneath her was better in and of itself than half the fucks he'd had as a young man. Her eyes snapped open wide and her hands dropped to his torso to steady herself. He did not wait, continued to move her back and forth over him, Grinding her against his hard cock, watching in awe at the faces she made. Her fingers dug into his torso and he had to grit his teeth to control himself. "Keep going." A groan escaped him as she pressed down against him harder, "Just like that."

Soon she was speeding up, his grip on her no longer controlling her movements. To be honest, Teeva herself, was not even in control of her movements. Her hips moved on their own, chasing whatever that wonderful, tingling sensation was deep between her legs. She was leaned down low over him, her hips rocking back and forth erratically over the press of his cock, the friction of their clothing between them helping her along, "Oh shit, oh... oh gods... what..."

Ragnar snarled through bared teeth, "Yes, you feel it, chase it." He surged up to kiss her, sinking a hand deep into her loose hair and taking a firm grip, moving her how he wanted her. Their mouths clashing together, all teeth and tongues as she moaned and whimpered through her release. Her short nails dug into his sides, hard enough he thought she may truly have drawn blood and a deep, uncontrollable shiver ran the length of his spine. "Gods you are a gift Teeva." He muttered the words against her lips. "So," He kissed her again, "Tell me pretty girl," He kept his hand in her hair, holding her tight, his other hand loose on her hip. "Do you want my cock? " He rolled his hips beneath her and revelled in the way she responded in kind, "Let me show you, hmm," He tugged on her hair, hard enough to tip her head back so that he could mouth greedily at the side of her neck, "Let me show you what I have for you." He rolled his hips again. "Let me show you how I will fuck my wife."

~~~

She was still naked and trembling slightly under the fur, though she was not cold and no longer nervous.

Ragnar lay next to her, propped up on one elbow while his free hand, his sword hand, traced unreadable patterns over her bare back. "So, Teeva, daughter of Tovar," He whisper against the back of her neck as he leaned into her, his hand splayed wide over the small of her back. "What have you decided? Hmm?" He kissed her there and then kissed his way to the shell of her ear, "Have I humped you well enough?" He sucked her earlobe between his lips and smiled when she shivered, "Have I swayed you? Would you marry me? Hmm. Can I have you in my bed every night, pretty girl? Make you my own and let you ride my cock whenever you please?" He chuckled as she groaned a little beneath him, half halfheartedly rolling away from him.

"Stop teasing."

He could not help the wide smile then, tugging her to him and rolling her onto her back. "Never." Ragnar reached a hand up to her face and held her, moving his thumb up to smooth the worry from her brow. "You should know, if you deny me now I'll have no choice but to kidnap you."

Teeva snorted out a laugh but leaned into the touch, "Oh really?"

"I swear it." He kissed the corner of her eye, "You are fierce and strong, beautiful beyond my words," He waited for her to relax and then continued, "And even now, spent as I am, you have my cock harder than forged steel."

She shoved him then, glaring but inside celebrating that such a feared and respected man let her handle him this way. Her eyes fell to the knife she had brought still stuck in the dirt at the edge of his furs, where he had left it, well within her reach if she had needed it. "Are all men this insatiable?"

He did not hesitate to respond, "Only when our women are this irresistible." He winked at her and in return she rolled her eyes. "Tell me now woman, will I ride out of here with you as my wife, or as my captive?"

"You will have to wait and see tomorrow won't you Ragnar Ragnarson?" She kissed him and then crawled out from under the furs to dress as quickly as she could. Hard to do with his hands and lips working against her every step of the way.

~~~

"Earl Ragnar, i hope you slept well." Tovah greeted him and his men as they entered the hall the next morning.

Ragnars eyes did not waver from her brother, but Teeva saw the corner of his lip pull back. "Very well, considering I have been anxiously awaiting an answer." When he did look her way Teeva revelled in the way it made her want to blush and hide as much as it wanted to make her smirk and stand up tall.

After last night she was certain of it. Ragnar was a man that would not treat like a cow to be bred or a slave to keep his hall. He would keep her as his wife, respect her, honor her, fight for her, father her strong sons and clever daughters. He would put her to bed every night satisfied and love her every day of his life. Here and in Valhalla.

Tavah laughed and stood to take Ragnar by the shoulders, "Then you'll be happy. My sisters first words to me this morning were that she accepts the marriage."

Ragnar embraced the slightly older Dane back and smiled, "The gods have honored me," He looked to her then, catching her eye as he continued, "more than I deserve." Ragnar looked back to her brother, slapping him hard on the back as he stepped away and towards Teeva. With a steady hand he cupped her face gently and stroked his thumb over her brow just as he had done last night, "And I promise to live every day of my life so that I honor you in return."

The look in his eyes took her breath away as much as his words had. It was a struggle to speak as she wrapped her hand around his sturdy forearm and met his gaze, "I look forward to it."

~~~

Teeva was laughing so hard that she could hardly breathe, watching as her brothers men and Ragnars men... her husbands men, drank and played games in celebration. Watching as half a dozen men went stumbling through the fire pit and falling on their asses. She laughed as her brother and Ragnar, her husband, laughed and cheered and embraced each other in victory.

Ragnar stepped aside and accepted a mug of ale, still laughing as he raised it to his lips, but he caught her eye as he drank. She was staring at him and married or not he saw the faintest blush at her throat at being found out. She did not look away though and that made his blood sing through him. Leaving others to their games he crossed the yard to where she sat by a fire. Her eyes held his the whole way.

"You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself." She greeted him with a jest and a smile.

Without hesitation he took a knee before her where she sat, placing himself between her legs and leaning into her, his arms braced against the chair on either side of her thighs. From this position he was only a few inches away from her but had to tilt his chin up, just slightly, to look at her. "And you, sitting here with your bright smile and flushed cheeks, hmm? Are you enjoying yourself? Watching?"

"Am I not allowed to enjoy watching? My husband?" She sounded braver than she felt as she spoke, her fingers reaching out to toy with the end of Ragnar, her husbands, beard.

A growl rose low in his throat as he leaned in closer, tugging her to the edge of her seat to meet him, "Say it again."

She lifted the hand not holding her drink to cup his jaw, "My husband."

"Say it louder." Her pulled her flush against him, until she was barely in the seat.

If he had not been looking at her the way he was, she would never have done it. But, his eyes were burning for her and his grip was tight so she raised her voice, "My husband!"

In one easy movement, as if it was nothing, he stood with her, his arms under her ass and hoisting her up until she was at least two heads above the rest of the crowd. "Louder!"

She did not hesitate. With one hand at the back of his head to hold herself steady, eyes still locked with his, she raised her horn of ale in the air and yelled, "My husband!!"

An echoing roar of cheers and laughter rang through the hall and the yard as their people celebrated with them.

Rather than letting her down, Ragnar turned and sat in the seat she had just been sitting in, letting her settle so that she was straddling his lap. Still smiling ear to ear he kept one hand on her ass and stole her drink with the other. He finished the ale in one long gulp and then slammed the horn down next to him, his eyes never leaving hers. "Kiss me wife."

Which she did, her left hand still rested at the back of his head, under the base of his braid, and she used it to pull them together.

The kiss was short and sweet and Ragnar was not having it. When she pulled away he trapped her in his arm. She would say he snarled if it hadn't been so full of adoration, "Like you mean it woman."

The comment earned him a bite on the cheek but the second kiss was well worth it. Teeva pressing herself fully against him as she allowed him to ravage her mouth, giving as good as she got.

~~~

When she woke the next morning the fire had burned low, down to glowing embers, and she knew it was only Ragnar behind her that kept her from shivering. Her eyes focused slowly, her head hurt from the ale, but she glanced around the hall. None of the others had stirred yet. So, carefully, she made to move but the strong arm around her flexed and held her tightly.

"Don't move." He whispered in her ear. She froze. "I'm comfortable." He breathed out a nearly silent chuckle as she relaxed against him, dropping a kiss to her shoulder as she settled back into him.

"The fire is going to die." She whispered over her shoulder. When he did not respond she opened her mouth to say it louder only to have his hand cover her mouth.

Now wide awake, eyes blazing as he turned her to face him. She glared daggers at him.

Ragnars eyes were still half lidded when he mouthed the word, "Hush." Then he removed his hand from her mouth, replacing it with his lips for a fleeting moment before closing his eyes and settling back into the furs spread over the hard, wood floor.

Quieted, but still outraged she turned slightly and bit him hard on the shoulder, clamping down on the skin through the fabric on his tunic.

His eyes shot open, his teeth gritted, bared as he let out a silent hiss at the pain. Ragnar dug his hand in her sleep mussed hair and pulled her face blush with his, whispering harshly, one word through still gritted teeth, "Vixen." Then he was shoving his tongue into her mouth and stealing any smart remarks she may have had before she could say them. Once she was thoroughly breathless he whispered to her, lips brushing the apple of her cheek. "My head hurts. Be quiet, lay down, and let me enjoy having you in my arms."

Her anger, fleeting as it was, dissipated and she dropped a feather light kiss to his lips. Letting out a long, content sigh as Ragnar smiled, closed his eyes, and brought her to lay her head on his chest. Soon finding herself dozing off to the solid, steady beat of his heart and the feeling of his rough fingers massaging her scalp where his hand was still buried in her hair.

~~~

It was a long journey to Dunholm. Many miles spent in the saddle and many nights sleeping on furs laid on the ground. It was worth it though when she topped the final ridge, and she saw it for the first time.

Ragnar had pulled his horse to a stop beside hers as she took it in.

It was bigger than she had imagined, an imposing fortress high on a hill, visible from miles away but impenetrable. Ragnar had told her the story of how they had taken it, how he had claimed his revenge on Kjartan. Teeva knew this stronghold was a source of pride for her husband, and now for her too.

With his usual, tight lipped but soft smile, Ragnar stepped his horse sideways. Moving until his leg was pressed against hers, the horses shoulders pushing together. He placed his right hand on the top of her horses rump and leaned into her space. Her hair brushing his temple as he spoke, "Well, what do you think? Does it suit you? What does Teeva, wife of Ragnar Ragnarsson say about her new home?"

Teeva smiled, turned her head just enough to press their foreheads together. "I will hold my judgement until I've seen the state of the inside."

Ragnar laughed loudly and stole a quick kiss. "We hurry on then."

As the gates swung open Ragnar once again came up close beside her, hand on her saddle and lips against her ear, "Welcome home."

~~~

"Have you night tired of me yet lord?" Teeva laughed, fighting to catch her breath.

Ragnar let out a sound, half groan half laugh. "If you want me to tire of you, you should stop making such pretty sounds while my cock is inside you." To prove his point he thrust into her, hard, moving her further up the bed with the motion, drawing one of those beautiful little gasps from her throat. "See, like that." He began to pick up his pace again, nearly snarling in pleasure as she clawed at the back of his thighs. Urging him forward. Her volume increasing with every snap of his hips.

He still lay on top of her, his cock softening and her fingers massaging the muscles in his back, when they both heard footsteps on the steps outside their rooms. Ragnar growled in annoyance and buried his face in her neck. Choosing to ignore the coming intrusion, instead enjoying the heaving of Teevas chest beneath him and faint aftershocks of her fluttering cunt.

"Ragnar, if you love me, you will kill whoever is about to come to our door." Her fingers moved to the back of his neck and into the loose, disheveled blonde hair he had yet to pull back. As it was far too early to be out of bed.

The Dane chuckled and mouthed at her neck, groaning with the effort of pulling away from her, out of her. He paused, braced above her on solid, swordsman's arms and dropped his forehead to hers, "As my lady wishes."

The knock at the door surprised neither of them, they remained silent. Staring into each others eyes with matching, mischievous smirks. Then from outside, "Earl Ragnar?" was followed by another, louder knock.

Ragnar chuckled, soft puffs of air escaping his nose, and moved to kiss the ink at his wife's temple. A symbol to match his own. Then with more energy and more grace for a man so large, and no longer so young, jumped from the bed grabbed his sword from it's belt striding across the room and opened the door.

The younger Dane was surely shocked to see his chief opening the door sword in hand, naked, cock still half hard and nothing but the scars and ink markings on his chest to cover him.

With a straight and serious face Ragnar spoke, "My wife has instructed me to kill whoever is on the other side of this door. This is your one chance to change my mind. Speak plain and fast." Ragnar heard Teeva behind him laughing quietly but his face remained hard.

"Forgive me sir, but Uhtred Ragnarson is riding to the gate."

With just a nod of his head Ragnar sent the boy away, his face breaking into a smile as he swung the door shut. Approaching his wife and their bed again, leaning is sword against the wall beside it. "This will be a good day."

"And why is that?" Teeva sat up in bed, pulling the furs around her against the winter cold, welcoming Ragnar into them as he came back to the bed.

Pushing her down to her back he kissed her, then kissed her throat, and her breast. "Because," he looked up from where he was pressing kisses over her belly, his large, rough hands cradling the small bump there, "My wife, the love of my soul is growing another strong, fair haired, green eyed, fearsome son in her belly." He crawled the length of her naked body to kiss her. And when he pulled away he was still smiling, "And today is the day my little brother finally comes back to be where he belongs"

~~~ The End ~~~

First time writing for this fandom but I already have a few ideas for other stories! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

#the last kingdom #ragnar #ragnar x ofc #Ragnar the younger #ragnar the younger x ofc #Ragnar the last kingdom #Ragnar Ragnarson #ragnar ragnarsson #ragnar ragnarson x ofc #ragnar fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic

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fio-renze · 1 year ago

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cw: mentions of child death, grief

Sixty seven years Fiorenze had lived in the manor house. It felt like a mausoleum now, the windows all dark and dressings gone. Perhaps it was fitting.

The gardens she had cultivated all that time still bloomed, bright and lush. Her well trod paths had started to re-wild a bit without anyone to cut them back, or her to walk them — the gentle buzz of bees and summer cicadas whirring was a small comfort as she wound her way through the shaded hedge maze.

Invisibility spells only lasted so long, and eventually the gossamer threads of arcane that wrapped around her slowly drifted apart, falling from her as she turned that final corner. Nobody could see her here anyway; she had been careful to plant shade trees and skillfully trellised climbing ivies to create a living canopy above the memorials placed in this far corner.

Dappled sunlight danced across the smooth, cool white stone inscribed with Finn’s name and the singular date of his birth and death, July 25. It was so small, like he’d been. She’d come here every year to lose herself to the grief of it all for a day.

Her heart hurt and gave her pause. Was she really going to do what she came here to do? Did it really matter, in the end, where his ashes laid?

Of course it did when it was somewhere she couldn’t be. Being here, on the grounds, was legally trespassing now.

The dirt was hard on her hands as she dug around the flat gravestone. She had to get it free. Small as it was she pried it easily from the shallow niche it had settled in after forty three years. Maybe it was a blessing he hadn’t lived to see the siege on the city — he would’ve been a child, and had to deal with losing his father.

Lord Halandir’s stone was nearby, too. He’d been killed by the Scourge while fighting to protect the kingdom. An honorable death for a dishonorable man. That one could stay where it was until it crumbled.

She kept digging, clawing her way down through the dry earth. A thousand apologies spilled in whispers from her lips as tears fell onto the backs of her hands. She couldn’t bear to leave him in this empty place that had never been his home.

Eventually the smooth, carved urn kissed her fingertips, and then her palm. It too was wrested free from the loam as soon as she could manage and wrapped up carefully in a beautifully woven cloth. The only home Finn had ever known had only been her. She’d find a new place to let him rest, one that didn’t hurt so much and felt right, and wasn’t a trial to visit.

They left together, the grave filled back up and the stone pressed back on top. Tomorrow would still be awful, but at least she’d know he wasn’t alone.

#fiorenze #my writing #finn #cw: mentions of child death #cw: grief

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randoimago · 1 year ago

Note

Question: Who's your favorite character in each fandom you write for? Good luck deciding

You're the bane of my existence anon /j

I did cheat on this a bit where if there's a sequel or smth then I added an extra character 😅

(this Link is to a full list of my favorite characters)

Favorite Character in Each Fandom (I regret it already)

Anime

Attack on Titan - Reiner (needs hugs and therapy) (Jean is an honorable mention)

Danganronpa - Kaito (Chihuro, Chiaki, and Shuichi are honorable mentions)

Demon Slayer - Kanao

Detroit: Become Human - Connor (Ralph is an honorable mention)

Dragon Age - Alistair (Origins), Fenris (DA2), Varric (DAI) (Dagna and Krem are v honorable mention)

Durarara - Shizuo 🥰🥰

Fruits Basket - Hatori (hugs and therapy)

Haikyuu - Bokuto 🥰 (Iwaizumi is an honorable mention)

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure - Mista

Jujutsu Kaisen - Nanami (I can't wait for Shibuya, you guys)

K Project - Kusanagi (if I had a nickel for every blond bartender...)

Magi - Jafar 🥰🥰🥰

My Hero Academia - Ashido (my child)

Naruto - Rock Lee (my baby)

Ouran Highschool Host Club - Kasanoda

Sk8: The Infinity - Joe

Video Games

Ace Attorney - Apollo Justice

AI: The Somnium Files - Date (Ryuki is my fav in Nirvana Initiative)

Fable - Reaver 😔

Fallout 4 - Nick Valentine (Hancock is a dishonorable mention)

Final Fantasy 7 - Reno 🥰

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dedue (the sadness this guy made me feel 🙄)

Fire Emblem Fates - Kaze (I restarted my whole game for this fucker)

Fire Emblem Awakening - Stahl

Genshin Impact - Noelle (my child)

Hades - Daddy Dionysus

Kingdom Hearts - Axel 🥰🥰

Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild - Link, but specifically in the Gerudo costume

Mass Effect - Tali (Garrus and Wrex are honorable mentions)

Monster Prom - Liam 😒

Nier: Automata - 9S (hugs and therapy pls and thank you)

Persona 4 - Kanji

Persona 5 - Ryuji (Akechi is a dishonorable mention)

Pillars of Eternity - Xoti my love

Pokemon Swsh - Raihan 😔 (Leon is also there too)

Pokemon ScVi - Larry 🥰🥰🥰

Skyrim - Serana

Stardew Valley - Penny (hugs and therapy pls)

Spy x Family - Franky

Yakuza - Majima 🥰🥰

Zero Escape - Sigma (ZTD Junpei is fantastic tho)

Webtoons

Nevermore - Morella

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint - Lee Hyunsung 🥰🥰

Surviving Romance - Jihyeon (my baby)

Unholy Blood - Euntae

Other

Arcane - Jinx (my baby needs hugs and therapy)

Batman Universe - Jason Todd 🥰

Critical Role - Vax (C1), Caleb (C2), Laudna (C3), Dariax (ExU)

Young Justice - Dick Grayson

#mod kat speaks #behindtherando

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apieters · 10 months ago

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From my interviews with High Shepherd Yan: Some years after Peter Dragonsbane earned his name and slew the black dragon, when he was finally a man, he began raiding the coast of Heimar, freeing slaves in raids on the slave caravans of the ancient Thrallic Empire and scything down their captors with his terrible greatsword. Setting out in longboats, the Islanders of Peter's warband were able to sail far up the rivers of modern-day Centrevale, disembarking swiftly and outpacing all but the most elite of Thrallic cavalry. Over time, more and more longboats joined Peter's raiding parties and they began not just to free slaves, but attack the fortresses of the Thrallic nobility. This we know for certain. But a curious tale is so often told of the Dragonsbane by singers that many, even some of Peter's descendants, believe it. I myself don't know what to think, but given my own life experiences, I can say it smacks of a certain familiarity... It was said that as Peter grew up, he fell in love with a beautiful maiden. One day, the Prince of the Gods reappeared to Peter, and told him to rise up and lead a raid on a convoy of slavers that was prowling the Isles. While Peter was delighted to see the Prince of the Gods, he ultimately refused the Prince of the Gods' command. The stories differ on his motives, but I find it most plausible Peter simply thought that retreating to the woods and hiding until the raiders had past was more prudent--certainly, given what happened next and given his survival of the dragon-slaying, I very much doubt the versions that attribute it to cowardice. Yet I do suspect that a certain reluctance to take risk did accompany the love he felt for the maiden on whom his heart was set. But whatever the exact motivations, Peter did not obey the Prince of the Gods. The next day, as he was cutting wood for his forge, the Thrallic slavers raided his village. He ran down the mountain side, but he was too late--the village was burning, and his beloved was missing. Peter immediately snatched up Dragonsbane and jumped into the nearest longboat, sailing after the raiding party, but he could not catch up (he was either piloting the craft alone, or with a small crew of survivors). Only on the coast of Centrevale did Peter catch up with the raiding party. then attacked them and slaughtered the slavers to a man, slashing round and round with Dragonsbane in a mad fury like the wrath of a roused lion. But when he took stock of the captives as he lead them onto his longship, Peter's beloved was nowhere to be found. It was then that one of the villagers told him that his beloved had been captured and that the guards, seeing her beauty, had dishonored her. Unable to bear the shame and unwilling to return defiled, she had cast herself into the sea, swallowed up by the waves. Peter's grief was dark and terrible. He begged forgiveness of the Prince of the Gods, vowing never again to disobey his commands and to protect his people from the Thrallic slavers with all of his strength. It was only after the loss of his beloved that his regular raids began, and these he continued until the Thrallic Empire was driven from the continent of Heimar and the Free Kingdom of Heimar established. I know not how much truth is in this story, yet when I was chained in a slave caravan myself as a boy, I overheard, in jest, my Thrallic captors mention "the Raider from the Mists" who would come out of the darkness to "chop up your sorry corpses into mincemeat and stuff them into sausages." I assumed, at the time, that this figure was merely a sort of bogeyman, a story meant to frighten children. But having seen the wrath of Peter's descendant firsthand, I begin to wonder if perhaps the "Raider from the Mists" was more than the stuff of nightmares for the Thralls...

#sketch #cartoon #cartoon characters #character art #original character #heimar #Peter Dragonsbane #greatsword #longboat #tw sa implied #tw sui implied

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 2 years ago

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Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Jeroboam's Idolatry (1 Kings 12)

Jeroboam had a fine opportunity. He had come up from the ranks of the people through his own industry and efficiency. He was among the workmen engaged on the great public works of the nation when Solomon found him, his attention having been drawn to him by his industry and ability. He had risen, not through political influence but by sheer worth to a high place. Then he had been divinely pointed out as the man to be the king of the ten northern revolting tribes. The prophet had told him that the Lord would give him this responsible place. The people had also freely turned to him and chosen him as their leader. He had the gifts and qualifications for kingship. If only he had used his opportunity aright he might have become a great king and have built up a mighty empire.

But there was a condition, as there always is when God puts a trust into any man’s hands. “I will place you on the throne of Israel, and you will rule over all that your heart desires. If you listen to what I tell you and follow my ways and do whatever I consider to be right, and if you obey my laws and commands, as my servant David did, then I will always be with you. I will establish an enduring dynasty for you as I did for David, and I will give Israel to you.” But Jeroboam threw away this magnificent opportunity, and wrecked the possibilities of his own life. He might have made a brilliant story of honor and blessing for himself and the new kingdom if he had been faithful to God.

Jeroboam was a good builder. Building had been his business. When he became king, he set to work at once to build and fortify cities. “Jeroboam built Shechem. .. and built Penuel.” What a pity it is that he did not stay at his building work all his life! We cannot help thinking how different the history of God’s people might have been if Jeroboam had not become king; or if, being king by divine appointment, he had walked in God’s ways.

A trail of sin, however, blotted every page of the nation’s story behind him. He is known as “the man who made Israel to sin.” Every time his name is mentioned, this mark of dishonor is attached to it. He was put upon his throne with a holy mission. He was called to be a godly king, and then was promised honor, divine blessing, and the perpetuity of his throne. But he proved a traitor to God, and failed to carry out the divine plan for his life. He not only wrecked his own destiny but he dragged a nation with him, down to sin and infamy. It seems a pity that he was ever discovered by Solomon and promoted to a place of honor. Better if he had remained all his life in his lowly place. He understood building cities and strengthening fortifications; had he only built morally and spiritually as well as he had built in material things, he would have been a successful king. There are many people who do this world’s part of their life-work well enough but fail utterly of their higher mission.

We must do our common work conscientiously. We are sure that Jesus was a good carpenter and did the work of His trade most honestly and carefully. But He had a higher mission than carpentering. There are fine carpenters, who are neglectful of their spiritual duties. No life is a success which does not build for heaven. Bricks and stones and timbers will not make eternal habitations. It is right to do one’s work well but if one’s work on the heavenly side is neglected meanwhile, the result will be disastrous in the end. The record of Jeroboam’s enterprise, is all eclipsed by the black spots of his great moral failure.

Jeroboam wanted to keep his people loyal and faithful to him, and set about devising ways of encouraging such loyalty and devotion. He thought he saw danger in the people’s returning to the feasts in Jerusalem. He feared that if this were still permitted, that they would be drawn back to their former allegiance to the southern kingdom of Judah. He knew that they would not be satisfied without some system of worship. They had been accustomed to go to Jerusalem to the great feasts, and these observances had a tremendous hold upon them. If they had no place of worship of their own, they would continue to go to the temple and would gradually drift back to Judah. “Jeroboam said in his heart. Now. .. if this people go up to offer sacrifices in the house of Jehovah at Jerusalem, then will the heart of this people turn again unto the Lord.”

It is true that old religious faiths die hard. Religious ties are very strong. When bred in the blood and fiber, it is almost impossible to break them. Those who have been brought up with strong religious habits from their infancy can scarcely by any power be turned entirely away from these habits in later life. This is one reason why children should be trained from the cradle to obey God, and engage in His service. They may then for a time be drawn away from good paths by the world’s temptations but they will almost surely come back in the end. Jeroboam was right in his impression that the people would be apt to drift back to the old altars, unless he provided something in place of what they had left. Yet this was no justification for the sin into which he led them. If he had been loyal to God he would have sought the counsel of some wise and godly men, and have devised some plan to provide for his people religious worship, which would have the divine approval.

The king’s device to meet the danger was not God’s way. “The king made two gold calves. He said to the people, ‘It is too much trouble for you to worship in Jerusalem. O Israel, these are the gods who brought you out of Egypt!’ He placed these calf idols at the southern and northern ends of Israel in Bethel and in Dan. This became a great sin for the people worshiped them!”

Nature abhors a vacuum. A human heart cannot be left empty. “When one object of devotion is taken from it, something else must be put in its place. The king knew that the only way he could keep the people from returning to the old worship was by furnishing some other worship for them. So he was not content to forbid them going up to the old national feasts; he set up new shrines and appointed new festivals.

The old missionaries understood this law of life. When cutting down the sacred groves where the people had worshiped idols, they used the wood to erect Christian chapels on the same spot. If we seek to drive out evil we must do it by getting something good into the heart instead. There is little use in merely urging people to stop doing wrong they must be taught to do something in place of the wrong, and unless they are given something good to do they will continue to do the wrong things.

But while Jeroboam took advantage of this law of life, he erred grievously in the way he sought to fill the vacuum. Turning the people away from the worship of the true God he set up idols and taught them to worship these! Only evil came out of it. “This became a great sin, for the people worshiped them, traveling even as far as Dan!” The king’s plan worked well, according to his purpose. The people took readily to his new shrines. They went even to the farthest off, to Dan, to worship. They do not seem to have had any desire to return to Jerusalem. So Jeroboam had a religion of his own for his new kingdom, and thus one of the strongest ties of the old national life, was broken and the separation was made complete.

Yet this is one of the saddest records in the Bible. It tells of the beginning of a departure from God, which in the end brought bitter sorrow and terrible ruin upon the people, blotting from the very face of the earth the tribes who were thus set going on a wrong path! The man who starts an error never knows to what it will grow. He who sets another’s feet in a wrong path never knows where it will lead at last. To teach one child falsely may be to hurt thousands of lives in the end. Those who start new enterprises open fountains of influence, good or bad, which will flow on forever. Jeroboam gave shape and character to the new departure, and the nineteen kings who followed him all, with not on exception, walked in his evil steps!

There is an old story of an abbot who coveted a certain piece of ground. The owner refused to sell but consented to lease it for one crop only. The shrewd abbot sowed acorns, a crop of which would take three hundred years to grow and ripen. Jeroboam’s one evil sowing, mortgaged the new kingdom for evil through all its two hundred and fifty years of history!

Jeroboam’s evil work did not stop with the setting up of the calves of gold. He established a full religious cult and elaborated a complete system of worship. He made priests, and ordained feasts and systems of sacrifice.

We may trace the course of this man’s sin as it works itself out in the after history. What were the consequences in Jeroboam himself? Trouble followed trouble. His hand withered at the altar. His child died. He was defeated in war. His kingdom was partially torn from him. He was smitten in his person and went to his grave in dishonor.

Then in all the ages since his name has been gibbeted before the world, branded with infamy, as “the man who made Israel to sin.” But his sin did not stop with himself. He poisoned the springs of national life and led a nation into idolatry. The whole history of the ten tribes is one of disaster and calamity, ending in captivity and extinction. Commentators note the fact that in the seventh chapter of Revelation, where the names of the tribes that are sealed in heaven are given, two are missing, Ephraim and Dan, the tribes in whose territories the idol - calves were set up. Is there no significance in this omission? The story of sin is always terrible! “Sin, when it is full-grown, brings forth death!”

Jeroboam’s record is preserved as a warning for those who come after him. The red light of the story shines out as a danger signal. Which way are you starting? Are you facing light or darkness? As you start in youth you will likely continue to go forever!

#James Russell Miller #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #Jeroboam's Idolatry #1 Kings 12 #April 14 #MissionAssist 2023

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hugintheraven · 2 years ago

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So, thoughts on how to do this. First off, we steal heavily from OOT. Yes, Nintendo already mined that vein heavily, but "OOT-inspired" is a good way to get buy-in from the sort of people who'd hate this idea on sight. And OOT is good, which helps. That said...I'm thinking we go more Dishonored for this one's gameplay. Zelda's Sheikah-trained for her safety, she's been sneaking out of the castle her whole life, and she's not a fighter and not brave. She avoids fights, stabs monsters in the back, and she does whatever it takes to regain her kingdom. Nonlinear dungeons are a good way to justify a smaller main region than the very expansive and expensive BotW/TotK.

Part of the difficulty is that we need to contrast her with Link, but in a way that still feels similar enough to be the same series. I plan to lean into Link is Courage, Zelda is Wisdom as different motivations more than different gameplay elements.

We open with Link as the playable char. This is the tutorial level/basis for the demo/what a lot of the marketing shows. Specifically, Endgame!Link. The Master Sword is glowing and one-shots everything. His hearts are outlined. When you open the inventory, it's full of cool icons(all greyed out except the ~3 that we want people to use that will specifically come back to Zelda early on). He's also very overconfident(we can show this in a variety of ways, rescued guards, talking advice fairy, animations, whatever).

And he's attacking Ganon's Castle. Climbing up a tower, learning basic movement and combat along the way, until we reach Ganon. Full boar. Zelda is locked behind a magic wall, Link decides to fight Ganon, then rescue her. It goes badly. Ganon is immune to damage, Link goes to 0 in 3 hits, but refuses to retreat or change tactics. On the final hit, Link fires his hookshot-analogue to try to dodge and it hits Zelda's cage, freeing her before the hookshot is crushed beneath Ganon's hoof*. Ganon roars, all hope is lost...then Zelda grabs the blade from the end of the hookshot, classic ninja pose, and decides to use some Wisdom and GTFO's the nearest window.

NOW we control Zelda. And this is where we start letting the player off the leash a bit. Dungeons in this game, including this, are basically "you start at A, there's something you want at Z, big monster Q is sitting on it, and there's a bunch of small monsters, droppable traps, and noisemakers between and around everything I just mentioned. Figure it out." There's an armory with a bunch of weapons to loot that the game points you to, dumb monsters standing next to high cliffs, etc. This is also where we introduce the true helper mechanic for this game, press (blah) for Zelda to remember something helpful she read/learned. This is in the form of Zelda's voice reciting her lessons to herself, possibly with color commentary on it from modern Zelda. She's a character, this is how we give her personality when she's mostly alone.

And by the time Zelda's escaped the castle and starts heading for a town, we see her having swapped her tattered dress for civilian clothes she can move in, she has a brace of throwing knives for ranged combat, a dagger up close, and the Triforce of Wisdom has accessed her first spell. Over the course of the game she gets more gear and spells like normal, but very slanted towards the magic/ninja versions over Link's more soldier versions from the opening. No shield, for example, she needs to dodge. And the Bow comes late, with light throwing weapons being far more common.

If the player tries to return to the Castle before gathering the 7(?) Macguffins, Zelda freezes and retreats. It's not shielded by a wall, she's just smart enough to be scared.

Which means when she finally DOES reach the point of being able to take on Ganon, the player feels it. You have all the spells, your pouch is loaded with explosives, and when Zelda approaches the castle this time and is confident enough to face it, that's justified. And when the player reaches Ganon's throne room after sneaking or murdering repeats of every giant beast you've faced so far, and there's Link behind a magic wall, the solution should be obvious. He's weak after being freed, so you still have to fight Ganon, tangle him up, and expose his weakpoint for Link's Master Sword to strike the blows necessary to seal the darkness.

*you can absolutely skip this fight by shooting her cage at the start, which I expect will make speedrunners very happy once they figure it out and hateful until then

nintendo needs to hire me so i can write a game where zelda is the playable protag and then make sure all the prelaunch marketing has zero mention of playable zelda and implies link is the mc

#loz #legend of zelda #hugin writes #sorry for rambling but how to do this has been rolling around my head for a while and this was an excuse to get it out

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twrpodcast · 2 years ago

Audio

Grant's GOTY

10. God of War: Ragnarök (USA)

09. Ghostwire: Tokyo (Japan)

08. Wayward Strand (Australia)

07. We Are OFK (USA)

06. Return To Monkey Island (USA)

05. Horizon: Forbidden West (Netherlands)

04. Citizen Sleeper (UK)

03. Pentiment (USA)

02. Immortality (USA)

01. Norco (USA)

Honorable mention: Saints Row (USA)

Rob's GOTY

10. Citizen Sleeper

09. Ooblets

08. Digimon Survive

07. Two Point University

06. Splatoon 3

05. Tunic

04. Pokémon Violet & Scarlet

03. Return To Monkey Island

02. The Case Of The Golden Idol

01. Pokémon Legends: Arceus

Dishonorable mention: Temtem

2023:

A Space For The Unbound (Jan 19)

Fire Emblem Engage (Jan 20)

Forspoken (Jan 24)

Like a Dragon: Ishin! (Feb 21)

Bayonetta Origins: Cereza and the Lost Demon (Mar 17)

Star Wars Jedi: Survivor (Mar 17)

Star Trek: Resurgence (Apr)

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (May 12)

Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League (May 26)

Final Fantasy XVI (Jun 22)

Baldur's Gate III (Aug)

Alan Wake II (?)

Assassin's Creed Mirage (?)

Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora (?)

The Expanse: A Telltale Series (?)

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth (?)

Goodbye Volcano High (?)

Like a Dragon Gaiden: The Man Who Erased His Name (?)

Marvel's Spider-Man 2 (?)

Pikmin 4 (?)

Redfall (?)

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl (?)

Starfield (?)

The Wolf Among Us 2 (?)

Plugs

GrantBrunner.com

RobDWebster.com

#twr #podcast #the weekly roar

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honourablejester · 2 years ago

Note

Top 5 Rogues in Fiction

Oh, okay. Watch me forget every character I’ve known. But off the top of my head:

Eugenides from the Queen’s Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner. THE BEST. THE WORST. Everyone around him wants to worship him and/or wring his neck, often simultaneously. Regularly steals kingdoms from people. My all-time favourite thief.

Corvo Attano from Dishonored. Everyone loves the mute traumatised rat assassin falling off buildings and (depending on chaos) saving souls.

Lando Calrissian from Star Wars. Baby me fell so hard for this space pirate prince with his cloud city and his cape and his gambling and his heart-wrenching decision between his city and his friend.

Ezra Standish from The Magnificent Seven (1998). I am a complete sucker for a fancy-pants gambler with a heart (and tooth) of gold and more ten-dollar words than actual dollars. Between him and Lando, gamblers are a bit of a thing for me.

If we’re talking archetypes, Hermes from Greek Mythology informed a lot for me. Also Lugh from Irish mythology, and several other mythological tricksters. But Hermes was my first, when my granddad gave me a big book of Greek Mythology. Hermes is why I love to mingle tricksters and psychopomps together, thieves and the grave.

(Occasionally) Honourable mentions: Rin Setsua from Thunderbolt Fantasy (amazing trickster asshole), Jonathan Carnahan from The Mummy (“And did I panic? I think not!”), Arsene Lupin (original flavour), Arsene Lupin from Lupin III, Selina Kyle from Batman, Hardison & Parker from Leverage, Althalus from The Redemption of Althalus (I realised David Eddings is iffy, but this was one of my childhood books), Slanter from The Wishsong of Shannara (arguably a ranger, but he was my introduction to surly, sneaky, morally ambiguous, competent, enemies-to-allies), Willow from Willow (even when facing an evil sorceress, bog-standard sleight of hand can and will win the day), Robin Hood from Disney’s Robin Hood (childhood), Hawkins & Jean from The Court Jester, Artemus Gordon from the (original) Wild Wild West, an uncountable number of spies …

Actually, you know what? I’ll shut up now. But I enjoy a good rogue, I really, really do.

#ask games #rogues #thieves #gamblers #tricksters #i have a type #several types

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fallenasleepyetagain · 3 years ago

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Fairytale - Dreammare fic

‼️Do NOT tag as incest‼️

Fandom - UTMV/UTAU

Genre(s) - Fantasy, romance, MLM, strangers to lovers, strangers to enemies, forbidden love, human versions, whump (emotional + physical)

Characters - Dream, King Nightmare, Cross, Error, Blue (mentioned), Remus Solana (mentioned), Aislinn Solana (mentioned), unnamed little brother (mentioned)

Pairing(s) - Dream/Nightmare, Dream/Blue (implied)

CW/TW - Alcohol consumption, themes and thoughts of suicide at beginning of story, death, shitty parents, blood

Word count - a lot (4254)

The dragon roared, beating its large, bat-like wings as it flew out of its cave and perched itself atop the tower.

The sun slowly revealed itself over the dense forest that surrounded the large tower. Dream groaned, holding his stomach in pain. He languished as the sun slowly filtered through the windows in his room.

His stomach rumbled, empty and starving. God, he hated waking up in the morning. He ground his teeth as he hesitantly got out of bed. He sat on his bed for a long while, feeling the sun on his brown skin and the fabric of his bed.

Contemplating it all was a usual activity for him in the morning. Existence was exhausting and Dream wondered what the whole point of it all was. All he did was wake up, eat, try to fill the daylight hours the best he could and then start all over again the next morning.

He couldn't go out and meet anyone, the stupid dragon wouldn't let him leave. And nobody wanted to visit him because of said dragon.

He wondered why he bothered to continue living if there was nothing to do with his life.

Then his stomach growled at him. Loudly.

He should eat something before he contemplated his life. Hunger did things to people and not everyone realized it.

He trudged into the kitchen and whipped open one of the cabinets that held his food. The kitchen was above the living room, and below his bedroom. Jesus, there were so many stairs to climb in this damned tower.

He broke a piece of bread off of a large loaf and wandered over to the window. It faced the forest, and towards the kingdom he used to live in. The castle was barely visible in the light.

He looked down at the entranceway from the forest to his tower, watching. He knew that the peasant boy who brought his food wouldn't be here for another month or so, but he did hope.

That peasant boy was so handsome, with his big blue eyes and sweet smile, how he hadn't been married off yet was beyond Dream.

He sighed, grabbing an apple and then closing the cabinet and going downstairs. As much as his heart longed to meet, to love the peasant boy who fed him, he knew it would never happen.

He was royalty, and he had already dishonored his family enough. Marrying a peasant would be the last straw for his parents.

There were other people in the world, someday he'd come across one just as attractive, maybe more attractive, than his peasant boy.

He bit into the apple and scowled. Too bad he was stuck up in this stupid tower. People had to come to him instead of him coming to them. It was driving him crazy.

He wanted to go out and be someone. Do things! He didn't think that was too much to ask.

He sat up and opened the window before throwing the apple core out of the window as hard as he could. He popped his back and climbed all the stairs back to his bedroom. He opened the window there and breathed in the cold, fresh air.

He changed into a new pair of clothes, he didn't need pajamas, and placed the old ones in a small basket on the floor. Once the basket was full, he would clean all the clothes inside. But it would probably be another couple of days before he needed to do so.

He went back downstairs to the living room and stared into a wall as he decided what to do for the day. He didn't feel like sewing or poking the beast with trying to get his arrows that he shot a couple of days ago.

He could leave his tower, but if the dragon decided that he had gone too far, then he would be picked up and tossed back into his room. And the dragon had been particularly pissy lately and Dream would rather not push his buttons.

He sighs. Leaning back into his chair, sinking into the soft feathers that made it. Maybe he might work on his quilt. That stupid quilt was massive, he had been working on it since he was shoved up into that place.

He closed his eyes, tapping his foot against the wooden ground. He could read something? He wasn't a book person, but it didn't hurt him to flip through a book or two.

He walked down the stairs to the library. Most of the books were collecting dust and were old but there were a couple of stories that he liked.

They were fiction, of course. Dream wasn't a super studious guy, he loved the stories of heroes going on adventures and exploring and...romance. Oh man, did he love romance.

He found himself related more to the damsels, who usually found themselves helpless due to things out of their control, rather than the heroes. Sometimes he wondered if he were a lady if his rescue would be easier.

He wouldn't mind being a lady. He quite liked the ball gowns they wore, among other things. Maybe, just maybe, he'd try one on. Yeah...he'd like to do that before he died.

He grabbed one of his favorite stories, it had a couple of renditions, some made for younger audiences, but he had one of the longest, richest retellings of it.

He pulled it off of the shelf and threw himself on the comfy bench that rested underneath the window. The sunlight gathered in the room, shining on him and the book. His fingers ran over the leather cover, a small, lovelorn smile appearing on his face.

He opened the book and began to read.

He wasn't sure how long time had passed since he began, but once he got to the third chapter, each chapter had about twenty pages in it, he decided it was time for lunch.

Or his stomach told him that. It yelled and growled, demanding some kind of substance. He sighed, placing a small piece of fabric to save his spot before going up to the kitchen.

His breakfast wasn't particularly filling, he needed a large lunch. He grabbed a couple of vegetables and fruits and began to chop them up, making them into a nice salad, and then lit the small metal stove and began to start cooking some meat from an animal.

He nearly devoured his salad, his stomach gurgling for more, more!

The meat was done cooking after a little bit and Dream put out the fire in a haste. He devoured the meat, leaving only the bone.

It, uhm, wasn't particularly good. But he didn't care. It was editable, and it was food, so he really didn't care.

Maybe he'd steal away his peasant boy to cook for him and OH MY GOD he needed to stop thinking about him.

He went back to his book and slammed his face into it. He needed to get lost in the book again. That stupid peasant boy kept coming into his thoughts unprompted and it reminded him of his shitty situation every time.

He opened his book and began to read. His fingers ran across the page, the words nearly flipping off the page.

He got another chapter or two in before he felt his eyelids get heavy. This book was good, but it always, somehow, lulled him to sleep.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he remembered waking up to the massive thud of the dragon falling to the ground.

It shook the entire tower to the point where he fell off the bench. Had someone...had someone finally slain that dammed dragon? He glanced outside and his heart dropped. The sun was setting. God, why did whoever this person have such terrible timing?!

The door to his castle was opened and he rushed downstairs. He was panting as he got a good look at the person who had saved him.

"I didn't kill your dragon, by the way." His voice was smoky yet modulated, like every word that he spoke came out of him was carefully chosen and calculated.

He was tall and muscular, although not as muscular as Dream. He had light brown skin, lighter than Dream's, and had stunning teal eyes. He had black hair that was short and swept to the left. He was wearing something a tad more formal for the average adventurer. It was all black with silver and teal accents. He also had a bag slung over his shoulder.

"It's not my dragon." He sputtered out, mind going blank.

"Hm. Either way, I simply nullified it, it will be completely comatose for the next day or so."

The man took a step forward and held his hand out. "We should head out now, however. We'll get to my kingdom by daylight."

"No!" He shouted, "I can't!"

"Whatever do you mea-"

Dream leaped down the rest of the stairs and shoved him out of the tower.

"You have really shitty timing!" He shouted, "Come back in the morning!" He slammed the door on his face and locked it tight.

The man shouted protests as Dream rushed up the stairs, slamming all the windows shut. When he reached his kitchen, the man, somehow, threw himself into the room.

Dream grimaced but slammed the window shut anyways. His bedroom window was perpetually closed, so he didn't have to worry about that.

"Get out!"

"Not without an explanation. Do you...not want to be saved?"

Dream was overwhelmed, heart pounding and his head was aching, "I do want to be saved, I want nothing more but I am cursed and you need to come back in the morning!"

"I am cursed as well, how did you think I got up and in here so quickly? That is nothing to be ashamed by."

Dream went to retaliate, to say something, to do something! But he couldn't. Despite all his years with his curse, this was something he couldn't get used to. The sun had gone down and his body began to disintegrate.

Flames engulfed his body, his scream echoed out, and then...

Silence.

"Hm."

Nightmare crouched down by the pile of ash that was once Prince Dream Solana, firstborn to King Remus Solana and Queen Aislinn Solana.

How fascinating.

The Phoenix Curse was very rare, he had only seen a single case of it in his lifetime. It wasn't a particularly lethal or detrimental curse. The holder of the Phoenix Curse was to die every time the sun went down, to be burnt to ash, and then rise again when the sun came up. Hence the name.

You had to be careful with people with this curse, if their ash was separated or spread out then they would not come back. If they lost a few particles, they might lose a hair or two, but nothing particularly damaging.

But even just a small handful of ash could cause them to lose limbs, or their life.

It must be scary, dying every day and not knowing if you'll wake up.

No wonder Dream was in such a hurry to lock everything down, just a small breeze could be the end.

Nightmare sauntered over to the kitchen and grabbed an empty jar. He wasn't going to wait an entire night just to take Dream home with him. He walked back over to the pile of ash and in one swift motion, put all of it into the jar.

He made sure the lid was sealed tight and began his descent. He paused, he was always a fan of libraries, and the fact that this prison had one warmed his heart.

He opened his bag, which held the entrance to a void that stored all of his shit when he was out and about. He grabbed a book that had fallen onto the floor and had a bookmark in it. He read the title and snicked slightly.

This guy.

Adorable.

He dropped it into his bag and then closed it shut. He wouldn't dare drop Dream in his bag, he had to be gentle with his husband-to-be.

He exited the tower, getting a slight glance at the dragon he knocked out. Such majestic creatures, they don't deserve this life. He freed his horse from the tree it was tied to, before hopping on.

His horse already knew where they were going, and began the long distance home. Nightmare kept a good grip on the jar, nothing would happen to Dream while in this state, he would make sure of it.

He watched the moon slowly pass overhead as he chased it back to his kingdom. He was sure his subjects would be delighted to know he was back. And with a husband too, his advisor, a man by the name of Error, a dapper young fellow, had been pushing him to find a suitor as of late.

The moon hadn't even begun setting yet when he came across the silhouette of his kingdom. He'd be home sooner than expected. Which wasn't a problem, of course. He hated having to leave home, but this was important.

He came across the gates to enter his kingdom and the guards opened them. His horse slowed to a trot, the horseshoes tapping away at the ground as he rode through town. It was late, but some people came out of their houses to welcome him back.

They weren't particularly loud, so as not to wake their children, but Nightmare didn't mind. It was the thought that counted.

He reached his castle and hopped off, giving his horse to the stable keeper and he entered the castle. Cross, his personal knight, immediately fell to his side.

"My King, how was your-"

"Silence Cross." Nightmare was not in the mood to talk, he never was, really. He wasn't sure why Cross kept trying to start conversations with him.

The two walked in silence as Nightmare walked to his room. Once he reached his quarters, he slammed the door shut, and Cross took his position of standing, waiting outside his door.

Nightmare yanked down the covers on his bed and then dumped Dream's ashes onto the bed in a neat pile. He made sure all of the dust was out of the jar before putting the empty out of his door, signaling Cross to give it to the next servant he saw.

He opened his bag and grabbed the book Dream had been reading and placed it on the bedside table. He would probably want it when he woke up.

Nightmare slugged over to his desk, already exhausted from the number of king-ly duties he had to do. He was gone for only a day, how could this have piled up so fast?

He sighed and got to work, he supposed that's why Error was pressing him to get married, he'd be able to split the work of ruling a kingdom.

He worked for lord knows how long before the sunrise entered the room. There was a sudden creek in the bed and Dream was awake, gasping for air.

Nightmare turned around in his chair and got up. He walked over to Dream who had pulled the blankets up to his chest, stomach growling.

"You...took me home with you."

"I did. You were going to come with me anyways, and I didn't want to wait all night, forgive me for ceremoniously taking you."

Dream bit at his lip, "You said you were cursed too."

"Ah. Yes, of course. I suspected you would be curious about that. I suffer from what is known as the Midnight Curse."

Nightmare watched Dream's face carefully and judging from the neutral, questioning face told Nightmare that Dream had no fucking idea what he was talking about.

"The Midnight Curse causes me to be unable to sleep unless it is a new moon. It also gives me the ability to harness the darkness around me, and make it..."

Nightmare summoned a tentacle-like shape from his back, it was a slight struggle due to the light of the morning, but he made it work and caressed Dream with it.

"Physical, if you will."

Dream shuttered and pushed the tentacle away and Nightmare made it dissipate into the air around them.

Dream paused before snickering slightly, holding a hand up to his mouth to help stop himself from laughing harder.

"Is something amusing you?" Nightmare asked him, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's just funny! Our curses are polar opposites, and yet...here we are."

Nightmare hummed, "I suppose that's true. Albeit, I was quite surprised when you turned to ash last night. It's not something you see every day."

Dream flushed slightly, "It's uh! Not fun to experience."

"I'm certain that is true. Dying and reviving every night does not sound particularly enjoyable."

Dream's stomach roared.

"And I'm also certain that you are starving. It must take a lot out of you. Breakfast should be served by now, I have work I need to get back to. Cross will show you the way down to the dining area." Nightmare turned back around and sat at his desk while gesturing to the door.

"Wait wait wait. Before I go down, I gotta know."

Dream hopped out of the bed and walked over to the corner of it, leaning against the tall, thin pillars holding up the canopy above his bed.

"What happens now?"

"I don't think I understand?"

"You uh, rescued me. What happens now that I'm free? Is there a specific thing I have to do or like?"

"I do intend on marrying you, so I suppose that will be the next course of action."

Dream sputtered, face flushed, "What?!"

"Well sure. Unless you believe that you can take the throne from your parents?"

Dream grimaced. The whole reason his parents locked him away was that they didn't want someone who was cursed to be on the throne. His little brother will take it when he comes of age.

His parents would probably fake his death, or something dramatic like that if he returned.

"No. I...I can't. My little brother will rule in my place."

"And how old is your brother?"

"Six."

Nightmare tilted his head, eyes squinted in confusion but decided to drop it. "Well. Then I will marry you and we will rule my kingdom together. This will also set up easier trade routes and help unify our kingdoms. Really, it's a win-win for everyone involved."

"But isn't it a little fast?"

"What?"

"We just met, this is our first ever proper conversation, don't you think this is moving too fast?"

Nightmare turned in his seat, face leaning against his hand. He stared at Dream, and Dream couldn't help but notice the massive eye bags under his gorgeous eyes.

"Moving too fast for what? If it were up to me, we would get married tonight to seal the deal between our kingdoms."

Dream stuttered over his words, unable to find the explanation for the disappointment and abhorrence he felt for how quickly this was happening.

"Oh, Dreamy." Nightmare's honeyed voice cooed, mocking him. He stood up and walked over to him. Nightmare was a few inches taller than he was, but it was enough of a difference for Dream to feel small and helpless when Nightmare stood before him.

"Are you upset because you think marriage is about love?"

Dream broke eye contact, no words needed.

"What are we, peasants?!" Nightmare laughed as he said it, as if it was the most unthinkable thing in the world.

Dream's stomach boiled, from both hunger and rage.

"What we have, Dream," Nightmare pointed at himself and then poked Dream's chest, "Is not built out of love. It was never about love."

Nightmare grabbed his cheeks, his demeanor going from stoic and knowledgeable to sinister and cunning.

"I did not save you to be a hero, I did not save you because I had some sort of affection for you. I saved you because you are the heir to a large, and prosperous kingdom."

Their faces were close and Dream was grinding his teeth. Fists sweaty and clamped together.

"Love, has nothing to do with it." His face faltered, "I thought you would've known that. Clearly, you are more moronic than I originally expected."

Dream's nostrils flared as he punched Nightmare in his jaw. Nightmare choked, staggering back.

"Fuck you!" Dream screamed and dashed the door. Right at that moment, Cross opened the door, a plate of waffles in his hand. Dream shoved passed him, rushing down the halls.

Nightmare called after him, before shouting at the top of his lungs to not let Dream exit the castle.

Dream sprinted down the halls, not knowing where he was going, he just had to keep moving.

Dream's legs started throbbing but he didn't stop. He refused to stop, if Nightmare wanted to lock him in a legal bind, then he'd have to try a little harder than that.

Nightmare was behind him, Dream could almost taste the rage coming off of him.

Guards and servants were being shouted at, yet no one was quite sure how to act or what to do. Dream was thankful that the only obstacle he had to worry about was Nightmare.

He leaped down a flight of stairs, just like he used to do back at his tower. The chandeliers hanging above the staircase hadn't been lit yet, which made it slightly darker. The windows made up for it, but it made Dream's heart race.

Could Nightmare manipulate the shadow in this lighting?

He and Nightmare apparently had the same thought process because before Dream had the time to react, Nightmare summoned a root-like shape from the floor in front of his foot, causing him to trip and fall down the rest of the stairs.

He did his best to tuck his head into his chest as he fell, praying he didn't break anything on the way down.

By the time he landed, the world was spinning and the taste of blood was in his mouth.

He got to his hands and knees, body quaking. Nightmare grabbed him by his hair and forced him to kneel in front of him.

Dream's blood oozed out of his mouth and Nightmare crouched down, wiping it off his chin.

"You are acting like a child, Prince Solana." Nightmare hissed out, their noses almost touching. "I don't know how long you've been locked up but I do hope you join me in the real world sometime in the near future."

"I can't believe wanting to love someone is considered childish. You must've not been given enough attention as a kid."

Nightmare's eye twitched, "If you want love, then I'll give you love, desperado."

Nightmare yanked Dream close, and much to Dream's surprise, he kissed him. It wasn't gentle or sweet, but it was passionate. It was the most passionate thing Dream had ever experienced.

Even though the anger and hate seeped through their lips, tugging on each other's hair and biting tongues and lips, but it was passionate.

It was full of emotion and it was consuming. As if, for just a moment, it was just the two of them in the world. Nothing could bother them, nothing could stop them.

It was just Dream, Nightmare, and this hate-filled kiss.

Nightmare was the first one to pull away, panting on Dream's face. His breath was ragged and face flushed from cheek to cheek.

Dream smirked through his heaving, "Was I your first kiss? Wow, you really are unloved."

Nightmare seethed as he pulled Dream up by his collar, not denying it.

A servant woman ran up to them and did a quick bow before her eyes glided to Nightmare, waiting for an order.

"Take this one to breakfast. And make sure a doctor checks his head. I don't want him any more brain-damaged than he already is." Nightmare commanded, tossing Dream in her general direction.

"Hey!" Dream started to protest before the woman grabbed his wrist and began to drag him away.

Nightmare watched until Dream and the servant were out of the room before collapsing into the stair railing. His fingers glided over his lips over and over. For his first kiss, Dream wasn't half bad.

"My lord." Error appeared next to him, as he typically did.

"Oh thank you, good god." Nightmare took the glass of red wine from Error and finished it in under two sips.

"Lambrusco." Nightmare hummed as he licked his lips. "Make sure you order more of it." He ordered as he went down all the steps and began to the throne room.

"Error, find the blacksmith with the highest quality jewels and commission him two rings. Get Dream's ring size while you're at it. Silver metal, turquoise gemstone. Or diamond if it fits into this month's budget. I don't need more people on my ass for upping taxes."

Error simply nodded, jotting all of it down on the notepad he carried around all the time.

When Nightmare entered the throne room, he shooed Error away and plopped down on the throne. He had work he needed to do, but it could wait until Dream was dead again.

He snickered at the thought.

His fingers mindlessly trailed up to his lips again and he flushed in mortification. He couldn't believe how much Dream's lips had an effect him.

He'd have to steal a kiss or two from him before tonight.

His heart raced at the idea.

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flameohotfamily · 4 years ago

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Headcanons for avatar!Mai and maiko?

that’s really interesting au and i have some thoughts (another long-long post, yes), but before that here are a few remarks:

the spiritual collapse happened after avatar’s roku death and the new avatar should’ve been born in the fire nation again.

iroh vanished (ran away) after azulon’s death.

ozai didn’t banish zuko after the agni kai.

so, here is my avatar!mai au:

after avatar roku’s death, fire lord sozin commanded fire sages to check every newborn child in the entire fire nation. if a child was a firebender they took them away from their parents and held them in captivity until their 16th birthday. if a child was a non-bender, they returned them to their parents.

all fire lords through 100 years were continuing sozin’s rules, trying to reveal and capture the new avatar. guards broke into houses and took away children cruelly; pleading cries and screams from terrified parents sounded everywhere. scared people prayed to agni to send them non-bender children (that was sligtly borrowed from the story about moses and pharaoh, i just listened to music from “the prince of egypt” recently).

mai was born weak and premature, fire sages said that she had no spark, and michi with ukano were relieved. besides, to that day everyone already thought that the circle of avatars is gone forever.

mai discovered that she could firebend at the age of six, the scared little girl ‘who shouldn’t make any problems’ kept her secret tightly and didn’t say anything about her bending even to her parents.

she met princess azula and ty lee at the age of seven, that year she also met prince zuko.

she secretly was watching zuko’s and azula’s training. mai had been running to the outside of the caldera and, hiding between high rocks, she tried to repeat their firebending moves.

sometimes little mai had seen in her dreams the tall white-beard man, but she didn’t understand what it all meant.

first time mai entered the avatar state at age of twelve after zuko’s agni kai. zuko was everything for mai – her friend and her beloved. she cried silently in her bedroom unable to unsee how fire lord burns his own son’s face, and that happened.

sages in all four nations saw the light in their temples and announced that the avatar had finally returned.

the next two years angry miscalculated fire lord ozai ordered to test and even torture every firebender they hold in captivity. meanwhile, mai’s family went to omashu.

avatar roku appeared in mai’s dream almost every night, reminding that it is her duty to stop the fire lord and bring balance to the world. terrified mai replied to him that she never asked for that. she had been wearing her mask of nonchalance and cold daily, although everything inside her squirms from the fear.

she returned to the fire nation at the age of fifteen, and was met by ‘dishonored’ zuko who’s only desire was to capture the avatar and restore his honor.

mai tiredly confessed to him that she’s the avatar.

zuko didn’t believe her at first, even scowled because she’s ‘mocking’ him. mai created the fire and zuko was terrified. he couldn’t believe in it.

he begged her to surrender to his father and mai, angered by his ‘betrayal’, turned into the avatar state again, pushing him away by her uncontrolled airbending.

all next day mai was planning her escape, afraid that zuko would betray her this time for real.

he intercepted her right before her leaving and whispered that he wanted to help her to restore balance and bring peace. his father was doing horrible things, now zuko understood. mai only nodded, and then, for hers and zuko’s surprise, she hugged him tightly.

after long preparations they succeeded to release the last dragon, chained in the undergrounds of the royal palace (that is the reference to the show “merlin”).

zuko and mai flew away on druk from the fire nation. furious ozai sent azula to catch them.

after long weeks of helpless searching and hiding from azula, mai and zuko found ty lee. ty lee joined them happily.

after visiting every ruined town and devastated village, after seeing wounded, broken, helpless people, desperation and guilt were growing in mai more with every day. she couldn’t bend, she couldn’t help them. she was a failure, not the avatar.

zuko and ty lee had seen it, and tried to help her, but mai locked from them and pretended that she was fine.

they found iroh in ba sing se. he helped them to hide (somehow, they managed to hide druk too) and tried to teach them firebending, but neither mai, nor zuko had fire inside them.

mai and zuko flew to the sun warriors ruins to learn the true firebending from masters.

exited mai kissed zuko that day, he kissed her in return. no need to mention how embarrassed they were after that spontaneous kiss. of course, they felt mutual attraction, but they couldn’t start a relationship in the middle of the war.

they flew to the southern air temple to find an airbender teacher for mai. there were only a few ancient monks – genocide survivors, and a twelve-year-old boy.

the bald twelve-year-boy - sifu aang - agreed to teach mai airbending, while sifu - hotman - zuko was continuing with their firebending training.

people from the northern water tribe refused to help them because they didn’t believe in mai’s good intentions.

frustrated mai started to see in her visions two girls.

siblings katara and sokka escaped from the northern water tribe. despite their hate for the fire nation, they agreed to teach mai because the avatar was their last hope.

they were travelling across the earth kingdom, helping people and fighting with the fire nation soldiers (led by azula) until they found toph.

mai was slightly embarrassed to be educated by a bunch of kids, but she had no choice.

when mai felt insecurity and fear, knowing that the entire world depends on her, she locked from her friends. only zuko could reach her and comfort her, only in his warm embrace she felt safe and could be “just mai”.

before the sozin’s comet mai kissed zuko desperately, thinking that was their last time.

first, she was fighting for zuko, and only then for the world’s peace. she hated ozai more than anyone and i do not think she preferred mercy in the end (sorry not sorry).

a few years after the war’s end, young fire lord zuko asked for her hand. mai refused at first, saying that she couldn’t be the avatar and the fire lady at the same time.

stubborn zuko never stopped convincing her how blessed and successful their union could be, until she agreed. after all, zuko always had her heart.

(mai would definitely ‘beat’ koh spirit hah)

honestly, i think i failed it, didn’t i? i’m really sorry.

but anyway thank you so much for the ask! avatar mai is such an interesting trope, who knows, maybe i’ll write some more about it one day (and include more maiko interaction).

#maiko au #maiko atla #maiko #zuko x mai #zumai #avatar mai #atla #atla au #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender au #mai atla #mai and the gaang #maiko headcanons #maiko hc #flameohotfamily maiko #flameohotfamily headcanons #flameohotfamily answers

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

Text

The Servant and The Prince | Four

Mama Mia, here we go again lovelies!

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter four

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: anger, mentions of abuse (not graphic), mentions of death (not graphic)

Tags: angst, fluff

Word count: 6.2k (oh god)

Previous | Next

Master List

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

“Come on you churl—” Estrid hisses, her demon-esq nails digging into her arm where her step mother’s hand curls over sleeve— “you are making us look bad. At least pretend to have some couth.”

Estrid drags her forward for a moment, ushering her— all but kicking her— through the blinding gates before losing interest and rushing to meet Anna. Y/n bites her tongue. There are many things she could say. It is almost strange just how many retorts rush to her tongue. They race through her skull, infecting her mind like a sort of mould. Unlike with the bread back home she cannot seem to pick away at it— she cannot make the bad spots go away.

Perhaps if they had not left her to carry all of their things then she would not be taking so long. Do they really believe the princes will spare their diamonds a glance anyway? They are sure to be able to smell the fakes from miles away!

Y/n blinks a few times at the roar of fire that swells in her chest, encasing her very lungs in flames, almost stumbling over the marble stairs beneath her. It feels as though if she does not scream right now— if she does not say everything on her mind, unleash this pent up resentment— then she will surely cook from the inside out. It bubbles, simmers, does the thing pots do when they begin to sizzle— like they are screaming but she is not screaming; she only wishes she was. But she has never wanted to scream and she has been through so much worse. What is one little name, one hand yanking her arm? It is nothing but still she is ready to let the flames engulf her and burn the entire city.

It is terrifying— this kind of all consuming rage.

Estrid turns back towards Y/n, who is still stumbling over the steps, always the faithful servant, and her step mother scoffs. Estrid mutters something under her breath that she cannot hear. An insult, no doubt. It does not reach her ears. There is no way she would have been able to hear it anyway, not over the sound of the flames disintegrating her bones and blood and flesh from the inside out. It makes her want to scream louder— harder, make the castle walls crumble the same way she feels like she is— loud enough to hear over the roar.

Can you not hear it? Do you not care? She can taste the words as they beg for mercy on her tongue, wanting nothing more than to die on the cobblestone before her, spat out in a string of venom like they are meant to be. Can they not see that she is burning to the ground?

She barely swallows the words— she can hear them crying as they pass her throat and she almost changes her mind. She almost sets them free. It is all she can do to bend her neck at her step mother, wonder if the flames are visible in her eyes, and try not to cough up smoke right here on the castle steps. That would be very unladylike— a dishonor on her family. Oh— wait— no it would not be. Her family is dead. She can vomit as much smoke and flames as her little, burning heart desires. She has no one left to bring shame to. Gods, she is so terrified.

Why she is terrified, she does not know. She has never been scared before— not like this.

She was scared of the dark for the longest time. She used to see shadows on her walls and under the waves in the wash basin and against the trees when her mother would make her fetch the cat before bed. She used to think that was true fear— the night. The shadows. The wash basin. But then the morning sun would come and fight the shadows— then her mother would empty the basin— and before long there was nothing left to be afraid of.

But then there was no mother to empty the wash basin and suddenly she was afraid of death and the dark. Surely death must be the greatest fear one can have. Right? The all consuming nothingness, the longest sleep, the unknown. What could be scarier than the unknown? Than losing the people she loves the most and being left to wonder where they are and what they are doing— if they can even do anything— and are they okay? Please, someone just tell her, are they okay? She is not okay.

Darkness and death— death and darkness. At least those were always the scariest things and at least she had overcome them— both of them. There is nothing scarier than those two things. Except, apparently, herself. That is all there is left to be afraid of. Not Estrid or Anna, not pain. Not him. Those are all things she has survived. Overcome. Enjoyed. There is only herself to be afraid now, and the overwhelming, unbearable anger unfurling in her chest and arms and neck and skull. She is terrified of herself.

She is terrified of the anger.

“This way ladies— your chambers are this way!”

Y/n blinks— certain her eyelashes are singed and the blur in her vision is from the smoke in her eyes— and finds that she is no longer on the marble steps but in a long hallway. Pillars rise to her left, showcasing an expansive forest and a smudge of blue that must be the ocean. It feels so close— she can see the waves cresting with white foam so it must be. She can smell the salt, like it is right next to her. She can almost feel the surf lapping at her toes, cooling some of the burning tingle. She would do anything for it to rush up her legs. Soak her dress. Make her skin sticky. She would take the stickiness over the relentless flames. There is no time, though, to take her moment of peace. No time for stickiness. There never is.

“Are you deaf?” Estrid’s hand presses down on her spine, right where the bruises are from the last time the two came in contact. “Move! I will not take kindly to getting the worst chamber because of your dawdling.”

Are the bruises purple? She wonders. Perhaps they are red and black— like molten lava, shifting under her skin. She does not voice her musings aloud, of course. She swallows those thoughts alongside the rest of them. She can feel the precise way they fall on top of their partners, each wasted syllable mushing into the last. They fill her aching belly all the way, pressing on the hollow dip of her throat. If her thoughts were food she would never be hungry again.

Of course, she does not say any of that. Instead she bows her head, eating the flames as they rise. She is so full already though. “I am very sorry, Milady.”

Estrid scoffs. “You should be. Henry should have drowned you at birth had he known you would be so slow.”

At the sound of her father’s name her head snaps up. Estrid is already walking away again, hurrying to meet her impatient daughter. Anna taps her heel against the marble. Click, click, click. Each tap makes her head pound harder. Soon she cannot hear the clicks anymore. Her father would never do anything of the sort— her father was kind! They are not looking at her anymore. They cannot see the smoke billowing from her ears. They cannot see the blackness she feels flashing across her vision. They cannot see the hate. Just like she cannot see the bruises. Are they purple? Are they scarlet? What would her father think of them? She cannot see the bruises but she can feel them. Hot and itchy and painful. Can they feel the hatred? Are they just ignoring it like she is ignoring the volcanic bruises?

Probably. And they are not the only ones. Y/n weaves through the crowded hallway, dodging women of all shapes and colors— quite literally, she narrowly passes a woman with purple tinted skin— all of whom spare her not even a glance. It makes her feel invisible. It makes feel like she can finally breathe. It makes her angry. She is breathing the smoke again. Every face that passes her that does not look at her makes her charcoal lungs ignite even more. Her only solace is the all too familiar feeling of being split in two. The anger is not wholly her own— it is his as well. She can feel him in her chest, that aching part of her anger where he demands to be seen.

Is he mad at her?

She stops dead in her tracks. Just like that, her own anger is gone, replaced with something ice cold and unbearable. It starts in her hands. Her wrists begin aching— freezing— as the ice flows up through her veins. She thought the fire was bad. She takes it all back in this moment— she wants the flames again. The ice is in her chest now. She can feel it creeping closer to her heart. She wants the anger back. Her anger. Why would he be angry with her?

Does he hate her? She can no longer feel her heart beating— the ice has done its job. It is after her throat now, climbing higher and higher. What would it feel like to throw up shards of Ice? Nevermind, she does not want to know. She had wanted to scream before. She had wanted to burn the kingdom down with her voice and words and screams. Now she cannot even whimper. Her tongue is frozen. Her knees hit the floor— she does not feel it. Maybe it does not even happen, maybe her eyes are just frozen now and playing tricks on her. They make her feel as though she is falling— pull the ground from under her and send her vision spinning— but perhaps she is still standing. Still following. Still invisible.

Why would he hate her?

She watches as feet pass by her, heels and boots of all colors all slowing when they cross her path. Well, maybe they are slowing. Maybe that is just her mind continuing to play tricks on her though. She would not be able to tell the difference right now— if there is one, that is. She cannot look past the soles of the shoes, cannot meet the eyes of those passing her. She is stuck— her neck which was so hot only moments ago now stiff. To think that a simple thought could send her reeling in such a grand way as to literally floor her. It is almost impressive, actually. If she could feel anything other than the crushing, ice cold weight on her shoulders then perhaps she would laugh.

To think that a nameless, faceless man could make her feel such torrential and devastating emotions. Anger and sadness. Longing and desperation. It is unreal the things he makes her feel. Otherworldly things. Impossible, tragic, wonderful things. There is no way that any of it is real. She must be losing her mind. She wishes she was losing her mind. Her chest zaps where the emerald ring hits her sternum, tied to a thin strap of leather around her neck, the ice melting for a fraction of a second. It taps against her skin as her hands meet the marble floor, a gentle reminder that this— he— is real. Gods. A measure of the anger sparks back up and this time she knows that it is entirely her own.

When she was a little girl she used to watch the dust devils in her neighbours corn field. Her father would watch with her sometimes. One of those times he explained what was happening. He told her that wind only spirals like that when the cold air meets the hot air. When that happens— and the temperatures collide— they begin to fight. Imagine them like two rivals, her father had said. The cold air grabs the hot air’s hair. In turn the hot air kicks out at the cold air’s knees. They keep doing that— kicking and shoving and biting and pulling— until finally their limbs are but a blur. That is all a dust devil is, my girl— two rivals fighting. She had not thought to ask him what happens when the cold air and the hot air are not rivals— she had not thought to ask what would happen if the hot air and the cold air were actually lovers. Would the same thing happen? Those little dust devils? Would it be better?

Would it be worse?

Much like most things in her life, she does not know the answer to that. All she knows is that she can feel the air— be them rivals or lovers— punching and kicking, kissing and touching, in her chest and it hurts. All she knows is that if he is real then he better come and get her right now before her body caves to the icy fire tornado that is swirling in her lungs. She is going to implode.

“My dear—” a warm hand lands on her shoulder and it is like magic the way her thoughts are silenced, leaving behind nothing but a harsh ringing in her ears— “are you alright? That was quite the spill you just took.”

Whoever is speaking to her has a voice that is like honey and silk. It wraps around her, soothing every ache in her weary body. The hand rubs a circle into her shoulder, not letting her go, and she begins to thaw, the ice around her eyes and throat and heart melting away in seconds. Not back to the anger— no, that is long gone, a mere thought in the back of her mind— but instead to a new feeling. She is neither ice nor fire— she is springtime. She is warm and calm, her fingers flexing against the marble like small creatures emerging from hibernation. She curls them a few times, relishing in the blood as it returns to her hands and the way it does not feel as though it is burning her. It is not fire, it is just blood.

“Do you think you can get up?” The soft voice is right next to her ear now and she closes her eyes for a moment. It sounds so familiar— so gentle. She never thought she would hear that voice again. “I think maybe we should go to the healers— just in case, my dear.”

She can smell it now— the yeast. The berries. She takes a deep breath in and she can taste the strawberry jam on her lips like she is eight years old again. Her father used to always sneak her an extra pastry after dinner. They would split it on the back porch, their fingers sticky and their laughter twisting into the twilight. Her mother must have known— she was meticulous. She was so aware of the things around her at all times. She was beautiful and kind and made the best jam in the entire realm.

“Mother?” The word slips off her tongue instinctively. Naturally. She cannot stop it because, for a moment, it is as though she is right next to the woman she misses most. It is as though everything is okay again.

Y/n lifts her head— she finally can, her neck is no longer stiff with ice— her eyes landing on a woman with flowing golden hair that twists and curls against her chest. It is not her mother. Her chest squeezes. She knows that it should not— it was never going to be her mother and she knows that— but she cannot help but feel deflated. If there was ever a time for a miracle it would be right now. Preferably a miracle that makes the best strawberry pastries and gives hugs that feel like taking a warm bath. She shakes her head lightly, clearing the thought and the mist that has begun to gather in her eyes. It is not the time for sentimentality.

The woman— the woman who is not her mother— has soft blue eyes— iridescent almost— that bore into her own. There is a ring around her pupils where the blue turns to a darker coal. For a moment it looks like the ring is pulsing. The longer Y/n looks into her eyes the deeper she falls into them. It does not feel as much like drowning as one would think. It is a softer kind of falling— it is as though the woman can see every inch of her soul with a simple look. Her aroma strengthens, changing slightly. The yeast is no longer present— that was only ever her imagination— and now there is a strong, flowery scent. It is strangely intoxicating.

She has to blink a few times, turning away for a taste of fresh air, her gaze falling to the woman’s flowing silk gown. It is a delicate ivory number with beautiful embroidery all over the bust. Little flowers. Perhaps that is where the scent is coming from, wafting off the garden around her collarbone. She really is springtime.

The woman laughs and the flowers sway, moved by a breeze of breath and glee. “Oh my darling, I think you just confirmed my thoughts. Let's get you up, alright? See if we can find someone to take a look at you. Your head must be pounding.”

She is like an oasis in the desert. Y/n has never been to the desert but still— this is what she imagines it would feel like. Gentle and easy, like a cool breeze or a patch of shade. It would feel like the soothing touch of this woman’s hands as she pulls her body from its heap on the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from toppling right over again. Her legs feel unstable and her knees are shaking but everything is okay. But oasis’ are just figments of the imagination— or at least this one is. They are doomed to fizzle away eventually, taking with them the joyful shade and leaving behind the scorching heat.

As the golden woman begins to turn with her, no doubt pulling her in the direction of the supposed healers, there is an ear piercing screech.

“There you are! You were supposed to be following us you dense child.” Estrid is in front of Y/n in seconds, her narrowed eyes locked on her and the familiar, gut wrenching sneer on her scarlet lips. “It is like you never listen on purpose— you just mill about in your own little world. Always about Y/n, never about anyone else.”

The fire from before— the scorching heat— begins bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It splashes like tar, slowly coating her insides in that all consuming hate. She bites her tongue, clenching her jaw. She can still feel the woman’s hand on her shoulder. There is still a piece of the oasis and she clings to it. But even that is being consumed— the touch melting into the lightning in her veins. She is definitely going to explode.

Her step mother takes a step towards her but halts, her eyes darting to the floor where they stay for a long moment. When her neck snaps back up she is positively fuming. “You dropped our things! Why you ungrateful little brat, I—”

In less than the blink of an eye she is no longer looking at her step mother but rather at the back of a blonde head, her hand laced with a hand so soft she would think it an evening glove.

“This young woman has tripped.” The blonde woman’s voice is calm still but holds no more of that gentle tread. Her hand squeezes softly, a contrast to her firm tone. “I will be escorting her to the healers to see what has happened.”

Estrid blinks, her eyes darting away from Y/n and up to the new woman. When she does her entire face goes pale, as though she has seen a ghost. How odd.

“Your Majesty.” Estrid bows her head, her knees bending slightly in a curtsy.

Your Majesty? Y/n’s eyes drift back to the gown— the marvelous ivory silk. It is as though all the little details begin appearing in that moment. The high thread count, the intricate stitching at the waist and bodice, the gemstone bracelet on her dainty wrist. That bracelet alone must be worth more than her entire life. Sapphires and rubies and emeralds. She wears it as though she has no idea how much it is worth— as though she has no idea it is even there at all. She wears it as though she is royalty and she has many more of them in her room.

Oh no— no, no, no.

The blonde woman turns back to her, her crystal eyes softening marginally from what she can only imagine was an icy stare moments ago. “Come on, dear. I will take you to my healer.”

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes wide. Her spine aches as she does. Her mouth feels like it is filled with cotton. She cannot speak but she has to. She has to refuse.

“No, no, your Majesty—” She copies Estrid’s greeting, she does not know what else to call her— “I am alright, truly. I do not wish to burden you further. I will—” She pauses, woozy all of a sudden, the salty breeze ten times stronger— “I will be fine.”

The woman’s crystal eyes narrow but not in the sharp way her step mother’s usually do. “My child, I insist. You do not look well.”

Y/n can practically feel Estrid’s stare burrowing into the side of her face. She can feel the bruises on her back— perhaps purple, perhaps yellow. It does not matter. If she does not go now then they will surely be black in an hour. Less. There it is— there is the fear she had been missing. She wobbles slightly on her feet. The salt air mingles with the pine trees. It is intoxicating— it is deadly. She is going to pass out if she does not move. She shakes her head at the woman, hoping there is something in her eyes that conveys the danger she feels.

“I am alright,” even she can hear the pleading tone in her voice. “Please.”

The woman— the Queen— stares at her for a moment. It is only a few seconds, the coal ring around her pupils pulsing gently, but it feels like days. It feels like a lifetime. She purses her rosy lips, taking a deep breath.

A hand— one much more rough and hot— wraps around her other wrist. “Your Majesty—” Estrid’s nasally voice is high pitched, like she is attempting to hide her cruel intentions— “my daughter just needs to sleep I think. I can take over from here.”

Y/n forces a smile to her lips— one that tastes like metal and blood— like betrayal— hoping it is enough to convince the queen. She adds a little nod in there for good measure. It is all about appearances. For a moment she thinks it is actually going to work. The Queen’s shoulders sag gently, her chin dipping down in a partial nod. It is actually working— maybe she will not get punished too harshly. She will pick up the bags and hurry to their room and stay as silent as a mouse and everything will be fine. Right?

Estrid squeezes her wrist harder— enough to make her bones whine in pain— and she can feel the on her face grin falter. It is for only a fraction of a second, the corner of her lips peeling down in a grimace that she cannot suppress, but it is enough. By the time she has painted the fake smile back on her face the Queen is at her side, that silky hand curling around her shoulder, gentle but firm enough to pull her away from her step mother. Y/n does not know if she would rather thank her or cry.

“I am afraid I truly must insist. As a Queen—” She stresses the word, her title. This is no longer a suggestion; it is an order— “it is my duty to ensure that all my guests are properly taken care of. It will not take long; just a quick check up.”

The Queen’s hand ushers her a couple steps down the hallway. Estrid follows, her brows pulled together dramatically. “But your Highness, I—”

The Queen holds up her hand, an elegant and dangerous gesture, her kind face cracking under the weight of her furious eyes. She does not even try to conceal the rage swimming in the crystal pools. She does not have to— she will face no repercussion for her anger.

“But nothing. She is to go with me and that is final.” Her burning crystals glance down to the bags, all of which are still spilling over onto the marble, draping the stone with bits of lace and silk, none of which look nearly as exquisite as the Queen’s gown. “I will send someone to gather your belongings and return them to your chambers. Now, if you will kindly excuse us.”

With that she is spinning, pressing her hand gently against Y/n’s back and leading her back in the direction she had come from. She can feel Estrid’s glare on her neck, burning holes in the back of her head. If stares were able to kill then she would be laying in a heap on the marble again, she just knows it. Soon, though, they turn a corner and she can no longer feel her step mother’s lethal gaze. That does not stop her heart from racing so hard that she wonders if it will jump out of her chest. It does not stop the vomit from pooling in her throat. She should feel relieved—grateful— but all she can think about is the pain. Both the pain she is in now and the pain she will be in later.

“It was okay really,” she mutters. It is a last ditch effort, one that is destined to fail before it is even out of her mouth, but she has to try anyway. “I am okay. I think I just slipped.”

She did not slip— she lost it. She does not know quite what it is but she knows whatever it is has been lost. Her sanity. Her grip on reality. Her damn mind. Any and all of them, now gone.

The queen stops, turning her bright blue eyes on her once more. She sighs, her smile understanding. “I think if you had slipped then you would have gotten back up.”

The Queen’s tone is pitying, her fingers gentle on her hand, and Y/n drops her eyes to the ground. She resents it— all of it. She does not want pity. “I needed a moment is all.”

A hand presses under her chin, bringing her gaze back up. There is no more smile on the Queen’s face— only a firmness in her eyes. She does not look so much like a Queen here; she looks like a mother. Her mother. She can see some of her own mother in the faint lines near her eyes and the cupid's bow above her rose petal lips. She has to bite down to keep the ache from her throat at bay.

“That was not a moment, my dear. I was there. That was quite a few moments. You were ready to let those girls trample you, were you not?”

“I— I just—” she swallows hard, trying to make her words work. It seems like she cannot string a sentence together for the life of her. Like her entire vocabulary has vanished— “I needed a moment, your Majesty. That is all.” All she can do is repeat herself.

The Queen narrows her eyes, her thumb smoothing over her jaw before she finally releases her. “Frigga.”

Y/n’s heart stutters and she has to cover her cough from the way all the air whooshes out of her lungs. “Pardon me, your Majesty?”

“Please, call me Frigga.”

This time her heart does not just stutter; it stops completely. She presses a hand against her chest, taking a tiny step backwards. She cannot breathe again. The smile on the Queen’s— Frigga’s— face is too kind. Too gentle. Too much. This is not a trick, she is not trying to get her in trouble. She is not telling her to shut up or to hurry up or to grow up. She is just being kind. No one is kind to her. Not even when they want something from her. What could the Que— Frigga, Y/n, her name is Frigga— possibly want from her? What could she give her that would mean anything more than what she already has? She sucks in a breath, sounding quite like a dying animal in the middle of the thankfully empty corridor. It is too much— it is all too much.

“No, I could not. You Maj—”

Frigga grabs her hand again, her warm skin stilling her own, clammy hands. “Calm child. It is alright. You are alright” Her words are slow, her tone a low murmur. It works wonders on her nerves. It is magic. “Frigga. Please, nobody here calls me anything formal. You should hear my sons.” The side of her mouth quirks up, her tone becoming teasing, “mother, where is father? That is all anyone around here says to me. I am not used to such formalities. I would prefer Frigga, my dear.”

Y/n takes another breath, nodding her head.

“Y/n—” she whispers back, not sure what else to do besides introduce herself back— “my name is Y/n.”

Frigga’s smile grows, nodding as well. She makes it feel like this is a normal exchange— like they are just two new friends meeting for the first time. “That is a lovely name.”

The Queen turns after that, pulling her once more to continue walking down the grand hallway. They move in silence, Frigga no doubt trying to give her some room to breathe. It is surprisingly easy to just be there with her. It is serene. She stares out past the pillars as they walk, her eyes dipping back to the faraway shoreline. Now the water is sparkling in the high afternoon sun, the cresting waves catching the light and bouncing it back and forth amongst each other. It is as though each wave that passes winks at her before smoothing against the sand. She cannot tell if they are saying hello or goodbye. Perhaps neither. Perhaps they are just acknowledging that she is there. She bows her chin gently, acknowledging them as well.

She does not know how long they walk for, her attention too focused on the blinking shore, but soon Frigga is pulling open a heavy wooden door— one that has the most intricate carvings on it’s frame that Y/n longs to stare at in depth—and tugging her in behind her. She has no idea what she is expecting— maybe a herb closet and a long table for practicing healing— it is a healer’s closet after all— but whatever it is, what she sees is not it. She is not expecting the most exquisite room in all of existence.

The first thing her eyes fall to is a wonderfully large pool of water sitting in the middle of the room. It must be the size of her entire bedroom, which granted is not that large but in comparison to her own tiny tin basin at home this is pure luxury. The sides of the pool are golden and tiled with colorful gemstones. She cannot even name all them, not recognizing half of the stones. They catch the light pouring in from the expansive balcony, sparkling against each other. There are steps leading up the side, promising entry into the luscious looking water. Altogether it is hypnotizing, calling her name until she is taking a few stuttered steps towards it. As she gets closer she can smell the fragrant oils, much more rich than anything she is used to.

“Oh my.”

“It is quite something, I will admit.” Frigga laughs from behind her, meeting her next to the edge of the tub. She dips her hand into the water, submerging the expensive bracelet in the water without a care. “It was a present from Odin for our first anniversary. I was just as shocked. I did not leave this room for weeks. I even slept here, can you imagine that?”

“I think I would as well, if I were you. It is stunning.” She, too, dips her hand below the water. She almost gasps at how warm it is— at how soft the water is. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Frigga pulls her hand from the water, shaking the droplets lightly from her skin. She turns back to Y/n, her crystal eyes sparkling with joy. “Perhaps later— only if you would like, of course— you could try it.”

Her mouth falls open, her own hand, still swirling through the silky water, pausing. “Oh no, your Maj—” Frigga purses her lips, her eyes crinkling gleefully— “Frigga, I could not.”

The Queen laughs again and she can hear the way her own mother used to giggle. “Of course you can my dear. In fact, you must! But first let us eat.”

Y/n’s brows pull together— what about the healers? Is that not why she is here?

Frigga must notice her confusion because she lifts her hand to her face, the Queen’s fingers now scented like rose petals. “I have found that the best medicine is a full belly, would you not agree?”

Instantly the tears well up in her eyes again. They are not from sadness this time— nor from longing— instead they are from the relief she feels coursing through her body. It is so foreign that she does not recognize it at first. It is neither hot nor cold. There is no pressure on her chest alerting her to it. In fact there is nothing. She feels nothing. It is exhilarating.

She does not notice the first tear fall until Frigga’s thumb catches it. “Thank you.”

The Queen sighs, her smile faltering. It is still there but barely. “Come, child.”

Y/n follows Frigga to the balcony, passing under some gem coloured curtains and into the warm sunlight. She almost freezes in her tracks, the memory of the last time her back was in the sun still fresh on her mind. Her mind falls back to the man, her nose filling with salt and pine which leaks in from the gardens below. She can feel his hands on her back, crawling over her hips. She does not wonder what color her back is this time— be it purple or yellow or molten red— it does not matter anymore. For some reason the thought of him makes it not matter anymore. He makes it better.

Frigga turns on her heel, her eyes lighting up, her hands shooting out to grasp Y/n’s shoulders. It is all she can do not to reel back from the suddenness of the action, wobbling slightly but smiling. She, in turn, reaches for the Queen’s hands, steadying herself on her silken skin.

“I completely forgot my dear, I told my son to meet me here for afternoon tea. You do not mind, do you?”

Y/n’s breath catches in her throat, her memories surging again. She can taste him on her lips for a brief moment. A short, silly moment. She pushes him down, shaking her head lightly to clear her thoughts. That would be impossible.

“No, of course not this is your home.”

Frigga squeezes her shoulders. “Wonderful!”

As the blonde woman releases her, moving to sit in one of the golden chairs on the balcony, there is a voice that sounds from the door. It is deep, impossibly so, and sends shivers racing down her spine.

“Mother, are you in here?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tag list: @crystal-siren

#loki laufeyson #loki #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #Loki laufeyson x y/n #loki fic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fic #loki laufeyson imagine #mcu #mcu fic #mcu imagine

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