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softlyjiminie · 5 years ago

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to hold a dragon’s heart | k.t.h

⇢ pairing(s): dragon prince!kim taehyung x warrior princess!reader,

⇢ word count: 19.1K.

⇢ rating: 18+, mature.

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff, forbidden romance, dragon shifter!au, royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au.

⇢ summary: two kingdoms, two hearts and the world between them. your whole life has been a challenge, never an easy moment on your road to becoming queen but will one decision, one encounter with the man you were destined to hate, change the fate of your worlds, forever?

⇢ warning(s): please read! major character death, violence ( torture scenes + fight scenes ), war, cursing, alocholism, unrequited love, arranged marriages, failing marriages, imprinting, painful sickness, unexpected pregnancies, slight prejudice against mythical creatures and women, heavy smut, unprotected sex ( please wear protection ) , virgin + dom!taehyung, virgin + sub!reader, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral sex ( male + female recieving ), nipple play, light degredation + dirty talk, breeding kink, cumplay, creaming, cunnilingus, slight exhibitionism, male masturbation, taehyung has a two-headed penis (with spines), teaehyung has charcoal flavoured cum— i may have gotton carried away…

⇢ author’s note(s): hello everyone! this is my contribution to the @ficswithluv Love Library project! i was a part of the fantasy category with @jamaisjoons !! i worked really hard on this fic, and it’s probably my biggest work, i’m so proud of it so i really really hope you guys enjoy and leave some feedback <3

⇢special mention(s): i would like to thank my baby, miss gia of @fantasybangtan for helping me muse and giving me inspiration to complete this fic, as well as giving me feedback on this hefty boy n making it’s beautiful banner !! ( also i named the sea after you ) anddd my little babie @fantasyjoon for letting me name a kingdom after her teehee. I wuv u guys <3

two kingdoms, two hearts and the world between them. your whole life has been a challenge, never an easy moment on your road to becoming queen but will one decision, one encounter with the man you were destined to hate, change the fate of your worlds, forever?

on opposing sides of the enchanted forest, lay two kingdoms. one, painted with magic and mystery, from the soils to the creatures that rules the skies. the other, a land blessed with human life, cultivation and opportunity.

the Avalerian dynasty, land of the mystical and the Phantis empire, land of the man. both peaceful kingdoms, until war struck.

when you were young and with a curious mind, when tales of battle between warrior and warlock were used to put your infant heart to rest, you would ask questions. many of them, but one always seemed to snub the minds of your elders.

“why do we fight the war? why did it start?” you would beam curiously up at your mother, Queen aadaya. she was a beauty, hair dipped in the white snows of the Huntcan tip mountains, laced with the silver moon at its highest. her skin was smooth, illuminated by starlight and her heart, as pure as any gold. but queen aadaya was a warrior, trained in the arts of her people, like her mother and her grandmother before that. she had hoped to one day, train yourself and your siblings as well.

your mother shuffled over on the bed, squishing your eldest brother, hoseok and yourself, while pulling your younger sister—tamarae, into your lap.

you remember so clearly, your mother tilting her moon crescent eyes and brushing back the hair on your face. “we fight for safety, of you and all children.”

lies.

you had yet to learn, as a naive little five year old, what war could do to innocents such as your mother. such as your people. war was not kind to anyone it met, it’s raging scent of death and decay and blood reaching every corner of your once ethereal home until nothing was left. nothing but sadness, loss and a hole in your heart.

you lost your mother by order of assassination on the night of your eighteenth birthday. they say, as a revenge attack, for the death of the dragon king but it was then that you learned that war took no prisoners, it had no mercy. war was not like the lullabies and stories your mother told. that day, the kingdom mourned the loss of their queen, and you mourned the loss of your mother, the safety she promised, a lie on the ghost of her lips.

hoseok was drafted into the war not a year later, his own doing. he trained hard but not as good as yourself, you would joke. he was to keep hold on some land by elvin territory and whilst it wasn’t much, it was everything to your brother. hoseok could do something to avenge his mother. the day before his deployment, you sat with your siblings on your bed like you would as children, sneaking snacks from the chef’s daughter that hoseok promised to wed on his return. the three of you giggled and smiled and reminisced, ending the night with tears and tight grips on each other, praying that your family would be together again.

years later, you sit aged twenty one in front of the royal court. with hoseok gone and your father unfit to rule, you were next in line to inherit your mother’s throne. the chair itself, towering with a twisted golden design, was forged from the molten treasures of the dragons themselves. tamarae sits to your left, poised in a lesser dramatic chair and gown and to the right of you, your advisor, jungkook.

“why have you come?” your voice drifts through the throne room, eyes narrow on the pathetic excuse for a man before you. your father rises from his kneel, watching you with pleading eyes. in the years between now and your mother’s death, any relationship with your father had dwindled. he grew power hungry, gambling away any riches in hoping what he earned would replace the loss in his heart. he drunk whatever he could find, rendering himself ill. you often wondered why your mother ever allowed such a man to father her children.

“i come, with but a suggestion, daughter.”

tamarae looks to you, worry struck on her young, delicate features. yet, your steely gaze remains in line with your father’s, an anger brewing in your stomach. it was not uncommon for your father to want to challenge you in front of the court, undermine your power as you made your road to queen. you had yet to prove yourself, according to the court but you hand an inkling feeling that was your father’s doing.

“a suggestion, pray tell?” you jest, replacing your glare for a delicate smile. a giggle bubbles from your lips, making the lords and ladies flinch. “my people and armies are fed, the livestock and farms are thriving, we have hold on all land claimed by men and yet, dearest father, you continue to doubt me.” like your mother, you had many who doubted your role as a women in power, you learned to be kind but ruthless, in order to survive.

the man himself, withered to the bone with sagging old eyes and a wheeze in his chest, rises from his knees with a dark glint in his eye. “my grace, whilst i mean you no disrespect, but by royal decree you are still unfit to rule,” he explains, gesturing to the court with wide arms. “you lack one thing.”

narrowing your eyes, you lean forward in your throne as your jewellery glitters and rustles around your neck. the tension in the room is thick, a knife would barely be able to cut it, “like, what?”

“a king.”

you rip your body from your seat, sister following suit along with your royal guard. how dare he? the sick man, run along and say you needed a king to help guide you as queen. your mother had managed just fine on her own, taking the throne from a young age and resisting the temptation of men. until she met your father, a lowly bread maker and made him the man he is today.

he had always envied her power, much as he did with yours.

“a king? a king like you? pathetic and on his knees like the drunk bastard he is. i digress,” you seethe, much to the amusement of your court. but your father knows your wit, knows your weakness, after all he is the man who raised you.

“it is by royal law, for a young queen to marry, my dearest YN...” the man begins, tilting his head up at you as he basks in the support of the lords and ladies around him. “and if you want to prove yourself worthy to the court, i suggest you start, with accepting a suitor.”

“ridiculous!”

an advisor from beside you, the predecessor to jungkook, steps forward wordlessly and blinks to you as if he’s asking permission to speak. “with all do respect, your highness, your father does have a point...it is required of you by law to...”

their words are silenced with a quick glare, your nostrils are flaring from how angry you are and suddenly the blue silk gown that you wear is too tight and too fitting. tamarae places a hand on your shoulder to help calm your nerves, your little sister had always been in tune with your emotions, much like your mother had. the young princess even resembled the queen, with tumbling wisps of snow white hair and kind eyes.

“breathe,” she whispers to you, helping you fix your poise. “you’re doing just fine.”

standing up talk, you ease your shoulders and smile smugly at your father. “since the men of this room, seem to doubt my ability to lead... i will prove the council before me, wrong,” your grin only widens when they ask you how, and you feel your sister’s worrisome stare burning into your cheeks. “by bringing you the heart of a dragon.”

“don’t be ridiculous, your highness!”

a lord from goodness knows what county calls, you only roll your eyes, making your way down the steps to pass your father smugly. the court has broken into a series of whispers, anxious, excited and concerned. the men around you have grown complacent, too comfortable with the idea of overthrowing you and making you weak.

“silence!” you bellow, turning to address every being in the room. you hum in satisfaction as the quieten down, letting your mantle made of the finest cotton, trail behind you. “no man, no king has ever brought the heart of the dragon to this kingdom. if i am to prove myself worthy to you, then this is how it shall be. laugh if you must, doubt me if you will. but i was born and raised a warrior and in my mother’s footsteps, i shall follow.”

with that, the meeting is concluded and your father is left gobsmacked, once again.

“don’t do anything stupid, YN,” tamarae mumbles to you that evening. you stand in her quarters, dressed in traditional fighting gear. the pants are a dark grey, patterned with swirls of a lily flower and embroider with your kingdom’s emblem of a crystal lily. the top matches, only this time you wear padding to ensure your protection. “and make sure you don’t get hurt.”

you scoff, shuffling on a cloak and pulling the hood over your head to disguise your face. royalty wasn’t allowed out of the palace after dark, due to the risk of unexpected assassination. the council put the law into place after the tragic loss of their beloved queen. “as if I’d ever allow myself to experience any form of pain.” you tut, twirling around to locate your sword.

the weapon had been a gift from your mother, on the day of your eighteenth. she had deemed you a worthy warrior, fit for battle after many years of training. it was a shame that she would not be able to see you use it now.

“you know what i mean, YN,” your younger sister sighs, pushing herself to stand and handing you the sheathed sword. a bright smile pulls at your lips and you lean down to press a kiss into her moonlit hair. “what if you don’t bring back the dragon heart? you’ll call yourself a fool and beat yourself up about it.”

“i won’t, i promise,” you hum, shaking your head down at tamarae. she was young and she worried for your recklessness, much like a mother would for her child. guilt was deepset within you, despising how your sister grew up barely remembering the woman who gave her life. “now if anyone asks...”

“you wish not to be disturbed.” tamarae gives you a soft smile, manoeuvring her hands to grip yours. she gives them a gentle squeeze before backing away.

you give your sister a quick nod of the head before sliding out of her window and slipping into the night.

the enchanted, Mailtaria forest was nothing like you had imagined.

according to fairy tails, it was full of beasts and blood and gore but instead, you found twisted oak trees forming the shapes of hearts, soil that illuminated beneath your feet. the air was crisp, yet some how, warming and scented with the faintest of flowers.

roses.

you know in your heart, that if the war was nothing but a myth, yourself and your siblings could play here for hours on end as children. as you walk, your mind drifts to hoseok, wondering if he’s safe. the eldest of your siblings had been determined to fight the war ever since your mother’s passing, a headstrong boy who was fast on his feet but not with his mind.

the crack of a snapping branch in the distance kicks your senses into overdrive, making you duck in anticipation of a sudden attack. with a hand hovering over the sheath of your sword, you inhale deeply through your nose to keep your heart rate steady. there is no time for nerves, YN, no time for hesitance.

dragons were not creatures of remorse.

you ease yourself out of the bushes, mindful of the ruffling leaves that glow with some kind of fluorescence, magic that you’d not once laid your eyes on in your entire life. had you not been in the deep wood of the enchanted forest, to find and kill the dragon prince, you would have admired them more.

“why do you come, bearing a weapon?”

perhaps you may have spent too long, admiring the glistening petals.

you gasp, whipping out your sword and holding its point to the throat of the boy before you. slowly, your eyes trail upwards, shock connecting in your irises as you realise that he’s...floating. the boy has the hair of the silver moon, eyes as deep blue as the rough and raging Gialara seas, his lips are the colour of a blood rose with small and pearlescent fangs resting comfortably against their plumpness. he also wears a loose silk shirt that hangs simply from one shoulder, exposing his pale and slightly scaled skin. his pants are also lose, black in colour like the night sky to match his shirt. you note, that while he floats upside down, head tilted back towards you and body arched, he is also barefoot.

this must’ve been him, this must’ve been. “the dragon prince,” you hum cooly, steeling your eyes and reaffirming your stance. “i’m here to kill you.” your brows furrow in concentration, and the boy’s, in confusion. the dragon prince, pushes his bottom lip into a pout as he twists his body to face you fully. he sets himself down, against the plush grass and uses a single finger to flick your sword to the side.

“you have found me, yes,” the boy nods, giving you a tilted and faint smirk after his curious stare fades away. “i am kim taehyung, son of Veles and prince of the dragons...” the dragon watches as your stance falters, mouth open in shock at his strength to manipulate your mother’s sword. your palms begin to sweat at the sound of his full title, the name of the dragon king reminding you of the loss of your mother. “and i know, you will not kill me. i sense your being is far too compassionate to kill a living thing.”

you huff, dropping your arms and sending the vile thing a seething scowl. “you don’t know a thing about me-“

“my apologies, princess YN, i’m afraid i don’t,” taehyung interrupts you, stepping forward to inspect you closely. it was almost as if he had never seen a human before, but then again he was nothing like what you expected, especially in a dragon prince. before you can blink, you have been cornered into a tree, completely vulnerable and in the open. if he wanted to, taehyung could kill you right then and there, for the first time that night, a sprinkle of fear and adrenaline pumps it’s way through your veins. you glance up at the regal creature, shocked that he even knew such detail about yourself and bite your lip. “in that case, might you enlighten me as to, why you seek to take my life?”

taehyung is not what you expected at all, the question bouncing softly from his lips, as you begin to loosen up. his eyes shift to yellow under the light and you start to feel warm, as if you can trust him. “my father wants proof, that i would make a great and honourable Queen.” you explain bluntly, unsure of why the words feel foreign when mentioning it.

“interesting,” the prince comments, quirking a brow and smirking down at you as he rises off of his feet. “humans and their need for death and honour, i will never understand.”

and with that, taehyung disappears into the darkness of the forest. a chill runs up your spine, confused at your meeting but left wondering, what more was there to the dragon prince?

“...and then there’s the marriage proposal from prince seokjin, from the shatus kingdom overseas, would you like me to accept or deny?” jungkook drawls, feeling accomplished as he skips over the final sentence with a light frown. his heart clenches, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“yes, very good jungkook.”

“YN...”

“mhm...”

jungkook sighs, closing his book before tucking it under his arm for safety. he wouldn’t have been so annoyed if you were at least, half listening to him. tapping his foot in annoyance, the young advisor furrowed his brow deeply. “well in that case, i’ll spread word to the royal bakers that you will be requesting a cake made of pigs slop for the wedding party?”

“sounds wonderful,”

“...we’ll even give out small favours of their droppings too...”

“i’m sure the dukes and duchesses would love that, jeongguk...”

“i’m sure the whole kingdom would be delighted to know that you’re marrying kim seokjin.”

you slam your palms down on the windows, whipping your head to look at jungkook in shock. an amused grin tugs at his lips, as he approaches you to ruffle your hair fondly. now you were paying attention. “i will do no such thing!” you protest, pink painted lips forming a pout as you make an effort you lay down your tundra of wild locks. “me? marriage? what a preposterous idea. i should have you executed for that.”

“maybe now, you’ll learn to listen to me, your highness?” the raven haired boy titters, giving you an exaggerated bow. “you could never do such a thing to your oldest friend, YN.” yourself and jungkook had been acquainted ever since you could walk, a beautiful friendship blossoming over the many years. his father, had been your mother’s most trusted advisor during the war, he too passing away after the loss of your queen. it seemed that fate had its own twisted way of keeping yourself and jungkook together, for he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, much like you.

shaking your head, you push at his shoulders with a hidden grin and listen to the chime of his medallions as he sways. the silver lily on his chest, the symbol of the royal court, glistens much like the eyes of the man you met last night. taehyung’s beauty had entranced you so much, that the task at hand had been forgotten. of course, no one in the castle expected you to bring the head of a dragon back straight away...but something in you longed to see the awe, the shock and the respect on their faces when you did. they would learn to see you as their queen.

but something about taehyung, made you weak in the knees. an inexplainable feeling, a shy tint to your cheeks and a beat in your heart. he was different, not at all what you expected. walking away from jungkook, you pivot on your heel, the flush to your cheeks becoming more obvious by the second. “there will be no more marriage proposals from now on, jungkook. make that clear to the neighbouring kingdoms.” you remark, nodding your head with the wisps of a smile against your lips.

one of things, about having known you so long, is that jungkook could read you like an open book. the advisor could tell you were distracted, softer. it was almost as if his soon-to-be queen’s resistant and hard exterior had crumbled. this wasn’t your usual rejection of proposal, whereby you would growl and grumble so much so that the Huntcan tip mountains would quake in your presence. no, this was much like the time where the baker’s eldest son, yoongi, had snuck some treats up to your room when you were children. you had developed an infatuation for yoongi throughout your early teenage years, until he left the kingdom to open his own bakery, kissing you behind the rose bush in the royal garden on the night before he left.

this was fascination, this was admiration. “you like someone,” jungkook teases lightly, a knowing smile tickling at the corners of his lips. “did you find a compatible suitor, is that it?”

“the throne is my only object of affection,” you sigh, zealously. you twirled, a bright twinkle igniting stars in your eyes as the thought of taehyung’s silver lined ones and you can feel the excitement build in your veins. “a suitor? perhaps not,” the corner of your lips twitch up into a mischievous grin. “but the throne...it is a rather large one, is it not? awfully big for just one person.”

jungkook raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed while his jaw tightens and his tongue pokes into his cheek. “i see, i’ll be sure to have the staff engage in some...extensive cleaning of the throne room. we can’t have her highness leaving messes.” he states, lips falling into a flat line. tilting your head, the glint in your eye dissipates and thick somber feeling fills the room.

“jeonggukie?” you question with a quiet voice, swallowing thickly at his unexpected change in mood.

the advisor shakes his head, tussled locks falling over his eyes. jungkook turns, shrugging with the book still tucked under his arms, prepared to leave the room. “if i may be excused, princess, i have duties to attend to.”

“ah yes, of course...duties.” the whisper falls from between your lips, as you watch him go with an aching chest.

the view at castle ashwyn was one not to be taken for granted. the skies were daubed with gradients of apricot, papaya whip, and cherry blossom pink with dusting of baby power white as cotton candy clouds. the breeze was fresh, tinted with mint and rose, carrying the scents of the many flowers that twirled along the turquoise marble pillars of the castle.

the grass outside was freshly cut all the way up to the village, where creatures of all kind walked amongst each other. pixies, werewolves, elves and all, living together in harmony and if you squinted hard enough, over the towering trees, you could see where they lived. the humans.

taehyung hated it.

the sickly sweetness that constantly surrounded himself and his people, where all that was in the human world was death, despair, greed and power imbalances. he hated the falsities that engulfed his father’s death, how everyone pretended.

that there was no life of suffering outside of his own.

it was beautiful here, life touched every corner to cover the illusion of the war beyond these walls. the prince felt trapped. he wanted to break free of all expectations, experience the world and see the legends he had been told as a child. taehyung was not a fool to the whispers, the taunts and teases from the royal courts. they had always doubted him for his optimistic view on the simple things, on them, for humans had taken his father and so he was destined to resent them for the rest of his life.

“taehyung, my love, what preys on your mind today?”

taehyung’s mother, the dragon queen, was a soft spoken and wise woman. ever since the death of his father, there had been many attempts to overthrow her from many kinds...including the sirens. and yet, they never once succeed as only royalty of dragon’s blood can bestow the crown. dragons had ruled the land of the Avalerian dynasty since the dawn of time, forging the first crown from the molten minerals buried deep beneath the castle’s soils. they were the most powerful of all creatures, dominating the earth as their large majestic forms but the dragons were also prime game for hunting, their scales and horns could go for up to a hundred gold coins. so the dragons learned to adapt, becoming shifters with a half human form, this allowed them to retain their abilities as dragons whilst allowing them to walk free amongst the humans.

the queen was stunning, and perhaps that is where the young prince inherited his charming look. her scales were of a deep cherry, shimmering under the lights like the brightest of diamonds. her black hair had curled tendrils that spiralled down her back and her skin was tanned by the golden suns of apollo. with piercing, aquatic eyes, queen elantris tilts her head to look at her son, she had always known his shifts in mood and thanked her maternal instinct for being able to read her ominous child.

“it’s nothing, your highness,” the young prince muses simply, turning to his mother with soft eyes and an awkward smile. smiling fondly, elantris shook her head and approached her son, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug. her tail swishes behind her, in her half shifted state, the castle being too small to accommodate for the large size of royally bred dragons. taehyung spares a glance to the older, and shorter woman, squinting carefully to see the diamond-slit irises in her yellowing eyes. it was almost laughable at how well dragons were able to shift between states, taking on a human form is completely desired. that is how they killed the human king. mastering the art of disguise. “perhaps, i am exhausted, i had a rather gruelling night.”

“deep in thought again, my love dear?” elantris chuckles, brushing back the fading ashy locks from her son’s forehead. taehyung sucks in a calmed breath, closing his eyes at his mothers warm touch and allows himself to shift too. he is much more relieved to have is tail free, blackened and swishing behind him. his ears become pointed and irises shift into diamond slits. elantris beams as her child transforms. “you’ve been keeping yourself hidden, i see.”

“i needed to be out, some fresh air to clear the mind, mother...” the prince whines and stretches, shivering as his ash scales form over his skin and hair fades from grey to black.

taehyung pouts under the gaze of his mother, what a sight to see. the most regal prince, pouting under the amused gaze of his parent. “away with your thoughts, as you always have been, my prince...” elantris lilts and lets go of the boy, moving towards her seat on the throne. the seat itself is glorious, spiralling toward the ceiling with peaks in its molten crystal. “what preys on your mind?”

the young dragon, ruffling out his hair and adjusting his clothes. he wears a jewelled black jacket, a gradient of white pearls to obsidian diamonds. he adorns a fitting pair of black pants and boots with heels. taehyung shift his gaze to the diluting pink skies above and breathes heavily. “humans...why is that we despise them?”

taehyung’s mother sucks in a breath, tongue swiping over the ruby of her lips. the prince turns his body to look at the queen properly, tilting is head and poking his own tongue into his cheek as he eases a brow, awaiting his mother’s answer. “dragons are stubborn creatures, most unforgiving...it is not easy for us to forget,” elantris explains noncommittally, keeping her voice study and demeanour controlled.

“what is there to be forgotten? how did this all start?”

“that is what we have yet to learn my son, this conflict has been raging on for centuries now, words and swords alike...twisted,” the dragon queen pauses, looking her son directly in the eye. “twisted into lies and fatalities...”

“and so...we fight?” taehyung prompts, his stomach bubbling with unease at his mother’s cryptic words.

elantris nods, head held high. “and so, we fight.”

“you are forgiven, you know.”

you look up from your flower crown, fluorescent roses and tiger lillies woven together by their grass green stems and frown. taehyung is sitting in the trees, his hair is now the colour of a teal tinged with blue while his eyes simmered a warm amber in the cool night.

meeting taehyung had been nothing but a coincidence, yet you found yourself becoming grateful for your accidental meetings. the clearing you shared with him had followed you to your dreams, being with him under the moonlight now brought you to ease.

“forgive me for what? do tell.” you probe tartly and turn your body in the grass to ask why. the dragon prince drops from the tree and you screw your eyes shut in fear of hearing the sickening crunch that often accompanies broken bones. but instead the prince floats above you, face but mere inches from yours as a taunting smirk touches lightly at his lips. a rosey hue tickles the apples of your cheeks as you look away, cursing the creature from under your breath.

taehyung smiles and settles himself on the ground, sinking to his knees to aid you in making some flower crowns. “for being human,” the dragon shrugs nonchalantly and picks up a completed crown, leaning forward to place it stop your hair. his lips are a breaths width from your skin, and a warmth bubbles in your chest at the prospect of feeling them against yours, eyes closing. when you open them, you gasp at the proximity of they prince, blinking rapidly and blushing. he’s so close that it seems like he was watching you. “mother says dragons must learn to be forgiving. so here i am, forgiving you.”

“what makes you think, that you are not required to seek my forgivenesses well?” you counter as a slight aggression weaves it’s way into your question, tilting your head upwards with stern eyes. taehyung bites his lip, slit tongue poking out to wet them at their swell. “should you not owe it to me? while my people die fighting against your best men, do you not believe that an apology from yourself, would be quite fitting?”

you chose this moment to shuffle away from taehyung, turning to face the trees

in the distance as you pat the heat away from your cheeks. “your people have magic, powers. and mine? nothing but a bare chest, swords and a shield. yet, you do not hear me forcing the forgiveness of my people upon you,” you point out— almost too harshly, twirling a piece of grass between your fingers. “you sit, protected in your realm while only your most powerful touch the bloodied soils. you kill, as do i. i do not seek your forgiveness, but the life of my people instead. the life of young boys,” a pause in your speech allows your mind to flicker back to hoseok, your fingers how clenching the grass within your disgust. “barely fit to fight, that are drafted into the war. women and children who are torn apart. please, forgive me, for not wanting to accept your so called forgiveness.”

“how do you know this? that we only send out best?” taehyung queries nervously, his tone quiet as his feet come into your blurry field of view. he senses in his chest that you’re hurt, scared and in pain. this is what the war did, not to his people but to the humans. it hurt you. everyone.

the laugh that passes your lips, is cold and cynical. your eyes possess a glassiness, glittering with fresh tears as you look to taehyung with anger painted against your face. “you have just told me.”

guilt washes over the dragon as he crouches down before you, placing a finger under your chin to tilt your head up to face him. his thumb brushes the tears that spill from the corner of your eyes as his lips form the words that whisper, “i’m sorry.”

he is sorry for your pain, he is sorry for the burden that you bare on your shoulders. he is sorry that he cannot make it stop, he is sorry.

the following weeks bring you back to the clearing, where taehyung desperately tries to erase his night of ignorance. you would meet nightly, under the sky with glittering constellations and stars that told a thousand and one stories. you were away from the world where lives were torn apart and the cloud of death was ever growing.

you were alone and happy.

taehyung would show you many of his tricks, how he could birth a flame just by the click of his fingers. how he could make smoke rise from his ears and nose and how the colour of his hair changed with his mood. the prince had become your friend, a regular occurrence to your life that you could not deal without.

but tonight, you would be prevented from such luxuries.

the tips of your fingers dabbed lightly at your lips, buffing the ruby red into your flesh. a maid worked by your side, primping and prepping locks of your hair so that they shone under the crystal lights. your makeup was light, yet fierce, shades of mint and green spreading across your eyelids to match the fitting ballroom gown you wore. it was lace that curled into silver lily flowers, from the shoulders and down to your hips, twisting into a wide tule skirt that was painted with frosted blues and mint green fading into white. a necklace of pure diamonds rested just above your breast, a matching crown woven into your tamed hair and a pair of earrings, your mother’s earrings to go with. as you sit still, letting the maids pretty you for the evening to come, you recall a time where you would have loved to be in a dress like this. times where your mother would only faintly dust your cheeks with blush whilst your father readied hoseok in the other room. tamarae was but a twinkle in your mother’s eye back then.

the girl in the mirror stares back at you, the trace of queen aadaya on her skin. closing your eyes, you take a deep breath to calm your aching heart and hum in agreement when the doors to your quarters open. tamarae beamed at you as her own maids helped her inside, she was a gown less bold than your own but equally pretty as fuchsia pinks spiralled soft lavenders. dresses like these were reserved for special occasions, to impress guests from outside castle walls, making a sick shiver crawl down your spine at the thought of elder dukes and lords and men vying for the attention of yourself and the young princess.

of course, the banquet for tonight was your father’s doing, in an attempt to find you a suitor right away. he claimed that you had failed to prove yourself in the last weeks, with no trace of the dragon’s heart in your possession. so with nothing but the grace of the queens before you, you accepted his invitation to host a banquet.

“you look beautiful, sister...you’ve grown so well,” you stand slowly, lifting your skirts to make your way over to the young princess. she bows her head in a small curtesy for you causing you to chuckle fondly. you allow your finger under her chin to tilt her head up, smiling softly at the girl, the spitting image of your mother. “now now, you are my sister, tamarae. formalities are not required for tonight, even if it is a special event,” you tease with a whisper in her ear, causing the younger to giggle slightly. “for you and i both know we shall be sneaking into the royal kitchen after the night is done!”

tamarae tucks a white lock of hair behind her ear, giggling happily as her small hands clasp onto yours. “big sister, we both know hoseokie would have made me take watch if he were here,” she remarks in response and pokes your nose, ignoring the glares of maids who had spent hours perfecting your look.

as a young adult— becoming a queen, the ballroom was often a reminder of simpler days whereby warm summery breezes wafted through the large french windows, carrying soft scents of the fresh lemons and oranges that grew in the royal gardens. hoseok would have been chasing you down, playing the role of big bad dragon whilst you pulled a fumbling two year old tamarae behind you. your parents would always come running in to save the day, mother playing the knight that took hoseok down and your father the one who saved his two princesses.

those were happier times, better times.

before you knew it, you were seated on the throne with the best view of the entire room. the ballroom had towering white pillars sprouting like flowers against a mahogany glossed wooden floor, the walls are splashed with an egg-shell blue with small cherry blossoms contrasting against the colour. accents of gold decorate every nook and cranny of the room and the ceiling paints a picture of fairytale creatures dancing amongst the man. men gallop across the hall with blushing ladies in their arm, those who aren’t dancing are stuffing their faces with the array of sweet treats and savoury delights that are positioned precisely against white sheet banquet tables.

introductions pass without you paying any mind, distracted by thoughts of taehyung whisking you away to your clearing in the forest, playing with the many creatures there. you slip back to reality when a sudden pain spreads across your left rib, making you scowl at the culprit...tamarae. the younger smiles sheepishly and points to the man apparoaching your throne.

his hair is a soft, candy pink, contrasting with the black blouse and dress pants he wore. when he bows to yourself and your sister, you catch a glimpse of his dark, misty brown eyes and find yourself curious to search them more. “he’s handsome,” tamarae teases you, moving to stand up as he steps forward. her gaze flickers up to your stoic face as she giggles. “don’t you think?”

“he looks like he’s full of himself.”

the man eyed you darkly while you held out your hand for him to take. “namjoon, kim namjoon...” his voice sends shivers down your spine, good or bad , you’re not sure. his skin is golden like honey and his tone drips with the same smoothness. “of the Kevimore kingdom.”

namjoon gives you a dimples smile, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lush lips for a gentle kiss. tamarae giggles by your side as you watch the man through your lashes, humming in content. it was always nice to see a man bend his will for you. “you may address me, as princess YN of the Phantis Empire,” you say, equally as smoothly whilst you tilt your head to the side. namjoon straightens his posture, bowing in respect. “i do hope you enjoy your stay here, tonight.”

with your final word, you turn your gaze to the crowd and watch as they twirl about in tune with the orchestra but smile when you catch the eye of your beloved advisor. you had not danced at a ball like this, since you were a child and back then, hoseok had always been your partner but he wasn’t here now, he was fighting a war that wasn’t his. your sister delivers a sharp elbow to your side, causing you to grunt as you ready to scold her into next year. “ahem,” she whispers, jabbing your side again and nodding her head in gesture to namjoon. “he’s still here.”

“i’m aware,”

“that means he requires your attention.”

“attention that i do not have for a man, tamarae.”

“YN, he’s right there!”

“and he can hear you...” namjoon interjects with a small chuckle, poking his tongue into his cheek while his lips form an amused smirk. he taps his ear while a light flush rises beneath the skin of your cheeks, much to the prince’s delight.

you duck your head, imagining that the prince before you gets off at the thought of making you blush. “is there anything i can help you with, prince namjoon?”

he nods once, pink locks falling into his eyes as his dimples smile appears once more. “a dance, with you? my queen?”

blinking, your lips part in shock. the only person to ever acknowledge you as the soon to be queen was jungkook, and that was often a joke between the two of you. but for a split second, it seemed— that namjoon’s dark, stormy eyes saw past the extravagance and diamonds— and saw you. the queen you were meant to be.

“she would love to,” you sister answers for you, pushing at your shoulder to force you to stand. you rise to your feet, unsteady on them and almost toppling forward. namjoon quickly catches you by the arm, offering you an earth shattering smile with dazzling eyes as he chooses that moment to lead you onto the ballroom floor. following namjoon, you turn around and give your younger sister a faux frown, sticking your tongue out at her. the maids around you gasp at your behaviour, while tamarae giggles and mocks your face.

upon reaching the dance floor, namjoon skilfully pulls you into his arms, pressing his chest to yours to guide your steps into the waltz. “you’re light on your feet, are you sure you’re not a dancer?” he chuckles quietly into your ear, making goosebumps arise across the planes of your skin.

you turn with him, taking the lead from his grasp and smile cheekily. “i’m trained to fight, being light on my feet is part of the battle.” but your grin quickly falls upon seeing jungkook turn away with disappointment, what was going on with him?

“ah, i see.” the prince falls silent at your words, offering you a quiet noise of agreement as the pace of the music rises and you start to speed up your dance.

namjoon is a handsome man, his terracotta lips seem warm and inviting, his eyes although dark make you want to lose yourself in him. the prince is tall, at least a head or so taller than you and his arms that hold you are firm and large. namjoon is attractive but...

but he is not taehyung.

the pink haired prince dips you, face hovering over yours as he takes a moment to tuck a fallen hair behind your ear. your cheeks heat up at his proximity but you swallow down your nerves and stutter out. “n-namjoon...i,”

“you’re beautiful, my queen,” he says simply, running a thumb over your bottom lips before he pulls you back into his chest. “what i wouldn’t give to have you ruling by my side.”

“e-excuse me?”

“you’d make an excellent wife, YN.”

gobsmacked, you try to rip yourself away from namjoon but his grip on your waist is too tight and suddenly he no longer looks charming and gentle, a sinister stare taking over his features. “let me go, namjoon. by order of the princess i demand that you let me go!” you scoff at him through gritted teeth still struggling in his grip. “if you believe that flattery will get you my hand in marriage then you are severely mistaken, my prince. i am a queen born to rule without a man, and i shall do so, just fine.”

namjoon tilts his head in a sympathetic fashion, pressing you closer to him. “oh but princess, we are already on the path to being wed,” he hums, his lips ghosting over yours as you squirm away from his touch. “by order of your father, i am set to marry you three weeks from now, since you failed to bring the head of the dragon prince.”

“no that’s not, it can’t be...he wouldn’t...he wouldn’t do that,” you mumble, feeling panic rise in your chest and lodge itself in your throat. your perfect world suddenly shatters, your view for the future torn to shreds. your father had sold your soul away to namjoon, who you now saw as a man who yearned for power. “he can’t.”

“then your father is not the man you believed him to be.” namjoon concludes. “now put on a pretty face and smile for our loyal subjects, my queen.”

you gasp with tears beginning to flood your field of view, your eyes searching in the crowd for someone, anyone to tell you it’s not true. who’s face falls at your wounded expression, he knows, you think. jungkook knew and he didn’t think to tell you. your heart shatters into a million pieces and all you can think is out out out. you need to get out.

but for now you turn to namjoon and give him a dazzling smile through your tears, as jungkook watches you with a guilty gaze.

running.

they say that running is able to clear your mind. but instead all of your thoughts and fears ran wildly beside you as you bolted through the forest. you could feel them, all of your worst nightmares crawling up your spine and scratching at your skin as you tumbled through the forest.

by the time you reach the clearing, you’re clawing at your throat and desperately gasping for air through your choked sobs. you can’t marry namjoon, you won’t marry namjoon. your body trembles with the sobs that wrack your tiny frame, the dress that you wear is suddenly too tight and all you can do is wail for an escape.

“YN! you have returned, i have to admit i missed you dearly-“ taehyung starts to ramble, just having come from a flight amongst the canopies. the dragon cuts himself off when he notices you collapsing onto your knees and tearing at the dress. “princess YN? YN, are you alright?” he drops to his knees beside you, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. the prince hates the way your chest is heaving, how a wild panic has spread through your darling eyes. “breathe for me princess, it’s alright, i’ve got you.”

your eyes stay with his as taehyung coaches you through, his ice like irises calming you down as they watch you with concern. the dragon prince brushes a hand through your hair to soothe you as you hiccup and sniff, attempting to ease your panic. “off, i want it off, all of it...” you grumble moving to tear at your gown. taehyung follows your movements, using a shifted dragon claw to shred off the remains of your skirt and help you out of the tight fitting corset until all that remains is your sheer and tule petticoat.

“better?” your companion asks, pulling you into his silk shirt. taehyung is warm, much morse so compared to the cool evening, you remember him explaining that dragons have a heart of coal. meaning that the blood that flows through them is heated and molten.

you nod shakily and move to hold his hand as a wave of comfort washes over you. “much, thank you taehyung.”

“are you going to tell me what happened?” the prince presses gently, not wanting you to hold it in. if there was anything taehyung had learned about you in the last few weeks, is that you never had an outlet. you were closed off from the world, locked away and never let anyone see the vulnerable sides of you and yet...you somehow found it in you to trust him.

nodding slowly, you turn and bury your face into his firm chest, fisting at the silk of his new azure blouse. “my father...” you sigh, letting your breath even out as you stumble to find the words. “he betrayed my trust...he turned the court against me and made them promise me to another man...” you feel taehyung’s breath hitch as his chest moves. quickly, you move to look up at taehyung and all you can think to do is kiss him but you can’t, not when you’re now promised to another. “i don’t love him, i could never be in love with someone so horrible.”

the now raven haired, dragon prince says nothing, instead choosing to squeeze you closer into his broad frame. he doesn’t look at you, mind racing a million miles an hour. you were to be married. and it wouldn’t be to him. so it is with a waking start that taehyung realises he is deeply, sorely in love with you. his chest rumbled at the thought of another man’s hands on you, kissing you and touching you, touching what was his. without meaning to, you place your hands on taehyung’s chest and grab at his attention. his usual ocean eyes flash with yellow and his primal senses are suddenly full of you. all he can see is your face under the light of the moon and stars, all he can feel is your touch on him and all he can smell is the sweet scent of lilies, of you.

“tae...taehyung?” you whisper, sniffling as you lean up and tilt his head to look at you. “i will be alright, i refuse to let this stop me from seeing you.”

he ignores your words, pulling you to stand with him. “lets go for a fly.” the prince says with bright eyes, staring at you.

“a fly? taehyung have you lost your mind-?”

“it’ll be fun, i promise you. it’ll clear your head.”

you slowly tear yourself from taehyung’s grip, holding your hand to your chest with a nervousness swirling in your stomach. flying. taehyung had told you that he was able to fully transform into a dragon, with all the same abilities as well. he called it shifting, and that meant he was able to breathe fire, roar like a mighty beast and fly. “i’m scared...” you admit, sheepishly. “what if...what if i fall?”

“do you trust me?” taehyung asks sternly, stepping towards you and holding his hand out for you to take.

“i...what?”

“i said, do you trust me?”

you hesitate before closing your eyes tightly and nodding, taking taehyung’s hand. “i trust you.”

your eyes remain screwed shut as the crunch of bones fills the unoccupied silence of the woods. you flinch at the sound and the slip of taehyung’s hand from yours, whilst his heaves and groans become growls and roars. away from the warmth of taehyung’s body, you realise how cold the forest is in just your petticoat but you’re shivers are quickly ceased when a puff of hot hair surrounds you and a large head nudges your body. opening your eyes slowly, you gasp at the large beast before you, the taehyung that you know has been replaced with an oblivion black dragon, hints of silver and blue illuminating his scales under the shimmering night sky. the dragon presses it’s head to your hand, making you reach out hesitantly as you stare deep into its amber irises.

‘do you trust me?’

you remember taehyung’s words as the majestic beast bows to you, you chuckle and watch as the dragon moves back, stretching out to spread its wings. you imagine that the wings themselves must be as wide as the west wing of your castle back home. when the dragon returns to his original position, you’re met with a puff of warm air, strong enough to blow locks of your hair away from your face. “impatient creature, aren’t you?” you giggle to yourself and clamber up onto taehyung’s head, making him shake it in response.

with a deep breath, you hold on tightly to the spines feathering taehyung’s neck and close your eyes once more, listening to the sounds of his wings flap as he lifts you both off of the ground. the next time you open your eyes, you’re up in the air, soaring above the clouds. the pair of you are so high that the colour of the sky fades from a soft pink to the deep blue below, the beginnings of the sun shining in the distance.

then taehyung makes a nose dive.

the air rushes through your hair as you squeal, heading face first for the land beneath you. taehyung spirals his body as you throw your hands into the air, squealing loudly with happiness, you can feel every fear and doubt that clogged your mind and body rush away with the wind in your face. the dragon prince evens out his body, spreading his wings as you drift across the night sky, watching the world go by with you above it. you lean forward and rest the palms of your hands on taehyung’s, stroking it lightly as you fly past the stars.

when the clearing reappears in your field of view, taehyung tilts his body and begins the descent through the clouds. he flies low, letting you reach your hand out to touch the glistening water below. “w-woah, tae...taehyung!” you cry in amusement, feeling him shift beneath you, his bones realign as he grows tired and reverts back to his human form. his wings somehow manage to remain as the prince’s familiar face returns and he beams up at you. his wings encircle you as you make a crash landing into the clearing. the pair of you roll and tumble out onto the illuminated grass below you, taehyung’s wings protecting you and softening your fall. you manage to uncurl in his grip, landing beneath him as his palms flatten out by your head to stop himself from crushing you.

“hi...” you pant, looking up at the dragon prince with glittering eyes. your hand reaches up to touch at taehyung’s soft face, his eyes still golden glowing irises and his curled hair now a faded black. he’s beautiful, he always has been but in this moment, you feel like you have finally see him. you can finally see that you love him.

taehyung looks down at you through hooded eyes, moving to run a thumb over your pinkish bottom lip, his breath uneven from the flight. “hello, my queen.” he says simply, face nearing yours. you feel your lashes against your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut, taehyung nosing your cheeks until his soft lips reach your own. hands in your hair, the prince tilts his head and kisses you. his lips mould perfectly against yours and you can feel your heartbeat wildly in your chest as your arms wrap around his neck and fingers curl in his wavy locks. taehyung kisses you like you’re his, and only his and all you want is to feel is him.

taehyung’s hands use a tentative touch as they slide down to your sides, slipping under your petticoat to smooth over your bare skin. you gasp as his lips venture out into the junction at your neck, curling your fingers in his hair as his hands push further and further up your clothes. he roams your skin like foreign terrain— fingers dipping at peaks and the curve of your body. “taehyung...” you whimper breathlessly, pushing your head back into the lush grass below.

the dragon freezes at the sound passing from your lips, moving to pull away. “are you hurt? did i hurt you?” taehyung asks worriedly, honey eyes boring into your soul. you sit up, confused as you shake your head no, wondering if your eagerness to kiss him has driven him away. “i’ve never...i haven’t done this before...” the ravenette adds, gesturing between you both. never done...what?

oh...

“been with a women before?” you ask gently, sitting up and leaning your chin on taehyung’s shoulder. you tilt your gaze towards him, smiling softly and move to cup his cheek. “i have never...been with a man either...you would be my first.” you whisper shyly, you had little time for courting as a princess, your royal duties taking up much of your time. but here you were, curled up with taehyung on possibly the most beautiful place on earth, feeling more ready than you had ever been.

“let me have you, if you will?” the prince asks lowly, warm breath fanning over your lips.

“you have me, all of me...”

that was all it took for taehyung to crash his lips against yours once more, this time his tongue tracing over the seam of your own as he pleads for entrance to your mouth. you happily oblige, welcoming his warm tongue with your own in a battle for dominance, dancing together while his large hands pulled at your under clothes. you arched your back, letting him tug the tule garment off of you and spreading your thighs as he nudged them apart.

“you’re so beautiful,” taehyung murmurs, pulling back from the kiss to admire you. his amber irises darkened to a dark gold as he drunk in your naked body, leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. “i want to mark you...” he added, biting down on your supple flesh and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. “fuck you, breed you. would you like that princess?” he growls.

you arch your back as his hands come to cup your breast, squeezing them between slender fingers whilst he works a trail of purples down to your chest. “god, please...taehyung!”

chuckling deeply, using his dragon abilities, the prince blows a gust of hot air over your left nipple once his mouth reaches its destination. his snake like tongue pokes out to lick a stripe over the perky bud before he takes your breast into his mouth harshly, biting down and letting his primal instincts take over. even if he was a virgin, being a dragon, taehyung was genetically programmed to please during breeding seasons. he knew what he was doing, especially when you moaned aloud.

a hand slips down your sides and into your panties, circling over your clit to spread your wetness as it glistened under the moonlight. “you’re soaking, my princess,” taehyung hums, still squeezing your breast as he sucked your nectar off of his fingers. “may i taste you?”

“yes, please...” you gasp.

taehyung raises an unimpressed brow, pinching your nipple causing you to whine. “please what?”

eyes rolling, you moan out the only title you can think of, hoping it will urge the dragon on. “please...my king.”

the prince with obsidian hair curses under his breath, making quick work of tearing off your panties and shuffling onto his belly on the grass so that he nears your entrance. taehyung spreads your lower lips widely, chuckling at the juices that flow from your flower. “so pretty, petal.” he says, watching you writhe under the night air before locking eyes with you through his curled locks. the air that hits your pulsing heat, is cool but taehyung’s breath is hothothot. his lush lips suckle on your clit before his burning tongue swipes over the length of your pussy, heated from his dragon’s core. taehyung sweeps at any of your sweet nectar that gushes from your hole, humming in content before pushing his tongue past your entrance making you cry from pleasure and curl your fingers in his hair.

“look at you, absolutely dripping just for your king,” taehyung growls against your burning cunt, the vibrations sending your eyes rolling back in your head. desire burns brightly in the pits of your stomach, as you start to rut your hips into his face, the prince having neglected your wetness in favour of whispering foul words into your thighs. taehyung flicks at your swollen clit, making your legs wobble and threaten to close around his head. not that you would mind the view. “such beautiful sight, baby.”

he dove his tongue into your tight hole, as arousal fogged your senses and his instincts to your body heightened. the world between your sweet thighs was slick, tasting of the most luxurious of treats to taehyung and he could tell he was becoming addicted to you. a finger slipped past your entrance, along with his tongue, thrusting inside of you and catching on the walls of your pussy. you wriggled against the grass, spread out in the open nature whilst taehyung claimed you with his tongue. “m close, m close!” you squealed when taehyung added another finger, fearing that your high was coming to soon. the prince was giving you pleasure that you had never felt before, that couldn’t be achieved with your own hand or imagination. you weren’t sure that you wanted it to end.

nimble fingers gripped at taehyung’s mop of sooty hair as he lapped faster and faster at your sensitive bud, the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter until suddenly...it snapped. “cum for me, princess, reward your king.”

white flashes behind your eyes as your release crashes over you, signs of your arousal painting taehyung’s chin and face. he licks over his bottom lip, chest rumbling at the taste of you before he moves between your thighs to and up to your face. he kisses you sweetly, once...twice... allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before deepening the kiss. the pair of you become a pile of limbs, entangled in the grass as teeth and tongue clash together. your hands wind down the path way of the prince’s body, stopping above his belt loop hesitantly.

taehyung forces himself to pull away from your onslaught of kisses, pressing his forehead to yours— eyes closing with a pant falling from his lips. “you don’t have to...” he mumbles, lips ghosting over yours while he noses your cheek.

taehyung’s hair brushes softly over your forehand, his eyes tightly shut away from the world as if, when he sees you again, he won’t be able to control himself. you stare up at him, taking in his every mole and freckle that dots his face. you trust him. “i want to, please— let me, my liege.” you insisted, a neediness sparking in your eyes.

“fuck...the things you do to me, princess,” hisses hotly, his cock twitching in his briefs as you rolled him over. the dragon prince quickly stood, helping position you comfortably on your knees before letting his hands fly to the buckle of his breeches. watching him closely, you felt your mouth water in anticipation— you’d never in your life seen a man in full glory before, let alone a mythical creature such as taehyung. you suspected him to be girthy, but your expectations were exceed as he proceeded to roll down his breeches and undergarments in one.

taehyung’s cock was not only thick and girthy, but lengthy as well, so big that for a brief second, you were unsure that your own two hands would fit around it, let alone your mouth. your jaw dropped in awe as your eyes observe him. “well...uh, there’s something about us dragon’s that.... that perhaps i failed to mention-“ taehyung but his lip with nervousness, his confident and dominant aura suddenly wavering.

“you have two heads-“ you blurt out, gaze trained on the second head of his forked member. “there’s two!”

the prince blushes, running a hand through his curled hair and swallowing thickly. “for mating purposes, it increases the success of a female carrying...” taehyung pauses is breathe explanation, frowning deeply as you touch curiously at his cock. “—carrying offspring, princess.”

the pet name comes out as some what of a warning, making you smile sheepishly at the man above you. “it’s got spines, taehyung...you cant expect me not to touch you!” you defend yourself, watching him closely. “it’s hot too.”

“for pleasure purposes, dragons are also naturally hot.”

“do you think it will fit? i’ve not been with a man before i-“

seemingly sensing the nerves that stir in your stomach, taehyung leans down to grip your chin and tilts your head upwards to catch your eye. “i’ve got you, petal,” he whispers and presses a light chaste kiss to your lips. “do you trust me?”

“yes, more than anything.” you breathe, settling back onto your knees as taehyung guides your mouth towards his pulsing cock. your eyes trail up his body as he tugs off his shirt from above you, his skin is glazed with a layer of sweat and desire pours through your system like the molten lava that intertwines with his dragon blood. you imagine that he tastes sweet, like the finest wines of the Ubeozia dynasties.

leaning forward you shakily take taehyung’s tips past your lips, sucking on it hesitantly while he starts to groan. the dragon sucks in a breath from the night air as you take him further into your mouth, looking up at him with sparkling doe eyes. “you’re doing so well, my darling princess, so good for me.” he sighs.

his cock his hot against your tongue, forming tingling sensation at your lips while you work on bobbing your head. curses fall out from underneath taehyung’s breathy moans whilst his eyes flash golden like Apollo’s sun. his large hands thread between your loosened locks as they tickle at your exposed shoulders, encouraging you to give him more.

your hands sit small on the base of his girth, fisting at what you cannot fit making a wetness pool between the apex of your thighs as you think about being stuffed full of him. taehyung lets out a small moan, closing his eyes and throwing his head back to face the stars as he shallowly thrusts his length into your welcoming mouth. your tongue works circles around his cock making taehyung’s fingers curl in your hair, massaging your scalp as he gently pushes your hot mouth further down on his pulsing, red hot cock.

he hisses and grunts when you’re tongue glides over his slit, abdomen clenching as he feels himself fall into his high. you gasp as the dragon paints your tongue with a smokey release, his cum is a foreign feel against your tongue but brings you satisfaction as he quivers through the after shocks of his orgasm. softly, you let go of his member, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip to capture the rest of his cum— keeping your eyes trained on him.

“how does it taste?” taehyung asks darkly, sinking into his knees to cup your face.

you hum for a moment, parting your lips gently as his thumb brushes over them. “salty, no...ashy.” you conclude, breathing lightly. taehyung quirks a brow, leaning forward to press a searing kiss to your lips, his tongue swipes over your bottom one as he gradually pushes you back into the lush grass, positioning himself between your legs.

“that’s because our release is fuelled by the fires that burn in our hearts,” the prince explains, pulling away from your lips to whisper in your ear. now that you’ve tasted me, it’s time i mark your beautiful little cunt.”

you gasp as the tips of his thick cock brush as your entrance, instinctively locking your thighs around his hips. your chest rises and falls with the anticipation of having taehyung, the man you love, claim you. you’re in love, you love taehyung with all your heart and now he was to make you his. sighs of adoration fill the air between you as taehyung slowly pushes into your virgin hole, of course, having more than one tip would make it hurt, but only just— making your nails dig into the skin at taehyung’s shoulder.

he stops is movements, the prince knows that it will be difficult for your tiny human body to handle his stamina and size, after all, you had already cum once and were nearing exhaustion. “i’m sorry, my petal...my queen, i know it hurts,” he cooes, nosing at your neck to ease the pain. one hand curls in taehyung’s thick locks as he fully enters you with one tip of his cock, the second slowly slipping past the lips of your cunt. the dragon prince drops a hand to your clit, slowly rubbing in circles until the pleasure overrides the sting where you bleed. “you’re doing so well for me, taking all of my cock like the good queen you are.”

taehyung waits for you to adjust as he continues to lazily flick at your bud, while you slowly start to open up for him like the roses at his mother’s place. “please...move taehyungie...move!” you mewl, throwing your head back into the soft grass as pleasure begins to overwhelm your senses.

the prince smiles down at you, taking in the the twisted look of delight against your delicate features and the curve of your breast as you arch your back. taehyung bottoms out inside of you, gently thrusting his length within your tight, dripping walls and closes his eyes at the sound of your sweet moans. you feel like you were made just for him, for him only and when he opens his eyes, he can’t help but lean down and claim your mouth, slipping his tongue past the barriers of your lips when you part them.

“look at you, princess, so tight for me— your king,” he praises tenderly against your hips, dropping his face to your neck as you tighten around him involuntarily. “you’re mine, made for me and my cock. you got that princess?”

“yours, yours my king.” you pant, fingertips dancing across the expanse of your lover’s freckled back.

taehyung deepens his thrusts, the spines on his cock catching against your slick walls as he reaches deeper inside of you. he sucks a little of bruises into your neck, purples, pinks and burgundies painting a picture of his love for you while he works their. your hips lift to match his thrusts, sucking him in as you both move together under the moonlight. the sounds of love filled moans and groans fills the cool air of the forest, long forgotten as taehyung pounds into you, letting you feel every inch of his cock. his grunts send shivers down your spine, making you arch your back into him. taehyung pushes your hips down, pushing his member into your sweet spot causing more of your juicies to gush down your wobbling thighs.

you bite your lip in an attempt to silence your cries, an unexplainable wave of pleasure coursing through your veins as taehyung yanks your hips down to his. “s’good…please don’ stop,” you slur pathetically into the night, a sheen of sweat dousing your skin, the sound of your desperation making the head’s taehyung’s length twitch inside of you. he wasn’t sure how long he would last, with the way your virgin cunt clamped down on him like a vice. the tightness was almost unbearable, each thrust bringing him closer and closer to the edge. “need you, need you m-my king!”

taehyung’s mop of hair drops to your collar bones as he bites on them to silence his growls of possession. “fuck me, princess, fuck,” he slurs, his cock swelling as if he’s about to burst. the first head of his member stimulating that special spot, while the other fills your needy hole. “wonder what your courts would say if they saw you like this, princess,” taehyung pants into your neck, one hand sliding between your bodies to stimulate your clit while the other grips your breast, as he leans against you, pressing his hips into yours. “saw their queen spread out for the dragon king so desperate and needy for his dragon cock...fuck baby, what would they say?”

“t-they’d be ... ashamed!” you squeal, arching your back and lifting your hips to meet taehyung’s thrusts.

he smirks, fucking into you harder, until you’re full to the brim and you can feel him deep in your womb. “but i wouldn’t be, m’ so proud of my princess for taking me like this...” taehyung pants, looking deep into your eyes, sweaty hair falling over his own amber irises. “cum with me, my love.”

you grab and pull at taehyung, touching at skin hair and lips as your release starts to creep up on you. the pace of taehyung’s hips never slow but start to become sloppy as your senses become overwhelmed with him. the tips of his cock brush at your spot once more, making you scream with pleasure as the damn finally bursts and you cream on his member, painting him with your release as the first spirts of his cum fill your hole. “taehyung, tae..please,” you cry, soft tears springing in your eyes as he locks his gaze on yours, hips slowing to a grind as he pumps his thick, hot seed inside of you. there’s so much, never ending as his release gathers within your cunt, searingly hot as lewd sounds of your wetness’ mixing fills the air. “i love you...”

your words are barely above a whisper, tears of warmth and happiness spilling from your eyes as taehyung cups your cheeks and swoops down to kiss you lovingly. “i love you so much, more than anything.” he responds, never ending his onslaught of kisses.

taehyung doesn’t soften inside you, making another wave of neediness wash over your body. he loved you, he loved you just as you did with him. the kisses become sweeter and sweeter, like the finest honey against your tongue and you smile against taehyung’s lips as he lifts you into his arms. “you love me.” it’s more of a statement than a question, but taehyung answers regardless, brushing strands of hair away from your face.

“i will always love you, beyond my dying breath.”

the dragon scoops you up, carrying you to a nearby tree and leaning back against it, refusing to put you down despite your giggles and protests. you notice, from over his shoulder that moon lillies grow in place of the spot you made love in. “what’s that?” you ask quietly, as taehyung sits, turning you around gently in his lap and barely lifting you from his cock.

he watches darkly as only small traces of his charcoal black cum seep from your cunt before he follows your gaze to the flowers. “those, moon lillies appear when a dragon has found his or her mate, in place of where they have mates for the first time.” he mumbles shyly, hiding his face in your neck and kissing the back of your shoulder.

“let’s... let’s make more,” you whisper and admire the flowers that act as a symbol of your love. although your thighs still shake from your last two releases, you pull your hips forward and drag them back against taehyung’s lap, twitching around his length from the overstimulation. your turn your head to face the dragon prince from over your shoulder, watching as his chest heaves with pleasure. “make love to me, dragon king. make love to your queen.”

taehyung’s hips twitch at your words, the ghost of his fingertips settling on your hips before gripping them harshly, helping to move you back and forth against his cock. “as you wish my queen,” he mumbles, starting to move his own hips in time with yours. “you’re going to be the death of me, love.”

taehyung bites down harshly on your shoulder as you begin to mewl, lifting yourself off of your cock and slamming your hips back down. the spines on taehyung’s cock stimulate your spasming, cum soaked walls, catching on each ridge and causing you to shiver. the forest is once more filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, and a mixture of lost words and moans and ‘i love you’s. you are lost with taehyung, in a world of your own as he claims your cunt over and over again with each thrust.

you circle your hips, clenching around the thick cock that stretches you open and gasp when one of taehyung’s heads slip out from your tight core. biting your lip, you take a finger and coat it in the remainder of your last orgasms and smear it against taehyung’s tip, thumbing it hardly. the prince groans, hips stuttering as he lets out a loud moan, thrusting into you at a faster pace and circling himself inside of you. “princess, please...fuck me.”

“forever, my sweet.” you whisper, slapping the head against your cock before pushing it back into your entrance. you rock yourself back and forth, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as your sensitive pussy pulses with want. you know, you will not last as long as the previous rounds, indicated by your throbbing clit and collapse forward against taehyung’s legs. the dragon takes this as an opportunity to slap his palm against your bare ass, watching the flesh jiggle at the contact.

you squeal at the spank, sinking your fingers into the grass as taehyung repeats his ministrations on each of your cheeks. his cock swells with every desperate moan that passes from your lips, stretching your tight cunt open to accommodate for his cum. he wants to breed you, fuck you full of all of his dragon seed and watch your stomach swell at the heavy load. he wants you to have his children. with new found motivation and his orgasm closing in on him, taehyung grabs your hips and forces them down against his cock, slamming into you every time you come down against him. your abused hole drips with newfound wetness and remainders of taehyung’s hot seed as he pushes it further inside of you.

the pace is wild, and heat flares up between you both as your bodies move together completely uncontrolled. “m gonna cum again...” you gasp as you feel taehyung pound repeatedly into your g-spot. “please, please fill me up.”

“gonna cum with you princess, gonna breed you with my dragon pups,” taehyung practically whimpers, mumbling an i love you into the air. “gonna fill you up and fuck my cum deep inside you.” he rambles now as his thrusts become erratic. having his length nuzzled inside of you is what pushes taehyung over the edge, beating the feeling of endless hours of pleasuring himself during breeding seasons. he had never held or touched a woman in the way that he did with you. you were his first, and that was what made his heads fill you once more with a heavy load of his seed, shooting further into your cunt as you cream against him once more, pushing your hips down while his cum smears against your clit. “

“taehyungie!”

you collapse against the grass, panting shakily as taehyung pulls you into his arms again, turning to lay on his side as he pulls you into his chest. he doesn’t remove himself from your body, keeping himself inside you as more of the glowing blue flowers begin to bloom around you. taehyung’s hand settles on your belly as his arms wrap around your waist, rubbing it in circles while he kisses your hair. everything is perfect, just as it is meant to be. you’re in love with the man you had dared yourself to kill, but could now only find it in you to lay with him under the stars.

“i love you taehyung,” you say for the millionth time that night, drawing patterns into the hand that rests on your stomach. “i won’t ever love anyone else. i am yours and you are mine.”

“we are one, YN.” taehyung adds, sweetly, holding you closer as you feel yourself start to drift into a sweet slumber. “and i will love you forever.”

forever.

you smile at the word, placing his hand over his as you finally fall into sleep. you stay with taehyung, in forest for a night or two, loving each other under the moon.

“and you will see to it that the dragon is captured and killed, immediately?”

jungkook hesitates, a pause in the air at the prince’s request. when namjoon and the king had asked the young advisor to follow his queen out into the woods, he had never expected to see what he did. the nights where you would disappear for hours on end, coming home with scorch marks and ruffled hair all seemed to make sense now. you were with the dragon prince, the one who’s heart you had promised to capture. except, only you could not do it, you had been soft in the heart. a trait that lay with your deceased mother.

jungkook had seen you take round after round of the dragon’s cock, wishing that he could be in place of the beastly creature. he hated how that thing claimed you like he had been trying to for years, he despised how he fisted himself to orgasm behind the trees as he watched you cum for the dragon, moan for the dragon, love for the dragon. jungkook hated himself for betraying you due to his own jealousy, he wanted to see the dragon pay for what it had done to his queen, his love. and although, the advisor was unsure of what namjoon planned to do with the information, jungkook knew the least he could do was set you back on the right path.

he had already owed you this debt, in where he failed to warn you about namjoon. perhaps, he would make it up to you by freeing you from the dragon’s grip.

“jungkook...”

“yes my liege, we will send our best troops to their location and have him captured within the next week or so...” the boy explains, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles nervously. why does guilt rein free in his mind? he was doing what was best for you.

prince namjoon nods proudly, nodding his head and standing from his seat to leave the dining room. the prince had moved into the palace due to your absence over the last three days, presumably to take over rule as your father was too sick to do so. namjoon was brought in to have you wed before your father’s passing but the courts knew you were more than capable of doing so on your own.

they just hated to see a women in power.

“you are dismissed, jungkook.”

the young advisor nods his head gratefully, running a hand through his wavy locks and massaging his scalp to calm his guilt ridden mind. “what the fuck, jeon?” he mumbles to himself, starting walk back his quarters. he needed to be a lone, he needed time to convince himself that what he had done was right. jungkook could pretend that everything would be fine and maybe it would be.

he paces down the twisting and winding halls of the castle, chest squeezing as he begins to feel trapped within the walls and lies. jungkook doesn’t even hear the call of his name.

“jeongguk!” tamarae gasps, catching up to the young advisor. the boy freezes, the princess much resembled the queen before YN, her features her sloping and graceful and you could see shift in her eye colour of the light hit them just right. everyone had been in awe of tamarae since she was born, but she was no YN. he looks down at the girl, just a year younger than jungkook himself, and parts his lips to speak. they were aquatinted well, but never spoke more than a passing hello when YN was around.

but he never gets a chance to speak.

the princess’ hand falls sharply against his cheek, the connection is enough to send his head to the side. it is now, for the first time, that jungkook really looks at the young princess. her snow white hair is dishevelled and slightly out of place, dark eye bags beneath her usually glowing eyes and her skin has paled significantly. “how dare you?” tamarae seethes, stepping closer to jungkook and pointing a finger in his face. he flops guiltily, his actions coming to haunt him. “how dare you, give my sister’s location to that treacherous prince?”

“i’m doing what is in the best interest of our queen.”

tamarae opens her mouth in shock, casting a glance up and down jungkook’s frame before taking a breath to calm herself. “what would you know about her best interests?” she begins, now poking a thumb into the firm of the advisor’s chest. “she is happy there, out in the woods in her clearing. he makes her happy.” a breath, “— but you’re so foolishly and selfishly in love with her, you would do anything to make her love you back. well, jeon jungkook...now she will never.”

“tamarae, i—“

“and you slept with me, i let you wrestle me to bed in your quarters and make a woman of me,” the princess starts to feel tears form in her eyes, breath becoming shaky and anger rising within her chest. “just so...so you could find where she is. i didn’t tell you, for you to hurt her. i told you because you’re her best friend...”

jungkook is left, trembling with guilt as the princess turns away and heads back in the direction she came.

he was desperately in love with you, but was too blind to see the love he was given too.

the feeling beneath taehyung’s skin is nothing like he has ever felt before. it’s a bristling pain that jabs at his flesh, pinches at his every fibre and burning away at his heart.

it hurts, it pains him and he doesn’t know why.

the servants strip him of his shirt, sweat licking his honey dipped abs as they douse him with cold spurts of water but nothing helps and the pain doesn’t cease. one places a stick between his teeth for him to clamp down on as they rub at his skin, trying to massage the pain away. instead the supposed, soothing feeling is replaced by a thousand small stabs to his flesh, almost to the point where tears pool in his ocean eyes.

the double doors to his bedroom open suddenly, Queen elantris making an entrance as maids and servants alike withdraw from the heaving prince. his stares over at his mother as she dismisses all other personnel in the room, dropping his head back into his tangled sheets while he pants, eyes falling shut.

“mother...”

“shh, my boy, you are in a lot of pain,” elantris hums quietly, brushing her son’s curled charcoal locks from his paling face. the prince whines like a young dragon pup, the hurt becoming too much to bare. elantris looks down at her child, seizing the moment to rub a cooling herb mix against his chest, despite the growls and roars that emit from taehyung’s lips. she coos at him gently, once she’s done, whispering sweet words into his hair as he shivers in a cold sweat. the dragon queen had seen this once before, never as severe. her child was sick with a deep poison, known as love.

“what’s happening to me?”

the tone of fear rings in taehyung’s voice as he roars, scales reappearing across his skin and eyes darkening into their golden state. his mother leans down and noses taehyung’s cheek, trying to ease him through the pain and coaches him through it despite the groans he lets out.

“you’ve imprinted, my love,” elantris whispers, linking their hands. “you’re in love, taehyung, with that human girl.”

the boy gasps through his pain, feeling like a pup being caught stealing from the kitchen like when he was young. taehyung had known that he had always felt strongly towards you, felt strongly for the way your eyes sparkled under the moon and the way your smile shone brightly whenever the dragon had a new trick to show you. taehyung had known, all along, that he was in love with you. “how, how did you know?”

“i could smell her on you, taehyung,” elantris chuckles and releases her child’s hand, helping him to sit. “i may be old but i am not a fool. you have learned to forgive, unlike those of our ancestors. you must go to her, the girl and the closer you are to her, the less pain you will be in.” she hums. “you just go to her.”

the prince stretches his limbs, a cool slick sliding over his skin. “i will, i love her.”

the clearing.

when you thought of the clearing, you thought of happiness and love. your love, with taehyung that bloomed solely under the night of the stars but another that grew strongly inside of you. the news you had for taehyung sent a series of fire works bursting in your chest, coursing through your veins— this could be it, could be what could end all the suffering and consequences, letting yourself and your prince be together.

the familiar sent of sweet moon lily fills your nostrils, easing your nerves as you approach the clearing, your love. the sky is clear above your head, milky pink like the roses your mother used to weave into your hair. you like to believe, that she would be excited for you, looking down at you from the constellations above with joy. this was not always your plan, but you would not let this get in your way of becoming queen.

you take care with your steps, unlike times before this, wearing your traditional warrior fit makes the journey easier. you want to be careful and prevent any harm to what is to come — but suddenly, the air around you feels different, thick with smoke and heavy with an eerie vibe. something is off, something is wrong.

peeking through the leaves you spot several men, heavily armed with swords and arrows, in a uniform you do not recognise. upon closer inspection— you notice the emblem on the crest of a soldier from your kingdom . these are your people, men from your army.

in your clearing.

rushing forward, you burst from the trees and slap a hand over your mouth at the site. the dragon prince, fully shifted into his beautiful dragon transformation is hooked to the ground with thick metal chains that rub at his skin. taehyung roars, in pain, in fear, you cannot tell and panic begins to rise in your chest, clawing at your throat and tearing at your insides.

they had found him.

the beast sniffs the air once, twice, the bones in his back cracking as he fights to stand—pulling the men that held him back, off of the ground. yellowed eyes tilt towards you, barely hidden in your precious spot as the prince tries to rip free and expose you. he could sense your presence, your emotions and desperately needed to be with you, he needed you to know about the imprint.

but before taehyung can reach you, a guard calls and has you on your knees in a second, many others spearing your lover to get him under control. tears sting in your eyes as the first drops of his blood hit the pure grass beneath your knees, where you had made love for the first time, where you were supposed to be safe.

“taehyung!” you scream, attempting to rip yourself away from the men, your men... that hold you down. it’s almost as if you can feel every pierce of taehyung’s flesh as he roars out for you. yanking your arm free, you attempt to stand, but your pathway is blocked by a pair of black boots and a talk slender figure. your wobbling lip turns to a sneer, gaze darkening as you look to him. “you...”

namjoon smirks, kneeling down to your height as your own men hold you down. “hello, my queen,” he hums, eyeing your sweat streaked face and angry expression. the man lifts your chin with his forefinger, tilting your head to look up at you. taehyung’s chest rumbles possessively as the latter male’s hands slip to clip your jaw tightly. “you seem to be right on time, love. you’re about to witness the true harvesting of a dragon heart.”

a flare of outrage ignites in your chest as you lunge forward, biting at namjoon’s finger so hard that you draw blood, while vexed tears cloud your vision. the pink haired prince pulls back, holding his hand tightly in pain. “unhand me.” you breathe heavily, staring up at the men beside you, holding you down and betraying you. “unhand me by order of your princess.” you muster up a stern expression, although your lip wobbles and your eyes water as the pain of your lover courses through your veins. you had not known it was possible to feel so connected, so in tune with someone before. but you understood now, that this was love. love was not your mother and father arguing during nights, where hoseok would cover yourself and your sister’s ears, love was not tolerating and suppressing your bitter hatred for your father. love was not war. love was taehyung.

the men look to namjoon for guidance as you thrash within their grip, he simply shakes out his wounded hand and stalking towards you, before landing a harsh slap across your face. your head whips to the side, your chest heaving in shock while your lover growls in the distance.

“i’m afraid they cannot do that your highness,” namjoon spits, pushing you down into the soil. you clutch at your stomach protectively, glowering at the prince. “you father has handed all authority over to me, after your absence for the last two nights. the court has ruled you, unfit to rule until we marry.”

the prince then turns to the dragon, signalling for his minions to tighten the chains around taehyung. “and he shall be executed in consequence of your action. for imprinting on our queen, like the filthy creature he is.”

it feels like your world is collapsing, and you are falling underneath the surface. but you cannot give in, you cannot give namjoon the satisfaction of your favour without a fight. you cannot lose taehyung. you close your eyes and swallow thickly, remembering what your mother had instilled in you. every battle has a way to be won.

“unhand me,” you repeat, steadying your breath. “and i will go with you willingly.” namjoon only chuckles deeply, shaking his head so you take action. ripping yourself from the men behind you, you kick your leg out and take the men down by swipe their feet out from underneath them. elbowing a soldier in the nose and snatching your sword from its sheath, burying it in the chests of two traitors. rolling your shoulders back, you kick down two more men and stay light on your toes.

you aim for the prince next.

taking a running sprint, you thrust your sword towards him, barely slicing his cheek as you pant heavily. “release the dragon, and i will spare you,” you seethe through gritted teeth, watching your wounded lover from over namjoon’s shoulder. “don’t be a foolish man, my prince.” you mock, venomously.

“i see that carrying a child has softened your mindset, princess YN,” namjoon comments softly, pushing the blade away from his throat. how could he know? who could have told him? your confident demeanour falters slightly, but you do not allow yourself to slip, holding up your blade again. “the castle maids talk, you show early signs. disgraceful, how you are willing to bare the child of the beast that killed your mother—“ the prince remains cool and collected whilst your resolve starts to crumble, he wins. taehyung wails for you in the background, weakening as you begin to shake. “you will marry me, tomorrow at sunset if you wish for child to be speared. i feel no remorse for ending two lives tonight.”

the world around you begins to spin lightly, taehyung calling for you to stay strong. namjoon had won, he had you exactly where he wanted you, and there was nothing more you could do. “very well,” you whisper, dropping your gaze along with your mothers sword. “we shall be wed.”

you had never been to a wedding, if you had, you may have been too young to remember. sometimes, if you were lucky enough to hear, your mother would tell you of her own, her white dress and wolf furs, her pearl crown imported from across the sea. when she explained to you, brushing your hair and tying it neatly before bed, she had never smiled, never grinned at the thought of a royal feast. her face had always been void.

you now, realise why.

today you would marry, to a man you bared no feelings for. today you would marry out of duty and out of the love you had for someone else. you realise, being older and less naive, that your mother, the queen— married your father as a debt to her kingdom.

“you look beautiful, YN...” your sister offered, taking over for the maid in weaving flowers into your hair. orchids. the national flower of namjoon’s kingdom. the smell was too sweet, sickly to the point where you felt you would heave. they were everywhere, in your hair and your bouquet, in gifts given by royals from other kingdoms— you hated it. a constant reminder of what you had to lose. tamarae notes your silence, stopping her hands that move to fix hair that has already been tucked into place. “please, say something...”

you blink twice in response, parting your lips as if the words will come on their own — but you’re hollow inside, a ghost of who you once were. there were no more tears to cry, or screams to let out. all of those had passed in the cold night, when your sister held you as you cried because your child would grow without the father they needed. because you were going to lose your love. tamarae sinks to her knees before you, creasing the sweet powder blue dress that she wore. her hand take yours, squeezing it gently as if to remind you that you’re still a person, you still feel.

“you don’t have to do this,” she whispers hoarsely, white hair falling over her face to shield her from the world. her bottom lip trembles as tears slip down her cheeks— she had lost her mother, her brother and now her sister. what more could she lose? “you don’t have to...”

for the first time in hours, you make a movement...your face twitches into a sad smile as you cup your sister’s cheeks and hold her close. tamarae’s face finds the tule of your wedding dress, trying her best not to stain the expensive fabric imported from namjoon’s kingdom, not that you cared much for it. “i have to, for you and for the people. our people. they have lost faith in me, and they need me—“ you swallow sharply, no more tears. “they need me to show them i care for our people, i care for this war...”

“i don’t want to lose you...”

“you won’t.”

the door bursts open, yourself and your sister jumping apart at the sudden entrance. jungkook inhales deeply, eyes flickering between the two princesses before tamarae scoffs and parts ways with you but not before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

she shoves past the boy, maids flurrying after her, leaving yourself and the advisor alone. he is the first to speak. “YN, my queen, you’re stunning-“

“no,” you interject, looking up at your old friend, coldly. “don’t speak. you don’t get to speak today or i’ll have you executed for treason.” you punctuate your every word, begging yourself to keep it together because if you cry now, jungkook will be the only one to comfort you. your best friend, the man who betrayed you, silences himself, before it’s too late. “you don’t get to say a word, not after what you did to me. not after betraying my trust.”

“YN, i-“

“please,” you hiccup this time, the air in your lungs being sucked away from you with every passing second. jungkook is here to walk you down the isle, towards the man that will only abuse his power of you and your people. jungkook is the reason you are walking this path. “please don’t say anymore. have you not said enough? given away my secrets, out of love you say?” jungkook falters, every fibre in his being screaming out at him to comfort you, but his love for you did this, he destroyed the strong girl he once knew. “then your love is truly misplaced- i have loved you, jeongguk...but only ever as a friend. you used that against my sister, which i truly cannot forgive. so please do not say anymore than you must, for your words only ever hurt us.”

jungkook bites his lip and nods, offering his arm to you to lead you down to the ceremony. he watches you with sad eyes, but a kind smile, sighing heavily when you return his with a watery one.

if he had not loved you, this would not have happened. if he had not loved you, he would still have his friend.

the sun is coloured a shade of honey, ribbons of its light casting a warm hue against your skin. sunsets like this are rare, beautiful and not to be taken for granted— they remind you of sweet days with taehyung, his curled hair buried in your neck and his soft giggle filling the air. sunsets reminded you of your love for taehyung.

you watch the sun dip it’s toes into the navy blue of the water, just behind the prince’s head at the end of the isle. namjoon had wanted a wedding by the sea, with enough room for all of your people along with visitors from kingdoms far away. he wanted sea air and a fresh breeze, he wanted open waters, clear enough to see the dye of taehyung’s blood when he executed the dragon prince after the ceremony. he wanted it all, and you wanted to escape. your stomach twists and turns, as the orchestra begin to strum a wedding tune. this isle was not a path to happiness, but one to your death.

to the people of your kingdom, saw you as a beautiful bride but you saw yourself as a ghost of a human being. jungkook holds you by the arm, steadying your steps as he walks you towards your doom, your own funeral. your own father couldn’t even give you away, too drunk to even stand. you scowl at him as you pass his pew, accompanied by your sweet sister.

if you had it your way, it would be taehyung at the end of the isle, dressed in his kingdom’s traditional fits as he gave you that toothy grin. his eyes would light up as your brother gave you away, and your mother’s light shined on you from above. taehyung would take your hand firmly in his, slip on the ring and tell you how much he loved you. the dress that you wore would be off at the end of the night, as you made love to one another. but now, here you were, reaching the dreaded prince namjoon, as he smirked at you greasily.

jungkook gave you a tight, apologetic squeeze before handing you over to namjoon, shielding his face once he joined the rest of the crowd. your gaze slowly shifts to namjoon, hating the way he looked at you, when the ground beneath your feet starts to shake and you hear the pained cry of your love. “taehyung...” you whisper, standing on your tip toes to find him. over the shoulder of the prince, you spot the dragon shivering from pain behind the alter.

he spasms in his chains, wrists red and sore whilst purple bruises litter his tanned honey skin. he whimpers our for you, causing tears to well in your eyes. all you can do is watch helplessly as the dragon steadies his laboured breathing. small tears slip down your cheeks, streaming through the layers of make up that you wore— the pink haired prince lowers his lips to your ear level. “take a good look, my princess, for this will be the last chance you will ever get.” the prince chuckles, pouting at you mockingly.

with watery eyes, you glance back at the dragon prince, watching as he falls weak at namjoon’s proximity to his imprint. the injuries taehyung sustained over the time had weakened his dragon transformation, the scales that patched his skin were becoming dull as he bled from wounds here and there. the only way for him to heal would be to be near you again.

sucking in a deep breath, you blink away the oncoming tears and replace them with a bright smile. smile for the people, smile for your family. “of course, my king,” you say with wobbling words. be strong, you chant.

the ceremony begins with namjoon’s consent, rushing by with your mind focused on your lover. he’s hurting, in pain and all you want to do his hold him, ease him through it all. you cannot focus, sick to the stomach of what is to come, will you live out the same fate as your mother? bare beautiful children from the seed of a hateful man. will he ruin your kingdom? what your mother had worked hard to build? this couldn’t be your legacy.

“and do you, princess YN LN of the Phantis empire, take prince namjoon of the Kevimore kingdom— to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health...as long as you both shall live?” the minister’s words fly over your head, your mouth suddenly feeling dry and the air in your lungs no longer present.

namjoon leans down to whisper into your ear, warningly. “YN...”

“i-“ you hesitate, saying yes would mean taehyung would be executed sooner and you couldn’t bare to lose the only love you’ve ever had. namjoon’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you into him, causing taehyung to fall to his knees behind your shoulder, ocean eyes full of tears. he can’t lose his soulmate, not now, not ever. “i’m...”

the words formulate on your lips, the pressure weighing down on your shoulders.

“stop the wedding!”

you clutch at your chest, relief flooding through you as the crowd turns their attention to the oncoming voice. an armoured soldier and his men, enter the ceremony eliciting gasps and stares of the congregation, you take the opportunity to slip from namjoon’s slimy grip, while they create a distraction.

“who do you think you are?” namjoon scowls, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at the intruder. “interrupting an officiated ceremony, what authority do you have over a drunken king and his weak daughter?”

the soldier dismounts from his horse, stepping forward to the middle of the isle and removes his helmet— revealing the similar sloped and heart shaped features of your elder brother. “hoseok,” tamarae calls, stealing the words from your very lips. you watch as your younger sister rushes into his arms, the reunion warming your numbed heart.

the red heard clutches your sibling close, pressing a kiss to her hair in a protective fashion before glaring daggers into namjoon. if looks could kill the prince would be five miles under. the soldier’s namjoon has under his rein, bend the knee to their rightful prince, giving you time to make a dash for taehyung before he collapses to his side.

“prince hoseok... what—what are you doing here?”

the man in question raises a brow, ordering his men to take namjoon into custody. “the war is over, with word of my sister’s union with dragon prince-“ hoseok nods his head over to you, smirking as the latter male is brought to his knees in front of the entire court. “— spread across the battle field, man and mythical creature alike have found a way to bring peace,” the eldest sibling makes his way toward the pink haired prince and drawing his sword up to the other’s chin. “and next time...you will think twice before treating my sister, thinking you have power over us all. she is stronger and a much better leader than you will ever be. so stand, take your men and leave before i have your head.”

namjoon nods vigorously, clearing himself and the ceremony up as you sniff thankfully, turning your attention to the dragon prince. as soon as you hold him in your arms, taehyung collapses, barely breathing as you come into his field of view. his perfect lips are dry and slightly cut, a gash along his brow that will surely scar and purple, burgundy bruises just under his ribs where his wings would be. he looks bad, but your dragon has never looked better. “t-tae...my love, it’s okay..hold on for me, please?” you whisper, brushing his hair back as his eyes flutter open and closed. “please don’t go, don’t leave me now...”

the dragon prince open and closes his mouth, head rolling as you move it into your lap. biting back tears, you brush your curls through his now silver locks, faded from the pain most likely. “don’t leave us, taehyung. don’t you dare.” you add, hoseok ordering servants and men to help give you the medical help that you. you can’t bare to part from your love now, chest heaving with your cries as the dragon slips in and out of consciousness.

“you’re with a child...” he manages to mumble, gripping your hand tightly as his lips form a slight smile. “i could never leave my soulmate, my imprint behind.”

your heart lifts, taehyung had told you tales of imprints only once— when his mother and father met, they couldn’t stand to be away from one another... in far too much pain. the story helped you believe in love. an imprint is when a dragon finds their mate, their one true love...and taehyung had found that in you.

“i love you, taehyung.”

“and i, love you.”

you let go of his hand, allowing hoseok’s men to whisk your dragon prince away before going to reunite with your siblings. pulling off your veil, you open your arms to join hoseok and tamarae’s hug, nuzzling into them. “we’ll be okay, right?” your little sister asks, nearing tears. this would be the first time, the three of you have held each other since hoseok left for war.

“we will be,” your brother promises, kissing your hair sweetly. “we always will be.”

a year later, you find yourself dressed in another gown. the same fabric as your mother’s from her own coronation, emerald green silk made by those in the village embroiled with crystals from the caves of taehyung’s very own kingdom. your smile shines brightly as your younger sister fixes your hair around the crown you wear, diamond encrusted, silver plated, like the one your mother was. “sister, if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to miss your presentation to the public,” tamarae scolds you, stepping back when she’s finished with her work. “as queen.”

“queen— that does sound delightful, don’t you think?” you tease, touching at your makeup gently before snaking your lips. tamarae rolls her eyes and pushes your shoulder gently, mumbling something about seeing you out there. over the course of the year, your father had stepped down from his position in the court allowing you to take the lead on your path to queen while you and taehyung reunified the human and magic worlds. after he recovered, you married taehyung in the dead of the night, under the stars in his kingdom, with blessing from his mother and today, you had finally been coronated as queen.

“incoming!” a voice called, bringing a babbling baby into the room. your smile widened as jimin, the Phoenix and taehyung’s most trusted advisor stepped in, bringing over your daughter of three months. “taehyung is being dressed at the moment, hoseok is doing a cover of the grounds and jungkook,” jimin lists— adjusting cahira, your baby, in your arms. her name meaning, warrior. “he’s setting up things out front on the balcony.”

“thank you, jimin,” you nod, bouncing your sweet girl before dismissing your husband’s advisor.

after namjoon was punished for an attempt at overthrow, you managed to salvage your friendship with jungkook, only to the distain of your husband (it took several growling matches and attempts to calm him down before he let your advisor anywhere near you). but nonetheless, you couldn’t help but turn to mush as you watched over your baby, cahira’s eyes were large and bright like yours, taking on the blue colour of taehyung’s. her black hair was curled, with a patch of white from your mother’s side. her nose was most definitely yours, however. taehyung said that from her early months, it was impossible to tell whether she would show traits of a dragon or not, you would have to wait until her first tooth to see.

but you knew, just by looking at your young princess— she was made to be a queen, just like you and her grandmother before you.

“i love the way you look at her, like she is all that there is to the world,” your king grins from the doorway, moving over and bending down slightly to play with his daughter’s tiny hands. it truly is a sight to see, a large and mighty beast, cooing at his tiny baby girl. “hi there, cahira...it’s your daddy!” you sweep over your husband, taking in his floppy hair and his tight fitting black blazer that’s spiralled with silver patterns to match your dress. the ash haired dragon preens happily, primal instincts kicking in while he occupies himself with his daughter on your hip, before looking up at you through the curtain of his hair. “and i must say, i do enjoy the way you look at me as well.”

shaking your head, you lean down to meet taehyung’s sweet lips, wiping the small smirk off of his face,” a look of adoration, for the people i love most in this world.” you say, standing straight as your lover takes you into his arms, mindful of the giggling baby between you. “i am happy like this, with you.”

“i am happy with you, completely and utterly in love with you, and my daughter,” taehyung whispers into your hair, kissing it. “we ended the war, and finally received the happy ending that we deserved.” you stand in the middle of the throne room, just off of the balcony, listening to the chants and calls of your people— both yours and taehyung’s, in the distance. the war had been ended, your love had united the people and your people finally brought together.

your maids enter the room, opening the doors to the balcony as jungkook comes through to salute you. taehyung separates from you, lacing your fingers together— allowing you to catch glimpse of the wedding rings you both wore. together, for an eternity.

“ready to face the world, my love?” taehyung asks, taking cahira from your arms and settling her on his hip. “my queen?”

you stand on your tiptoes, adjusting the matching crown on his head. you thought that you would never rule with a man by your side, and you didn’t need one. but taehyung would never take away from you as a woman, you were his queen and you always would be. you smile brightly, squeezing his palm and nod. “with you, i always will be.” you answer, taking his hand and stepping out towards your future.

you had once wanted to hold a dragon’s heart, little did you know, he would be holding yours instead.

⇢ author’s note(s): hi everyone! thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this fic, i think im most proud of this project and so, in the future im thinking of doing some kind of spin off seires/drabble collection, let me know what you guys think? feedback is always appreciated :D

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tiesthatbind-tf · 4 years ago

Note

Question for Optimus and Megatron! Do you ever see yourselves reconciling in the future? At this point do you even want to?

The jagged edges of badly-healed scars and lines of age on the man’s face were thrown into clear relief by the soft blue glow of tablet in his hands as he studied the question proposed to him carefully. Unblinkingly.

It was two in the morning on a sleepless night amid a quiet week, and after a short prayer session and paperwork, an odd sense of melancholy had begun to creep in.

The rare moments of peace brought with them clarity to his thoughts that weren’t focused on missions, briefings and strategic discussions, and that clarity was, at times, a double-edged sword.

“Back when we used to meet each other at Maccadam’s every weekend, he would bring along this notebook filled with poetry and paragraphs of his thoughts about the state of the world. It wasn’t something he openly shared—miners wrote books yes, but mostly concerning their line of work,” Optimus finally spoke up after almost ten minutes of deliberating what he was going to say, and whether he should say it.

“On the day he left the Newham police station after being arrested for suspicion of inciting a riot, after he was brutalized by a rogue guard I had hired a few months ago... I found it.”

He had left the oak desk that was groaning under a stack of files, folders and documents that only increased as the days passed, long strides taking him to the bookshelf at the end of the room where the works of Thomas Aquinas were nestled carefully next to Imam Al-Bukhari’s. One book, much smaller than the rest, seemed out of place there however, and this was the one he pulled out.

“On the sidewalk.”

It was a woebegone-looking notebook, weathered by time with the edges of some pages crimped up by water damage, though it was clear that care had been taken to preserve it: The covers were wrapped in plastic, and not a single silverfish was to be seen scuttling away as Optimus opened it only to show the initials ‘M.T’ scribbled at the lower right corner of the first page.

“I thought he had dropped it and wanted to give it back to him. And with it, I wanted to apologize for everything—for not being there when it happened, for it happening in my station under my jurisdiction, for failing the promise I made to him twenty-eight years ago that I wanted to join law enforcement to protect everyone, not just those the system decided deserved protection—-but by the time I arrived at the mining community he worked at… they told me he’d been sent to Messatine.”

He closed the book before any demand for more of its contents could arise. They weren’t his to divulge.

“So I held on to this notebook for the better part of a decade. I memorized the words——some of them, I recited in front of the Senate the day I decided I was done being a part of their system. I hoped he would come home one day so I could return it to him in person. And he did!”

There was the ghost of a smile that crossed his features, which quickly shifted to a perplexed frown.

“But when I tried to give him back what was his, he told me to keep it or burn it—-he didn’t care for it any more. No point dwelling in the past, especially one he had grown beyond, was what he said. I took his words at face value back then… but when I think about it now? I wonder if it wasn’t him trying to bury what remained of the person he was before the Pits, before Messatine, before the night at my station. Before everything.”

The guilt was heavy in his tone as he sank down to the floor and leaned against the bookshelf; broad shoulders sagging under the weight of an invisible mantle and eyes glazed over in a thousand-yard stare for a moment.

“Do I want to reconcile our differences? Yes. More than anything. Because the boy I traded books with, the friend I shared a table with, and the man who wrote these words that opened my eyes ? I believe that man is still alive and that man is worth saving.”

He closed his own eyes for a moment and when they opened once more, the focus in his gaze seemed to have returned.

“Do I think it will happen? InsyaAllah, perhaps, but I would not stake the world on that reconciliation.”

___________________________________________________

The temperature in the empty war room felt like it had dropped several degrees as the Decepticon leader glared at the seeming-innocuous question as though it had come for his neck personally. Adam’s apple bobbing in a rare show of uncertainty and trepidation, he closed his eyes, steepled his fingers and exhaled harshly.

“I don’t… hate the man, if that is where the trajectory of your question is heading. He was my best friend, one of the few I would have trusted with my life. More heart than sense, foolish and naive and stubborn, but kind. To a fault,” Megatron uttered after a few minutes, his lips a thin and terse line as he thought about the matter a little deeper.

Another spell of silence fell upon the hall as he stood up and muttered an annoyed ‘tch’ at the part of him that saw it fit to indulge the inquiry at all before picking out a book from the glass-cased shelf in the back of the room.

“That is not to say the urge doesn’t arise from time to time. But every time that voice whispers venom and spite whenever I hear his name? I remember this.”

It landed on his paperwork with a dull thump; a hard-cover edition of ‘Umar Ibn Al-Khattab: His life and times’ which was, from first glance, well-kept save some light tatters on the book jacket.

A closer look at the book jacket however would reveal several brown specks which resembled dried blood.

“Thirty-two years ago, the sheltered child of a professor and a journalist threw this book over the fence dividing redlined districts to a nobody who simply voiced a fascination for what he was reading. Without prompt. ‘It’s a gift’ he said. A gift for someone he had spoken to for all of ten minutes. A gift for a new friend.”

The warlord who was greying earlier than most sank back into his seat with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling overhead.

“The nobody cherished it for approximately two days before the census team came by for an unannounced inspection, and lo behold they did find it, and the nobody was beaten within an inch of his life for the crime of possessing a book which wasn’t ‘approved’ for his class, and therefore could not belong to him.”

The scoffing disdain in his voice as he spoke of the abuse was replaced with a fierceness that would have made anyone listening take a step back, more so that his glare felt like it could burn right through the screen as he returned his attention to the person on the other end.

“But it did. Because it was a gift from a friend. And when that nobody became a rebel, and eventually a warlord who tore down the doors to the government’s archives for ‘Persons Of Interest’? He bled everybody in that basement like the stuck pigs they were until he found that little box with his name written on it, found this inside it, and then burned everything else to the ground.”

That would explain the drying blood on the cover of the book that he was now holding up, at the very least.

“This, and the books that were to come which that kind and foolish boy would toss over the fence, was when I realized how broken the system truly was, that I had to rely on this subterfuge for want of a better education. This was when I realized I wanted more than to live and die in the mines as my barcode dictated.”

The mounting anger in his tone seemed to suddenly cut off he opened his mouth only to close it swiftly, and when his tongue could finally form words again, they were noticeably softer than before.

“This was also when I realized that perhaps, I wasn’t alone in my outrage, in my boyhood fantasies for a better world. No one told that meddling idiot to make my fight his as well, but at eight-years-old, he decided he was going to do something about it to help me because he wanted to. And it’s hard to hate that earnestness.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before standing up with his hands clasped behind him, features obscured as he faced the wall with shoulders squared.

“Reconciliations are not out of the question. Truth be told, I do desire it. Whatever my past as a gladiator might have impressed upon you, believe me, I don’t enjoy the prospects of senselessy killing Autobots I have fought alongside for many years, back when we worked side by side against our common enemy. Terrible waste of genuinely good if not exceedingly foolish people, I would think.”

A curt professionalism had crept in now as he turned around and stroked his beard thoughtfully at the notion.

“However the matter should only be discussed after our movement’s primary objective has been achieved, and not a moment before. And if he and his merry men keep being an obstacle in my path?”

He smirked coldly.

“I can’t promise that the consequences won’t be dire.”

#Humanformers #MegOp #inbox #Ask A Character #tw: child harm

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gotnofucks · 4 years ago

Text

Parts of Whole

(No images are mine, but I did edit them. If anyone knows the owners, do let me know so I can credit them)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes, Sam x Steve (platonic)

Summary: Steve would see his OTP’s ship sail, even from across the grave.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: mentions of death (nothing graphic and not very sad), language, angst + fluff

A/N: I saw the trailer for tfatws and I just had to write this. This is also my entry for the amazingly talented @sagechanoafterdark and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork challenge (pic prompts above). Thank you for hosting this and being wonderful. The beautiful dividers are made by @firefly-graphics . Huge thanks to @the-inquisitive-hobbit for beta reading and giving me her very valuable insight.

It never felt right in his hands. It was his to wield, his to claim, and yet it never felt more foreign. The concentric red and white circles with the star embedded in the blue center glared back at him from the mirror. It had been months, but Sam had never taken this shield with him to any mission. He couldn’t.

It felt starkly cold in his hands, lifeless and materialistic. It was Steve’s symbol of strength and hope. It used to hang on his back, warmed by his body heat. Now, it seemed like the shield only existed to remind him of Steve’s absence. This shield was made for Steve. It belonged to him, it always would. How could he ever stand where he stood? How could Sam ever be the captain that Steve was, take this shield that held more power than a crown on a head?

He put it down again, covering it with a cloth before shutting the door on it, leaning heavily against it. He missed him, he missed him like a throbbing wound that refused to heal. If only he could see the sun shining on those golden locks again, have those baby blue eyes smile at him again. What wouldn’t he give for that.

He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until a heavy hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Sam didn’t open his eyes, just let the weight of it anchor him, let it bring him back from the chaos that was his mind. The cold metal hand felt like a relief against the overwhelming burden of grief that penetrated his being whenever he touched the circular shield.

“I miss him too.” Bucky said, and Sam opened his eyes. Bucky’s eyes were blue too, slightly grey where Steve’s were green. He could see himself reflected in them and he straightened, looking away, hiding his weakness.

This mantle of Steve Rogers that he was supposed to assume, this legacy he was supposed to take forward felt like cheating. His friend, his mentor, his brother was no more. How could people just expect him to move on? But they did. It didn’t matter he was emotionally compromised, it didn’t matter he wanted to drown, like Steve nearly had at the Potomac all those years ago. The world didn’t wait to create one disaster after another. They needed Captain America then, and they needed him now. Like Fury said, trouble always sticks around.

Sam cleared his throat, making sure he was collected before looking at Bucky again.

“Everything loaded in the Quinjet?” He asked and Bucky nodded. They’ll be leaving for another mission soon, and Sam was glad he’ll have the sounds of battle to drown the war in his heart.

“Sam.” Bucky said once Sam started leaving. “Take it.”

Sam looked at Bucky over his shoulder, his gaze equal parts pain and accusation. Of everyone, Bucky shouldn’t be the one telling him this.

“I’ll meet you in the jet.” He said firmly and quickly marched to his room, shutting the door behind him. He hated coming back to the compound, the lingering memories of their fallen warriors whispering in his ears every time he was here. He preferred his little house in the woods where it was only Bucky and nature with him.

He took out his tactical gear, laying it on the bed and getting out his wings when he heard it.

“You are punishing yourself Sam.” Came his voice.

It was this moment where Sam broke, sliding down the wall and letting a few tears escape. He was gone but he never left him.

“How could you have been so selfish Steve. Why?” He asked, looking up to glare at Steve. Even dead he looked so handsome, so put together with his hands on his hips. He didn’t look like the old man they had buried a month after the battle. No. He was their Steve, their young, beautiful Steve who left them behind.

Sam didn’t know why he saw him. He didn’t know if this was a ghost or a creation of his mind. To him, it was Steve. It was Steve and it was a beautiful suffering to see him again every time he reappeared.

“I am sorry.” Steve said and knelt before Sam, looking apologetic. Sam didn’t try touching him. Not when the first hundred times his hand just went through him.

“You are? What for?” Sam asked. “For leaving behind your shield and title, for leaving me behind, or for abandoning a best friend you promised to walk till the end of the line with? What are you really sorry for Captain?”

Steve didn’t answer, he never did. He let Sam take out his hurt and anger, and Sam cried. In the privacy of his walls, he cried. He was so tired of pretending to be strong, to be happy. He hid behind his jokes and smiles, fooled the world which was so ready to move on while Sam was buried somewhere with Steve in the cemetery, half dead, half alive.

“I am sorry Sam, for everything.” Steve insisted. “But you need to stop punishing yourself for mistakes you never made. You can’t live this way.”

Sam snorted a laugh for even in death Steve was a humanitarian bastard. He didn’t come back to haunt his enemies; oh no the centenarian came back to help his friends. Why didn’t people see that he could never be Steve? That Sam Wilson can never, won’t ever be the Captain that Steven Rogers was.

“I hate you so much Steve, I really do.” Sam whispered, wiping his nose and getting up. Steve watched him getting changed, no barriers of shame between them from that side of the grave.

“You always said that. I have never heard a ‘I love you’ more pronounced than I do in your hate.” Steve commented with a soft smile, it widened when Sam gave him a half-hearted glare. It was amazing how they could go from having a painful conversation to joking, but that was how it worked with Steve. He knew Sam, he knew everything that made him laugh and made him smile.

“What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have a tea party with Gandhi or some other do-gooder like you in the afterlife?” Sam grumbled, tightening the belt in his suit and attaching his wings to it. Steve chuckled, sitting on the chair and watching Sam with a relaxed smile.

“They are too uptight for me. Mother Teresa tried to adopt me the other day” Steve said, and Sam laughed. His wings were the colours of American Flag, a new change. He grabbed his weapons and fixed Steve with a look, hating and loving him for being so him.

“I’ll see you after the mission?” He asked tentatively. He would never admit it, but he feared one day Steve would disappear again. It was crazy, it was not normal to see dead people, but Sam would rather have a shadow of Steve than just a memory.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me Sam. Always.” Steve said, a sad smile on his face when he saw Sam leaving without the shield.

Sharon greeted him in the jet, talking to Bucky and the other agents over the blueprint spread before them. Sam nodded his hello, snatching the half empty pack of Cheetos from Bucky’s hand and munching on it.

“So now you want to steal the show and my food. You’re such a dick Wilson.” Bucky said, poking Sam in his shoulder and Sam poked his tongue out at him, a gap-toothed smile on his face. Their previous somber interaction would not be mentioned, filed again like so many inside the neglected corner of their minds.

“Bitch, I paid for grocery this month. This is technically mine.” Sam replied, making Bucky scowl. Sam knew there was a 70-30 chance he’ll find his bed crawling with centipedes when they got back home.

“Charming, boys.” Sharon remarked rolling her eye. “What are you guys doing for Christmas? Must be nice to have a holiday.”

Bucky shrugged, sharing a look with Sam. It was their first Christmas without Steve, a 6 feet 2-inch void always between them.

“Nothing special. Stay home, watch movies, eat a lot.” Bucky said. A lot remained unsaid, but they rarely needed words to communicate anymore. Sam bumped his shoulder in his, offering him some Cheetos to munch while he silently grieved.

“Well, I’ll leave my address here for you to deliver your presents to me.” Sharon joked and Sam laughed softly, mentally making a note to get her something.

“Alright then, and I’ll just casually remark that my phone and laptop are both in serious need for an upgrade. Just saying.” Sam said. “Hey Buck, what are you going to gift me?”

Bucky crumpled the empty chips packet before sending Sam an amused glare, flipping him off.

“A ball gag, so that I can hear something other than your stupid voice.” He snarked.

“Damn dude, at least ask me out for dinner before getting kinky.” Sam winked and Bucky swelled with indignation, pointing an accusing metal finger at Sam.

“I cook dinner 3 times a week you bastard, and I don’t even burn it!” He protested making Sam laugh louder than ever. He loved making Bucky mad, teasing him into an incensed rage that usually ended in a pillow fight or sometimes with Sam’s head in a headlock.

They straightened as they saw the incredulous looks on the new agents’ faces, baby agents as Bucky liked to call them. It was times like these, when both the battle-hardened veterans missed their lost teammates, the inside jokes that were shot around with as much precision as bullets and arrows on the battlefield.

They got to work again, discussing the mission and its details with the other agents. Sam would run point on scaling the territory and fly down to the enemy base with two agents while Bucky would guide him from up here and take out potential threats. They just needed to secure a technological innovation and it didn’t seem too like much work. As Sam poured over the briefing, his eyes subconsciously went over to Bucky who was fiddling with the equipment, making sure everything was in working condition.

If someone had told him a few years ago that Bucky would become his anchor, his solace in his darkest hours, Sam would have punched them in the face. But as it happened, they came to lean on each other, the only unchanged part of their older lives, the only person who made each feel that were still real, still alive. They were still annoyed by each other, but the arguments were more of a routine than an actual expression of resentment.

He didn’t realize he was staring until someone deliberately coughed behind him.

“He is so pretty, isn’t he?” Steve asked, though it was a rhetorical question. Bucky Barnes was a beauty, from his blue grey eyes to the new golden streaks running through his new arm. Sam tried not to notice the way Bucky’s armor clung to his muscles, his face looking almost boyish as he forgot the world and focused on his task.

“I thought you said I’ll see you after the mission.” Sam muttered, taking care that no one noticed him talking to air. He hurriedly looked away from Bucky when their eyes met, a heat rising in his cheeks that made Steve chuckle.

“I said I’ll be there when you need me. And it seems like you do.” Steve commented. He took the seat next to Sam, so near that Sam swore he could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sam snapped, the smug look on Steve’s face making him wish he could touch him if only to be able to punch him. Stupid blonde best friends with perfect teeth and beautiful smiles and an ass that looked just as round after being dead.

“Oh, I think you do.” Steve said, shifting his gaze to Bucky. “I liked his hair longer but the shorter is going well with the new arm. Don’t you think?”

Despite himself Sam found himself nodding, admiring Bucky as he’d done a thousand times before. He liked his longer hair too, but without them falling in his face, he could see him better. And the arm. The new arm that gave Sam tingles in the most delicious ways, it had him flustered for three whole weeks after Bucky first showed up with it on him.

He didn’t know when it started, but Bucky had somehow become the most beautiful person to Sam. From the way he would make him the perfect mug of coffee to their little kitchen garden they started to keep themselves busy, he loved everything about him. Those moments where he would sense the turmoil inside Sam and silently slip his hands in Sam’s to assure him that he was there, these little moments endeared him even more.

Sam had lost count of how many times Bucky and he had woken up on the couch, sharing a blanket, both silently afraid to sleep alone. He had forgotten how many times he had spent kneeling at Bucky’s bedside, coaxing him out from a nightmare. Every moment spent in each other’s company, laughing, joking, mourning together, it brought them together in a way Sam had never imagined before.

“Tell him” Steve said, a wistful look on his face as he looked at his best friend. “He feels the same. I know.”

Sam shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Bucky with reluctance. He’d already lost so much, he wouldn’t lose Bucky too. Not because he has a minor, very minor teensy tiny crush on him.

“Man, shut the hell up.” He snapped.

“Who’re you talking to?” Bucky called out from across the jet and Sam’s head snapped up, mouth parting a little before he mumbled out a ‘no one’ and focused on the papers in his hand. Sometimes he felt guilty for keeping Steve a secret, for keeping Bucky away from his best friend. He knew Bucky cried into his pillow at nights, he knew because he’d held him then, tried his best to fill the cracks that appeared in the walls of Bucky’s heart as well as his own.

But then, Steve chose to come to him. Chose to talk to Sam. And he was afraid that telling anyone would disturb this magic, whatever this was. That he would once again have to bury Steve. So, he kept quiet. He buried this secret in the deep recesses of his mind, the initial worry of insanity long forgotten in favor of seeing his friend again.

“Do you even have a plan?” Bucky questioned, watching him prepare for the jump. Sam had a job for every agent accompanying him, but the idiot had not outlined anything for himself.

“I do.” Sam said, and when Bucky looked unconvinced, he lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re my plan, my backup. I scream, jump down and get my ass back up.”

Saying this, Sam jumped, the exasperated look on Bucky’s face imprinted behind his eyelids as his wings flared out and he floated.

Everything that could have gone wrong on this mission did, and Bucky was hysterical even before Sam’s call for backup came. He was going to kick Nick Fury’s ass, but before that he was going to bring his friend back in one-piece and chew him out for giving him a heart attack.

Sam’s wings took most of the weight of the fall, so he came back with a sprained ankle and bruises. Bucky was getting increasingly irritated when they came back home, their little secluded spot in the woods welcoming them with the smell of pine and wild grass.

“It’s not my fault Fury gave us shitty intel.” Sam groaned, “You can stop being salty now.”

Bucky remained quiet, the silent treatment going for almost the third day in row and Sam was at his wits end. It was stupid and ridiculous because Bucky almost always pulled the stupidest moves in the field, like stopping a bomb with his hand or listening to the villain’s evil monologue.

Steve was grinning as he leaned against the edge of the table, and with every suggestive wink he gave Sam, the new Captain America resisted the urge to throw a vase at him.

“He cares so much that he’s speechless.” Steve commented and Sam flipped him off. Dickhead has been giving running commentary of the thick tension in the air since they came back, and Sam was on the verge of calling for an exorcism.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky asked suddenly and Sam was so glad to hear him talk again it took him a while to understand the question.

“What?”

“This thing, looking somewhere and talking to yourself, or – I don’t know, you keep being weird.”

“You’re the one with the cyborg brain and arm and I’m weird” Sam tried deflecting. Bucky frowned, coming closer to sit near Sam, leaving abandoned Christmas decorations scattered around them. Clint had delivered it for them but neither had the heart to put them up.

“Sam.” Bucky deadpanned, and Sam sighed, resting his head back and avoiding eye contact. He looked at Steve who was still smiling, his beautiful face like a slap on the face and caress on the head at the same time.

It was more difficult than one would assume to explain. Why did Sam see Steve, and why did only Sam see Steve? Was it a hallucination, or his spirit? Would Steve go away if Sam confided in Bucky? Would Bucky be mad he didn’t tell him? There were so many questions, so many doubts, and yet as Sam looked into Bucky’s eyes, shining like sapphires, he couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Its…Its Steve.” He said, looking down and playing with the soft lint on his blanket. He didn’t hear Bucky say anything but moments later a metal hand gripped his, stopping its nervous movements.

“Steve?”

Sam gulped, the coolness of Bucky’s hand in his warming his heart, swelling it with hope and an emotion Sam was too afraid to acknowledge.

“Steve, he – he talks to me.” Sam confessed and tentatively looked at Bucky whose eyes were brimming with emotion. He expected him to call him crazy, or to get mad, but what he did not expect was Bucky to shift closer and take Sam’s other hand in his too.

“He talks to me as well.” Bucky said. Sam was breathless, both by the slight smell of cinnamon that came from Bucky and the way Bucky came even closer, close enough that he could count the flecks in his eyes.

“He does?” Sam asked and Bucky nodded.

“I don’t know how he does it with you, but whenever I need him, miss him, I feel him speak to me from here.” With this Bucky placed one of Sam’s hand on his chest, the beating heart under thumping strongly. Unconsciously, Sam’s hand caressed Bucky’s chest, mapped its muscles and the jagged scars that bulged under his left shoulder.

“I see him.” Sam admitted, unable to look away from Bucky. “I can see him”

Tears blurred his vision until they dropped on his cheeks, sliding down, and forging a river down, leaving a trail of hurt, betrayal, and loss in their wake. Bucky’s hand came up to wipe them away, staying on Sam’s cheek, playing with the soft hair on his chin.

“I see him too. In you.” Bucky said and they didn’t know who moved first, but their foreheads were touching and then their lips met in a chaste, hesitant kiss. Sam melted into his touch, molding himself to fall into Bucky’s larger frame, his arms circling his waist and pulling him closer. They kissed as if they had walked a hundred miles just to kiss each other, as if they had saved every last breath just to live this moment.

“I – I, Buck –” Sam began but Bucky shushed him, pulling him into another soul-searching kiss before pulling away.

“I know.” He murmured.

As Sam relaxed in Bucky’s warm embrace, lost himself in the blues of Bucky’s eyes, he noticed Steve from the corner of his eyes. There was sadness on his face, the pain of a goodbye in the creases around his eyes. But when he smiled, he smiled with genuine love and happiness. The two parts of his soul he’d left behind seemed to have found themselves, and with them Steve felt himself complete.

“Till the end of the line pals.” He whispered.

Sam never saw Steve again.

Their Christmas was not very festive in terms of decoration. There was still too much pain, too much suffering in their hearts. Steve and Nat’s pictures beamed at them from the walls, and Sam sent Pepper the confirmation that they’ll come over for New Years.

It was a beautiful thing about human nature, about how one rises from the ashes to become stronger. Sam and Bucky lost someone, but they found each other. In the shared grieve of their hearts, they discovered the love long buried in there, eagerly waiting to be spread and shared.

They stayed warm under the blanket, wearing oversized sweaters that they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside. The sweaters may or may not have been Steve's; the soldiers mutually decided to hold Steve close in this way. Sam’s heart was tripled in size, as his head rested in the crook of Bucky’s neck, the smell of chocolate and cinnamon melting together to make a little world of their own. Sam wondered if he would mind growing out his hair again.

“So, what did you get me?” Sam asked, knowing he wouldn’t mind if Bucky did get him that ball gag. Part of him almost hoping for it.

“How rude Wilson, here I’ve given you all of myself and you still thirst for more.” Bucky mocked and Sam tackled him into a hug, peppering kisses all over his face.

“Bitch, you’re lucky I lo-” Sam cut himself off, suddenly shy. The smirk on Bucky’s face melted into a smile, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Say it” Bucky ordered. And Sam did. The Captain obeyed his Sergeant without hesitation.

“I love you. I love you so freaking much! I got us the cheesiest gifts.” Sam said in excitement. He pulled away long enough to grab his gift from under the bed, giving it to Bucky to open. He watched with his bottom lip between his teeth as Bucky opened the box to pull out two chains, each dangling with a rectangular pendant.

Dog tags.

Their dog tags. Bucky raised his eyes to Sam’s, fisting his hand in Sam’s t-shirt to pull him closer into a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans, hips grinding as passion merged with love and emotion.

“I love you!” Bucky growled and kissed Sam again. “And I got you chocolates that look like dicks. I didn’t know this would happen between us when I bought them, and I was going to give you a hint with them.”

Sam’s laughter echoed around their small house, the dopey smile on his face remaining intact as they ate candy and burnt sparklers into the night. In the colourful light that played on their faces, they held hands together, filling the void that was there with the warmth of each other.

“We can use the shield as a sleigh until you’re comfortable using it as a weapon.” Bucky mused and Sam smiled into his neck, thinking of a certain blond asshole who may have gone away, but will never be lost.

Permanent Taglist: @what-is-your-wish @shooting-star-love @stanmysoul @sweeterthanthis @scentedsongrebel @muralskins @rayofdawnworld @donutloverxo @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @angrythingstarlight @rockyrogers @slothspaghettiwrites @nerdygirl8203

CE & Steve : @littlegasps @bluemusickid @harrysthiccthighss @abeyyaaar @slytherinandoutasgard @empath-bunny

SebStan & Bucky : @sebastiansthot @its-izzys @harrysthiccthighss @empath-bunny

For this fic : @barnesandco

#ssholidaychallenge #sambucky #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sam x steve #tfatws #fluff

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noocturnalchild · 4 years ago

Text

Of Thieves and Poets

Paterson X original female character

warning: bad language, mention of abuse, mention of death, light depiction of violence.

Summary: The night falls on Paterson City, A mourning bus-driver-poet saves a thief from her victim’s clutches, Will that simple gesture of kindness change the course of both their lives?

All the passages in italic are from a William Carlos williams poem : These.

Chapter 1

The bus exhaled a death rattle. The stars twinkled far above the cloudy night sky, unperturbed in their eternity. His eyes scratched the deep purple of the firmament and his tired lungs liberated a shaky sigh.

The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

It still happened; the face floating before his eyes, in the crowded streets, the hem of her dress in the wind, the tinkle of her laugh, the sparkle in her brown, warm irises. All six feet under.

It still happened when he set the table for two, when he dusted her nightstand, hung her dresses in her wardrobe, ironed and still smelling faintly like her, cupcakes and paint.

Paterson’s hands squeezed the wheel.

“Stupid bitch!”

A slap.

A strident scream.

All six feet under.

It had been a while since Paterson had applied the brakes with such force. With panicked eyes he followed the scene unraveling through his rear-view mirror. What seemed like a serious dispute broke out in the rear of his bus; a dozen of passengers circling someone, beating someone up, insulting someone Paterson couldn’t see but only hear.

Sky piercing mewls of an abused animal.

Six feet under. Paterson’s eyes hurt. Paterson wanted to go home.

“Stop the bus! Are you deaf? Stop the fucking bus now!”

His hands stiffened around the wheel, it was slick with his cold sweat. He stood up and the noises ceased. Long strides, clean shoes, stopped right above where her head rested.

She was clutching to the Rolex for dear life. Fragile little fingers shaking, blood on her knuckles and on her nails and on the bus floor.

“Dirty little thief!” The man shouted, eyeing Paterson with disdain and pride “about to dash off the next station.” “Right in the-”

“You broke her wrist.” Paterson cut off the bragging man, kneeling already at the side of the little sack of bones, wailing in pain.

“She stole my Rolex, sir, what was I supposed to do!? Thank her maybe?!” The man fumed, high pitched voice from hell.

The crowd hummed in agreement, Paterson closed his eyes.

“Please, I think it’s best if everyone regains their seats now. I… I have this in hand” Paterson gently slid the Rolex from a cold trembling grip as the other passengers dispersed. Noses returned to phones, fingers furiously tapping the screens, eager to tell, to collect. Pity and compassion for sale.

“Here sir, your watch” He didn’t spare a glance to the man who appeared to still have many things to say.

Paterson stared at her bloody hand. The little thing sobbed quietly, curled on herself, head inside her arm, broken wrist on display. A damaged, cheap porcelain doll.

Dirt and stains on her pale blue jeans, holes and scratches on her thin white crop top, ribs like knives, hair like a sad abandoned willow nest. No, a chiffon doll, crumbling under old garbage in a basement, where no child would ever find her again, alone to rot and disintegrate. Paterson’s eyes hurt.

“It’s not over, scumbag, I’m pressing charges. Next station, she’s going with me.” The man puffed his chest, over checking his Rolex, disgusted and haughty.

“She is not going anywhere” Paterson stood, mimicking the man attempt at “Mr Menace”. But Paterson was a natural; the man quickly understood that, retreated in his fake fur mantle. You’ve either got big mouths or big balls.

“Sir, you have your watch, she has a broken wrist. I think you are more than even”. Paterson didn’t even has to rise his voice.

The man chewed insults but, like the others, regained his seat at last. The bus driver poet, knew always how to keep discipline in his wheeled kingdom, a natural gift he was barely aware of.

Now silence was only cut by quiet sobs, muffled hip hop notes, neon lights whirring, and Paterson’s gentle rustling as he tried to gather the little woman. One big hesitant hand on her back, the woman shuddered, recoiled, and her injured hand jolted, another sob of agony.

“I’m not gonna hurt you”

The poet’s eyes softened. She sensed kindness, maybe, because now her head straightened up, and Paterson looked at himself. Eyes so watery he could see his reflection, dark golden beryl, just like his. Bleeding little nose and chapped plump lips, little high cheekbones and a greasy dark fringe swallowing a sweaty forehead, and for a moment, Paterson wondered if he looked just like her, if people could see how he truly looked like, if people could see the tears of his soul and the bleeding of his heart. If they could see all the bruises and the wounds and the decay. If when they closed their eyes, they could see her name on the grave stone, like he did.

“…It’s all good, just try not to move your wrist… there, let me just help you a little” Paterson muttered as he gathered her like she was nothing. Not even the weight of one of his blue tip matches… It was a bit of a surprise, the complete absence of resistance, she was yielding, completely defeated. Empty stomach and empty pockets. He sat her far from the others, far in the back. Not a sound emitted from her. The bus emptied little by little, he took off his jacket, covered her. She looked like she could fit all her puny self inside the warm wool of it. From time to time he stole a glance at the dark shape through his rear-view mirror.

Finally, the last passenger got off the bus, and finally she spoke.

“No hospital, don’t take me to the hospital” Her words came scattered, little voice uneven, like her hair, he noticed now. It was short, wrongly cut, as if someone had taken a handful of it and started slicing, with a knife, with anger, and a desire to do harm.

The bus was quietly parked in its nest of steel and red bricks, and Paterson could attend to her, at last.

“Your wrist is broken” He stoically stated, hands in pockets, considering his options in the back of his mind.

“I said no hospital, you dweeb” Her eyes sparkled with defiance. It was a strange way to thank someone, to say the least, but Paterson didn’t flinch.

White plastic bags rode with the wind, like mad ghosts. The crime rate rocketed in town, Paterson had before his eyes one of the little thugs that populated the underground, the run-down warehouses and the bridges flanks.

“I’ll ignore that. It’s the hospital or the precinct” He sounded sorry.

Paterson had bad bags under his eyes, fruit of many sleepless nights. After her passing, he refused to spend the night, alone in the blue bed. He changed his shifts to night hours. Sleeping the few hours before dawn on his sofa, their room a shrine to her memory.

“Fuck you”

“It’s the hospital then”

The ER wasn’t flooded that night. Paterson sat quietly, in the waiting room orange plastic chair, while a diligent doctor wrapped her wrist in a cast, scribbled antibiotics and painkillers, asked the routine questions, did the routine job.

Laura would be proud of him. Laura was smiling, sat beside him in her polka dotted dress, she was taking his cold hand in hers, her warm brown irises thanking him silently. Laura.

Now Paterson was standing behind the pharmacist counter, prescription in hand and she was the one sitting, quiet, wrist against her heart.

Mina. 24.

Just that. Cold black on white.

He forced himself not to imagine her lonely two syllable name carved on a gravestone.

“Where do you live?”

The warehouses, the subways, the streets, the basements, the bridges flanks. The rat holes.

The silence became awkward once out on the wet tiles of the sidewalk. Paterson switching his weight from one long leg to the other, still holding the bag of medicines, Mina looking at the orange flickering of signalization lights, his vest still on her shoulders. She looked like a kid from a dystopian future, from the 80’s science fiction novels he used to read.

“None of your business” She extended her valid hand, waiting, impatience in her big amber eyes.

“You need to eat, and a bath, and the doctor said—”

“I know twat! You’re not my dad, gimme the fucking bag and fuck off!”

Her chin was wobbling. Paterson spun on his feet and walked away. Stoic and tall. Damn him.

“Hey!”

She knew she should run to catch his wide strides.

Mina rarely realized a mistake when made, and as she tugged on his sleeve to make the gentle giant stop, she wasn’t sure either. Her judgment wasn’t to be trusted. Her mind was a mess, just like everything, just like her life and her wrist and her hair, just like her heart.

“Your… vest”

“I know, you can… you can keep it, my place is just ten minutes away”

“Ok, let’s go then.”

She smiled.

to an empty, windswept place without sun, stars or moon but a peculiar light as of thought

“Wouha! Dude your place is cool”

Mina was everywhere, inspecting the living space and the kitchen with round curious eyes.

He laughed.

Dude. No one called him dude since the campus days. Dude. That was different.

“I… I have chickens wings… some broccoli, apple pie…”

He fetched the leftover boxes from his fridge and proceeded to put them in plates to reheat, but the little sack of bones jumped on the apple pie first, two bites and only crumbles were left on the counter.

“Mhm…goohd” Mouth and cheeks still full, she slid the cold chicken wings plate into her lap and attacked the tender flesh like a starved panther.

Paterson stood there like a stranger in his own house. A bit out of breath by the chain of events. The situation starting to sink in his lonely mind.

His routine was all shaken. He felt funny. Didn’t know if it was good or bad or just…ordinary. Laura was looking at him with surprised eyes. Laura was looking at the girl with amused questioning eyes. Paterson shrugged.

She deserves another chance, everyone does, don’t they, honey?

#paterson #adam driver fic #paterson 2016 #fan fiction #paterson needs a hug #paterson is a sweetheart #paterson is so kind #thief needs a hug too #she's a mess #adam driver #angst #mourning #some poetry #william carlos williams

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aerisahale · 4 years ago

Text

Catharsis

Pairing: Clarke Griffin x Lexa kom Trikru Fandom: The 100 Length: 4,311 Summary: Raven invites Clarke to stay at her house over Christmas break after the university forces all the students out of on-campus housing. Clarke doesn't expect to see her angry ex-boyfriend or the incredibly gorgeous friend of Anya's. Read it on AO3, if you prefer!

The chair to Clarke Griffin’s desk in her dorm room is the best seating in the small space and Raven Reyes is quick to throw herself down into it, bag hitting the ground with a thud. The bright lettering stands out against the mild background. Raven’s eyes are drawn to the flyer immediately. “Getting kicked out?”

“Just for the holidays. I have that extra semester to make up before it’s a full eviction,” Clarke says as she flops down onto her bed, her equally heavy bag hitting the floor hard.

“You going home?”

“Probably. Mom’s in Pakistan working at a Doctor’s Without Borders clinic that helps women and other refugees in the area, so I’ll have the house to myself.”

Squinting at her friend, Raven cocks her head. “Christmas alone?”

“It’s fine. I can catch up on The Mandalorian.”

“What did you do last year?”

Clarke sits up, eyes on the floor. “Bellamy and I went to his parent’s house.”

The remorse is easy to see on Raven’s face. “Sorry, Clarke. I know it’s still a sore subject.”

“It isn’t,” Clarke says quickly.

Too quickly. Raven raises a brow.

“It shouldn’t be,” she amends. “I ghosted him. Not the other way around.”

“You did the best thing for yourself. That doesn’t mean it’s not going to hurt.” Raven reaches out and places a comforting hand on her friend’s knee.

“It’s been almost a year. I really am mostly over it. This is just the first Christmas in years without him.”

“You’ve been through a lot together. Despite how it ended, you cared for each other for a long time and that means something. It will always mean something.” Raven smiles her warmest smile and squeezes the knee she’s resting her hand on before pulling it away to snap her fingers. “Listen. Come to my place. You can stay in the spare room. We’re even throwing a Christmas Party.”

Clarke looks hesitant so Raven throws in a drawn out please with her best pout until her friend gives in. “But nothing crazy.”

“Just a few friends, no worries.”

“Thanks again for having me over,” Clarke says as she takes sets out the trays of food Anya handed her. Lining them up neatly on the countertop of the kitchen pass-through window, Clarke takes an extra moment to observe them in the whole of the setting.

An enormous tree sparkles in multiple colors in the corner of the living room, near their fireplace. Garlands, lights, and holiday-themed décor are arranged perfectly throughout the public spaces, down to the Christmas linens and hand soap in the bathrooms. All the invited guests have a stocking hanging over the fireplace as a party favor and three gifts currently sat wrapped beneath the tree for the white-elephant gift exchange planned for later in the evening.

Clarke knows all the names but one. The first hanging from the mantle is Octavia’s. Octavia, Raven and Clarke had all gone to school together and Clarke used to date her brother. She and Octavia played soccer together for awhile until the latter had transferred schools mid-year in their sophomore year. They were fairly close until that happened.

The next is John Murphy’s. There were so many John’s in high school that everyone started calling him Murphy and it stuck. Murphy wasn’t always her favorite person, as her moral compass did not quite point in the same direction as his, but she did not foresee them having any issues. She had a particularly fond memory of a time where they both got called to the principal’s office—both for very different concerns—and they had shared a pair of headphones while waiting.

After his was Emori Emmerson’s. She only knew of her. They did not frequent any of the same social groups growing up, but she had fallen in with Raven and Murphy, the latter of which she was dating. As far as Raven told it, she was fun to be around and had the same sense of humor as Raven.

Nathan Miller and Eric Jackson followed Emori’s and Clarke hoped they were still together. They started dating in their junior year of high school and seemed like a picture-perfect couple. She still saw the occasional Facebook post of stunning settings such as where they held hands against the backdrop of a vivid sunset. If anyone was going to make it through as high-school sweethearts, it was them.

Remember when they said that about you and Bellamy? Her traitorous brain completes the thought before she can stop it and it makes her angry. She argues back, Remember all the times he blamed me for things that were out of my control? Like the time you refused sex because you were on your period?

Satisfaction makes her smile when nothing else decides to bubble to the surface. Focusing her attention on the final stocking, the name she doesn’t know intriguing the curious, non-traitorous part of her mind. Lexa. She finds herself whispering it under her breath, enjoying the feel of it rolling over her tongue.

A knock on the door pulls her attention and Raven claps her hands as she sets the napkins in her hand next to the plates that were beside Anya’s appetizers that Clarke had laid out. The front door opens to reveal Miller and Jackson first, gifts tucked under their arms as they each pull Raven into a hug with their free arms. Those three converse for a minute before Raven takes their jackets and hangs them in the breezeway closet while Jackson puts their gifts under the tree next to the other three.

Miller sees Clarke first and waves to her, Jackson’s attention going that way moments after. She moves to hug them both, greeting them. “How have you guys been? I’m so glad to see you!” Privately, she adds, Together.

The exchange pleasantries as Raven starts pressing buttons on their stereo system until Christmas pop spills out of the speakers distributed well throughout the house. Clarke can hear it coming from the kitchen even. The lights on the Christmas tree dance to the beat and Clarke knows Raven enjoyed setting that up.

Another knock finds John and Emori on the other side of the door and the couple enters. The conversations of seven people fill the house with chatter and laughter, swirling with the Christmas music and the emerging, mouthwatering scent of warm sugar wafting out of the kitchen. The dancing lights distract Clarke from the next guest that enters, letting the cheerful music sit in her soul like a hearth fire, warmth filling her bones. It’s not with regret that her eyes find the next guest, she just wishes she had been paying attention because the woman she finds steals her breath.

She only sucks in another when the stranger is coming towards her, guided towards the food by Raven. Clarke panics. She ducks into the kitchen and finds herself staring into the fridge for absolutely nothing. The amount of cheese sticks Raven has stuffed into the crisper drawer is concerning, however. At least its twin is actually packed with vegetables.

“Oh, Clarke!” she hears Raven say and she takes a moment to pre-compose her reply to the inevitable introduction. Armed with her most charming smile, she turns away from the cheese overload, closing the door behind her. “This is Lexa! She’s a friend of Anya’s.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Clarke!” She holds out her hand and tries not to wince at how overly-perky she sounds. Raven gives her a weird look and she knows she’s doing too much. She tries to dial it down by three notches as she asks, “How do you know Anya?”

There is an awkward moment where Lexa just stares at Clarke and she begins to wonder if she forgot to ask the question out loud until Raven says, “They grew up together, a lot like we did.”

The doorbell rings and Raven excuses herself, leaving Clarke and Lexa alone in the kitchen, alone in the uncomfortable silence as Clarke mulls over the fact that the other woman has yet to say anything to her. She wonders if the silence was better when the woman trips over her speedy question, “You’re the pre-med student that Raven goes to school with?”

“Ah, yeah, yes. I graduate in April. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage?”

“Sorry,” color warms her pale cheeks as Lexa clears her throat and says in a much more paced tone, “Anya mentioned you might be here. What is your major?”

“Double-majoring, actually. I have one more semester to get my Bio and Chem degrees. Then off to med school.”

“You’ve already taken the MCATs?” the woman asks and Clarke is caught off guard.

“Yeah! Took them in my junior year to save time. I start at Harvard Med right after graduation.”

Surprise widens the woman’s green eyes and Clarke’s heart races. “I will be attending Harvard in January.”

“Small world,” Clarke jokes in an attempt to soothe her nerves. “What are you studying?”

Lexa smiles and the house around Clarke is spinning giddy circles to match the butterflies in her chest. “I also took the LSAT in my junior year. I just finished a double in Poli-Sci and History.”

“A lawyer!”

“Indeed. The real goal is to get into Congress, down the road. I hope for more, but that is my realistic goal.”

“That’s amazing! I have this feeling that you would be impressive at it.” Lexa smiles wide. “Thank you, Clarke.”

The way Lexa’s voice pops on the K of her name has Clarke wondering what she would sounds like if Clarke had her quivering under her mouth and the way Lexa is looking right through her, as if she can read her thoughts, has heat creeping up her neck and across her face. To distract herself, she turns towards the living room, surveying through the pass-through window.

Her eyes lock with familiar ones, the last ones she ever wanted to see again. His eyes were already on her and she feels trapped all over again. She spins around and suddenly finds herself breathing heavily. Lexa lays a hand on her back, rubbing a soothing circle as Clarke continues to chase her breath.

She turns back towards the party to see Raven looking at her with concern, mouthing, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know’ and Bellamy just behind her, eyes locked on the spot on her arm that Lexa’s hand gently remains. Only when Lexa’s arm drops back to her side does Bellamy say coldly, at odds with the words themselves, “Nice to see you again, Clarke.”

“Wish I could say the same!” Clarke blurts before pushing past him and beating a hasty retreat to the far corner of the living room.

Octavia finds her shortly and fills her in on what she has been doing, over the years. She keeps glancing at the kitchen door but she doesn’t think Bellamy has left there yet. Chuckling weakly at a joke that Octavia made, she jumps when Bellamy is suddenly at Octavia’s elbow, eyebrows drawn in anger. He speaks quietly enough that Octavia and Clarke are the only ones to hear him. “Why are you joking around with her?”

“We were friends before I switched schools, Bells.”

His voice rises slightly louder, people close to them glancing towards the group. “Friends? You don’t even know what you’re saying, Octavia.”

“Bellamy.” Clarke says his name in warning at the same time as Octavia tells him to stop making a scene.

“No, I think it’s time you—it’s time everyone knew the real Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy raises his voice, the conversation in the house falling silent as everyone focused in on them in the corner. The cheerful Christmas music and rhythmically twinkling lights at odds with the suddenly tense air. “You changed schools because of Clarke.”

“What?” Octavia asks. “What are you talking about? What is he talking about, Clarke?”

Shame fills every inch of Clarke as she stares at the ground, all eyes on her. Torn between running and praying a miraculous sinkhole swallowed her and only her, Clarke stays rooted to the spot. She tries to look at Octavia but can’t meet her confused gaze.

“Clarke planted the drugs in your locker that got you expelled from Arkadia High.”

The chill in Octavia’s voice actually makes Clarke shiver and she finally gathers the courage to meet her former friend’s furious eyes, “Explain, Clarke.”

“You…You all know how…competitive and ambitious I was in high school. I…put the drugs in your backpack the day before and then told the school officer about them. I thought it would just get you kicked off the team! We were both up for Captain and—at the time I thought it was what I had to do to win. I was young and dumb. I swear I had no idea you would be expelled. Please, Octavia, I’m so sorry.”

Octavia doesn’t say another word, storming out of the front door. Clarke is quick to follow, just behind her as the dark-haired woman keeps her steady march towards, well, Clarke isn’t really sure. Suddenly, she stops and whips around, finger pointed right at Clarke, jamming it into her collar bone to enunciate her words.

“You never told me? You never owned up to it? Even after you saw the consequences of those actions?”

“Octavia, I’m so sorry. Nothing I can say can ever make up for that.”

“I had to go to court!” Stab. “I had to go to therapy!” Stab. “No one believed they weren’t mine.” Stab. “Except Bellamy, and I guess I know why now.”

“No, no!” Clarke is quick to say, pleading with her eyes. “Octavia he always believed you. I only told him later when I was beyond drunk and feeling extremely guilty. I swear, he was always on your side.”

“And the worst fucking part, Clarke? Is that you lied! For all these years.”

“Please, Octavia. I know I can never make it up to you now, but you have to know, if I could go back and do it over, I would never have done it. I hated the person I was and I’ve learned from those choices. I choose every day to be a better person. I’m becoming a doctor to save lives, not ruin them. Maybe that’s why, if I’m being honest.”

The anger drains out of Octavia and Clarke holds her breath. “I was angry for a long time. I never knew how they got there. I did a lot of unsafe, unhealthy things that I regret while coping with that anger.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke breathes out.

“Look, I’m trying to say: I get it. We all have done things we’re ashamed of. All we can do is move forward and be a better person than we were yesterday. I definitely can’t forgive you yet, but let’s take it a day at a time and not let this ruin Christmas any more than it has.”

Clarke admires the woman Octavia has become, wonders what she went through to become this level-headed woman before her. In high school, Octavia would hold the longest grudges. Quick to anger and quick to give it a home adjacent to her heart where she would house it forever. It is part of the reason Clarke could never come clean about what happened.

Octavia heads back in, but Clarke stays in the cold a moment longer, taking a few deep breaths to calm her emotions before following back into the warmth. The Christmas music filled the quiet house, as everyone murmured quietly to one another. Bellamy stood in the back and it looked like he was quietly arguing with Octavia.

It took the party a while to lose the tense atmosphere, but it eventually did. Clarke kept near Raven, worried what the others must think of her, learning one of her deepest regrets. Not too long after the conversation picked back up, Raven pulled out a game of Pictionary and divided the group into teams. One team had Raven, Anya, Clarke, Bellamy, and Lexa and the other had Octavia, Miller, Jackson, Murphy, and Emori.

Clarke is chosen to draw first, and after Emori earned her team 4 spaces on the board, the turn passed to her. The first things she had to draw was stained glass. A church window came to mind and she quickly sketched Saint Mary as the centerpiece to a Curved window with lines to represent the where the glass was different colored. She thought this was going to be hard for any of them to guess but Lexa guessed correctly at the same time as Bellamy shouted, “Mary, the mother of Jesus!”

“Yes, but not exactly correct. Lexa got it, though. Roll for us?” Clarke tried to say it as gently as possible.

It turned into a competition between the two, or at least, as far as Bellamy was concerned. Every time it was Clarke’s turn to draw he would try to shout over Lexa, usually incorrectly. He would glare every time Lexa was right and he was wrong. Eventually, the game ended and Clarke’s team won, but barely. Despite the problematic moments, Clarke really relished how well Lexa got her.

She offers to help clean up as Lexa starts doing it. They gathered up the pieces and fit it all neatly back into the box. Clarke smiles at her. “Let me show you where it goes.”

Clarke leads her down the hallway to a closet and opens the door for her. She reaches in and turns the light on towards the side and Lexa slides past her to add the box to the stack of board games already in there. As Lexa turns to leave, she caught Clarke looking up and swallowing. She follows her gaze. Mistletoe.

Clarke glances back down in time to watch Lexa’s eyes dart up and she suddenly realizes how close the two are. She chuckles and attempts a joke, “Who puts mistletoe over a closet door? I feel like this is some sort of ‘coming out of the closet’ joke.”

“We don’t have to—” Lexa starts.

“But it is tradition—” Clarke stumbles.

“It is—" Lexa gets out before she’s crashing her lips into Clarke’s, missing by slightly too much before she pulls back and finds her center, placing a proper kiss on the shorter woman. Clarke moans into it, surprising herself, as she parts her lips for Lexa’s tongue that wastes no time in seeking askance.

It’s over as soon as it starts, as the sound of a toilet flushing just further down the hall has them pulling apart. Bellamy emerges and there’s no making excuses for what they’d just been doing. Anger further clouds Bellamy’s face as he says, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He storms past them and down the hall, turning back to shout. “Good riddance, you fucking slut.”

Octavia’s reply in the second sudden silence of the party at Bellamy’s hands issues down the hall, “You did not just slut-shame someone.”

“Yeah, I fucking did. Clarke is down her making out with Lexa after she fucking ghosted me.”

Clarke and Lexa head back out to the scene being made about them in the living room. All eyes are once again on Clarke as she confronts her ex-boyfriend. “You act like this, Bellamy! You act like this and worse, all the time. This is why I left you!”

“We spent years together and now you’re fucking some random chick!”

“First of all, it’s been almost a year since we broke up. Second of all, we were not fucking, clearly.”

“Third, she can do whatever she wants!” Octavia intercedes. “We don’t slut-shame in this house.”

“Once again, O, you have no idea what you’re talking about. The things Clarke and I have been through together mean something.”

“Look-“ Clarke starts to say, but Bellamy is hearing none of it, already set on his path.

“She was a secret fucking teen mom and now she’s hooking up with a stranger in her friend’s fucking closet. This is ridiculous. I’m glad I broke up with her. I clearly don’t know her at all.”

“What the fuck, Bellamy,” Clarke growls. “It took two to be that fucking teen mom!”

“Teen mom, for a minute, anyway. I’m fucking out. Fuck this shit.” He slams the door behind him and Clarke sways. Lexa is at her elbow and quickly has an arm around her waist.

“Let’s go sit down, okay?”

She lets the other woman guide her to the couch, taking a seat beside her. The soothing hand from earlier is back, rubbing circles into her back, and this time, Clarke leans into it. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, building a dam around the tsunami of emotions coursing through her, knowing her friends want an explanation.

Lexa is a silent but reassuring presence at her side. Raven looks heartbroken. Octavia is furious. The others wear looks of mild concern to curiosity. Raven is the first to break the silence, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I—I want to. It’s time. It’s been years. I got pregnant in senior year. Bellamy’s, of course. It’s why I worked so hard to graduate early and why I took classes online for the first three semesters. I gave birth to a beautiful, amazing, healthy baby girl, but I wasn’t ready to be a mom. So, she was adopted by this lovely couple with enough money and time to give her an amazing life that I wasn’t sure I could guarantee her.”

She takes a few deep breaths, bolstered by the hand on her back, by the awe on her friend’s faces, by the love. “I was really depressed for months afterwards. Bellamy always supported my choice, he just didn’t get it, you know? I joined a Post-Partum Depression support group and ended up becoming friends with this other woman who also gave up her child and was experiencing a lot of the same feelings I was. Eventually, I worked through it.”

“I was different afterwards, and so was Bellamy. He was irritable, blamed me for a lot of things that weren’t my fault. I think deep down, even beyond admitting it to himself, that he blamed me for us not having our child with us. I think he felt pressured to support whatever decision I made and never voiced any of his feelings on it and it led to the rift that formed between us, until, one day, I just left.”

All of the shame and guilt that Clarke has carried with her for years felt lighter. Something else had changed tonight, and Bellamy was still an asshole, but it was all cathartic in some way. She smiles over at Lexa. “Nothing like meeting a cute girl and finding out all her deepest, darkest secrets, am I right?”

Lexa laughs and everyone else joins in. The atmosphere lightens and people begin a few side conversations. Raven throws herself into Clarke’s lap and pulls her into a tight embrace. “I love you, Clarke. I’m so sorry that this all happened tonight, but I hope it turns into something that helps you heal. I’m always here for you.”

“I love you, too, Raven. We should probably talk more about it, but later.”

“Oh, and, by the way, there might be some mistletoe hiding up there above the couch!” Raven points as she darts off Clarke’s lap, leaving her next to just Lexa, who she pulls into another kiss, drawing hollers from the crowd. “You owe me ten bucks,” she hears from John Murphy and she breaks the kiss in laughter.

“I know it’s been a pretty intense night, but I really am pretty attracted to you and I heard I might be living in the same city as you in a few months.”

“I feel the same way, Clarke. Following the tradition of candor this evening, Anya hoped we might hit it off tonight. She told me all about you and I was so stunned by how beautiful you are, I forgot how to talk when she introduced me.”

“Let’s exchange numbers for now and we can see how things play out once I move out there?”

Lexa smiles and kisses Clarke again. “I’ll miss these lips, but that sounds good.”

-- One Year Later --

“We’re going to Raven and Anya’s for Christmas, right?” Clarke asks.

“That’s the plan. Is Bellamy going to be there?”

“He is,” Clarke begins, stopping Lexa’s protests with, “but he’s bringing his girlfriend, and he seems to really be working on himself. However, in honor of last year, I proposed a new game to Raven. Confessions: The Game of Secrets and Lies. With a few custom added cards to carry on the tradition of last year, but it’s his turn.”

“Clarke.” Lexa frowns.

“All in good nature! I promise. Not like he was. Besides, it was pretty smooth sailing for us after all that!”

“Just because it worked out for us, that doesn’t make it a good model to cementing the foundation of a new relationship.”

“Okay, but it made mine and Octavia’s relationship even stronger!” Clarke adds with a sweet smile at her girlfriend. “Fine! Without the custom cards. Maybe. I reserve the right to be petty.”

“I am really glad I met you that night.”

“Maybe there will be more mistletoe!”

“Any excuse to kiss me?”

“As if I need an excuse! No, this party I’m going for scandalous!” Clarke directs a devilish smirk towards Lexa. “Gotta keep ‘em guessing.”

Lexa laughs. “Alright, scandalous, it is. Let’s practice right now.”

Clarke groans as Lexa bites right into the spot she knows drives her crazy. Their clothes hit the floor as they make their way towards their bedroom, thoughts of Christmas parties long gone.

#Clexmas20 #Day 6 Rockin Around The Christmas Tree #Clexa #Clarke Griffin #Lexa kom Trikru #Lexa x Clarke #The 100

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ofdragonsdeep · 3 years ago

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6: Avatar

The Warrior of Light has never been one to abide the sadness of a child.

(ShB early story spoilers, discussion of possession)

6: Avatar

The Light that suffused the sky above Il Mheg twinkled in eerie, mournful tones as Ar’telan walked across the lush grass. Were it not for that glass-sharp stillness, the sound of emptiness in a non-existant wind, it would almost be a paradise. A brook babbled to his right, water cascading down to the lake below, the buried grave of Voeburt. Faerie-made birds fluttered between flowers cast in giant form, their petals bending and swaying under the influence of glamer magics rather than the breeze. Hungry creatures, yet untouched by the threatening light, lingered in the meagre shadows that the cliffs cast. They looked at him, and the less the Light suffused them, the more they backed away.

At the edge of a little drop, too sharp to be a hill but too short to be a cliff, Minfilia sat, swinging her legs as she looked out over the lake with those eerie blue-ghost eyes. She yelped in surprise as Ar’telan sat down beside her, not having expected him and not having heard the soft clanking of his armour’s plates as she was lost in her thoughts.

“Oh! You startled me,” she said, then fell silent and went back to staring out at the lake. “Sorry. Thancred always says I should pay more attention.” Ar’telan repressed the flicker of irritation at the statement.

“Thancred says a lot of things,” he replied. He was disappointed with him, in a way - after all the troubles they had come through, here he was failing to keep his own shadows in check, and hurting an innocent child in the doing of it. But maybe he still couldn’t quite see her as innocent. Maybe he still desperately wished for Minfilia - his Minfilia, the daughter he had raised in the guilt-strewn wake of her real father’s death. Maybe a part of him saw this child as her killer, her suppressor, and not someone her own. “Are you well, Minfilia?” he asked. How dearly he wished she had her own name, not one given to her like an Ascian might carry a title down the years. Minfilia stared at her knees.

“Yes. Thankyou. I’m fine,” she replied, which was a bare-faced lie mumbled with very little conviction. Eulmore had beaten the life from her by trapping her in that stifling prison, perhaps, but even when free she had not truly been allowed to flourish.

“Can I see what you’ve been working on?” he asked her, and with a noise of surprise she drew the bag of ammunition out of her pockets and handed it over. Ar’telan had been given a passing lesson in the art of the Gunbreaker from Thancred, and from one he had met back on the Source, but it had seemed a far cry from the knight’s arts he himself used even if the goals were the same. Protection. Thancred had cast aside the mantles of both bard and rogue to take on this role, but he was not doing a particularly good job.

The carts were simple things, bullets with a hollow chamber specifically designed to trap and harness aether. It was not too dissimilar from the machinist’s trade, except there the user’s aether provided the forward momentum to a bullet of regular make. These fair shone with aether, none of it Thancred’s, not that he had much of it left after what Lahabrea had done. Maybe it reminded Thancred of his Minfilia. Maybe he should have stopped finding a difference.

“You’re good at this,” he remarked, and Minfilia blushed just a little at the compliment. Ar’telan thought that she had probably not had many, in her short little life.

“I-I’m doing my best,” she said, which was not exactly an agreement, but it would have to do for the moment.

“Does Thancred ever tell you that?” Ar’telan asked, and Minfilia’s gaze dropped straight back to her knees.

“Sometimes,” she said, voice quiet. “But he always seems annoyed with himself to have said it.” Ar’telan let out a sigh, shaking his head as he passed the bag back to her with a quiet clacking of metal.

“Thancred should know better than to let his demons haunt his charge,” he said. He hadn’t wanted to say it - aloud was not the word, given his condition, but he had meant to think it and instead projected it. Minfilia wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, with the strength of her inherited Echo. “I mean - I shouldn’t have to make excuses for him. In the short time we have known each other, you have proved strong and competent. You deserve to hear it said.” Minfilia made a quiet noise, which felt like shock to Ar’telan’s Echo, but was barely audible to his ears.

“I’m not much compared to her. The… The real Minfilia,” she said. Ar’telan shook his head.

“You are as real as she is,” he said. Minfilia made a muted noise of disagreement. “Do you know how it works? The Echo - the rebirth?”

“A little,” she said, which still made it more than Ar’telan knew, not that he was intending to tell her that. “There’s a part of me… inside of me. In my soul. It feels like it… it isn’t me.” She touched a hand gently to her chest, a pensive look in her eerie blue eyes. “It’s warm. It’s kind. It’s Minfilia.” Her face turned saddened then. “When Ran’jit told me about the other… the other Minfilias, she gets sad. So I know that she’s… she’s seen so many. Girls like me. Girls who… who aren’t her, but are her. But not enough of her to make a difference.” She put her hands back in her lap, one clasped over the other. “And when I… when I die, that part of me that isn’t me, it will leave, and it will find another girl like me. Another Minfilia. I don’t know… I don’t know if she wants to. But she has to, I think.” She looked up at Ar’telan then, as if seeking confirmation, and it made him wonder.

“We borrowed it,” he confessed. “The idea of… of Rebirth. The Ascians can come back in endless cycles unless their aether is trapped, destroyed. Thancred told you about them, yes?” Minfilia nodded. “I suppose it always made sense that we could do the same thing, but I don’t think that we… that we should. The idea of mortality - of parts of us circling between life and death, each life new and different, that is important, even though we are blessed with the Echo.” He looked over at her. “So the Ascians would take new bodies, and mold their flesh to look like them, if they wished it. It happened to Thancred.” Thancred would not want this tale told, and Ar’telan certainly did not intend to tell her all of it, but she deserved a part of it. “An Ascian took him, and forced his soul into the darkest recesses of his aether. Where she lives - Minfilia. Lahabrea put Thancred there, and took control of him instead. So when she does it - when Minfilia does it, she tries so hard, I think, not to be like him. Not to hurt people like Lahabrea hurt Thancred. But we don’t know enough.” He looked out, over the cliff, at the waters of the lake. Perfectly still in the absence of wind, save for the ripples of fish and Fuath occasionally coming close to breaching the surface. “So she sits there, in the back of your soul, but she can’t - can’t stop it from hurting you, even though she doesn’t want it to. But she does it because a part of her feels like she must.” Ar’telan wondered how much of it was Hydaelyn. Even before she had been stolen away on the eddies of Y’shtola’s Flow, Minfilia had been devoted to Hydaelyn more fervently than anyone Ar’telan knew. If Hydaelyn told her to do this - to continue, even though it hurt, even though it doomed the girls she took, she would have done it, and it would have eaten her up to know it. Duty was not easy. Hydaelyn was not a loving Mother.

“...Thancred… H-he never told me,” Minfilia said, her voice quiet. “He told me - told me about Minfilia. His Minfilia. A-and the Echo, and the Ascians. But he never told me…”

“He hates what it did to him. What Lahabrea did with his body,” Ar’telan said, and found it a miracle that he could say it without shuddering at the memories. “He is scared of it. What it made him - what it makes people. And he is so scared of losing more people.” Ar’telan reached out, cautious and gentle, and put a hand on top of Minfilia’s own. “But he is proud of you. He should say it, and I should not have to say it for him. But I know him very well, and I know that even though he’s hurting, he is proud.” Minfilia had stiffened at the initial touch, then untensed as he spoke. Ar’telan could see the mist of tears at the corners of her eyes.

“I just… wanted to be enough,” she said. “To live up to her - to Minfilia.” Ar’telan inclined his head.

“I know. You do,” he assured her. “Not that you should forgive Thancred for his coldness, or accept my words as substitute for his, but I wanted… I wanted you to know.” His gaze was drawn back to the castle at the centre of the lake, the beautiful wings of lace and light cascading out from the towers. “I am glad to have you as an ally, and a friend, just as I was glad to know Minfilia. But you are worth more than what you are standing next to her. You are your own person, too. She let you remain. Had to. So you should live - not for her, but for yourself.” Minfilia let out a little sob, raising her tiny hands to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. Ar’telan was aware that if Urianger or Thancred found him sat out here with a crying child they would chew his ears off, and sans context he would certainly deserve it.

“Th-thank you,” she managed, her voice still quiet and small. “I… I’ll try. But it’s hard.”

“It is hard for everyone,” Ar’telan said, by way of consolation. “But I believe in you.” She offered him a tiny, near-imperceptible smile.

“Then I will believe, too,” she decided. “Um, could you… could you take these back to Thancred?” She held out the bag of cartridges once more, but Ar’telan shook his head.

“We will go together,” he disagreed. “Whenever you’re ready.” Minfilia gave him another smile - stronger, but still faint - and nodded her head.

“Alright. I would like that,” she agreed, and for once, her decision held conviction.

Ar’telan thought that was enough.

#In this house we make ourselves sad on the regular #ffxivwrite2021 #WoL would die for his tiny daughter that he only just found out he has confirmed #m!WoLxThancred #Honest #though you might have to squint significantly #Warrior of Light (solo story)#ff14

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ask-the-good-creeps · 4 years ago

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VP AU Hallowe’en Special 2020

//Hey, y’all! Sorry for the tardiness here! Finally got this posted; if you requested specific characters when I asked about it like, a month ago, they make at least a minor appearance. If you requested certain cue-words, they are here and they are bolded/italicized. The main type of genre requested was feel-good type of story, so we have a bit of that here and there. It is a bit long, so I put it under a read-more. Please enjoy this short story, and Happy Belated Hallowe’en! c: //

“Fancy meeting you here, O Seraph.” Zalgo greeted the newcomer from his seat as the other entity stepped into the room. Said room was enormous and spacious with high-vaulted ceilings to accommodate the abnormal heights of its occupants. The walls were made up of bookshelf after bookshelf, upon which rested a myriad of old tomes. There were a few pieces of antique-looking furniture that had obviously been well cared for despite their age, including a pair of unnaturally tall armchairs resting near the fireplace. A red-orange flame danced and crackled merrily beyond the moderately complex masonry of the mantle to illuminate roughly a third of the almost-Gothic architecture in the room.

It was a simple place with a touch of elegance; Zalgo’s style with a few welcoming details for his guest tonight – the one and only Slenderman.

“You did invite me. I don’t see why it surprises you that I’ve come.” The faceless creature responded as he moved to occupy the empty seat by the fire.

“An invitation offered is not automatically an invitation accepted.” Several of Zalgo’s mouths grinned ruefully as he closed his book and tossed it behind him. The thick volume defied the laws of gravity to tuck itself neatly back in its spot on a shelf. The Slenderman did not respond immediately, instead focusing his attention to the warm flames that lit the room.

“Why have you called me here, Old One?” Slenderman finally asked, “What do you want?” Zalgo feigned offense at the other’s questions, complete with an obnoxiously loud gasp and a hand over the still-smiling mouth on his face for an extra touch of dramatic flair.

“We have met here in Purgatory many times solely for the sake of conversation…why do you assume this time is different?” He offered a question in turn. The Slenderman regarded the demon for a moment, and if he had a face, it likely would have displayed a rather deadpan expression.

“Tonight is the Eve of Samhain, where the barriers between are weak. You can’t honestly tell me that you have no motive for this rendezvous other than a social call.” He folded his hands over his lap as he awaited an explanation from the other.

“Oh, you do see right through me, Seraph. I should have expected nothing less from you.” Zalgo’s grin never wavered as he observed his guest. He stood from his seat and began to pace the room slowly as he continued. “I want your help.”

“My help?” The confusion that was evident in the faceless one’s voice was further accentuated by the obvious quirk of the flesh where his brow would be. “We may not be enemies anymore, Old One, but I don’t remember ever agreeing to work together as allies.”

“I don’t mean it as a permanent partnership…just one small, specific task.” Zalgo replied.

“Why? You are capable of anything I am, you don’t need me to-”

“I want to meet my child.” The Slenderman paused abruptly, partly due to the sudden interruption that was so uncharacteristic of Zalgo in conversations, and partly due to what he was saying. There was a long pause as he processed the demon’s request.

“Even with the barriers between being as weak as they are tonight, I still cannot go to the living realm without unintentionally causing death and destruction on a colossal scale,” Zalgo explained, “Lazari, however, will be able to come here…just for a short while…but try as I may I have yet to find a way to guide her here.”

“You want me to find her in the living world and bring her to this place.” It wasn’t a question – the Slenderman didn’t need further discussion to interpret what the other needed of him.

“You wouldn’t need to find her. I already know where she is, and I can tell you. I just need you to bring her here.” There was a strange look in Zalgo’s eyes as he spoke. Slenderman had seen it before in that of humans he’d met, but never an entity of their caliber. He, himself could not put a name to it, as the faceless being had never experienced it.

They stared at each other for a while longer, each with his own thoughts, the silence around them broken only by the crackling of the fire. The Slenderman eventually stood up from his seat, his decision made.

--------------------------------------

In a moderately-populated town on the outskirts of the woods, two young girls wandered through a brightly-lit neighborhood. That was far from unusual on this night – there were many children out in various costumes, all walking up to spookily-decorated homes to ask strangers for candy under the watchful gazes of older family members.

These little girls had no family to watch over them…but that wasn’t exactly necessary for poltergeists, now was it? Lacy Morgan was quiet as ever while they walked along, occasionally joining groups of living children at the doors of homes for trick or treating. While Lacy saw no point in playing dress-up, Sally was happily flaunting the incredibly-made costume Trenderman had prepared for her this year. She was dressed as the Red Queen of Hearts from the original Alice in Wonderland movie, complete with a green-dodo-bird-turned-croquet-mallet prop in one of her hands. She hummed a little tune to herself as they got closer to the “interesting Halloween circus” that “popped up out of nowhere” everyone in town planned to enjoy with their kids for the evening.

They eventually made it to the open gates of the Candy Circus and managed to wander in around the crowds of living people who had come to have fun. It was there that Lacy and Sally separated from each other, each with her own plans for the evening. Sally wandered to each of the booths, peeking around guests playing the games there in search of a familiar face…and finally she found one, though not necessarily the one she was hoping for.

The little girl walked through the back wall of the booth to appear behind none other than Hoodie – sans mask, of course. He didn’t notice her at first as he handed a stuffed animal prize to a little boy dressed as an alien; he jumped and just barely managed to hold back a scream when he turned around and suddenly saw her there.

“Where’s Masky?” she asked. If anyone knew where he was, it’d be his partner, right?

“I’m not sure,” Hoodie answered as he calmed down from nearly having a heart attack, “He isn’t here at the circus, though. He said he had something important to take care of before he could join us.” Sally’s face formed a small pout at this answer. She wondered what her big bro could possibly find more important than the festivities here. She got a hint to the answer as she felt a slight chill in her soul, followed by a strong tug back to that place.

She frowned and walked back through the wall of the booth, trying to ignore the unsettling feelings as she explored the circus. She heard loud and raucous laughter over by the Ferris Wheel and saw none other than one of the circus owners.

Candy Pop looked about to collapse with how hard he was laughing as he leaned on his mallet for support. Judge Angels was on her knees in a giggle fit while Helen stood nearby with the faint ghost of a smile on his lips. Sally wondered what was so funny. She stepped up toward the group, prepared to ask in hopes it would take her mind off the odd feelings she was experiencing.

“My word, Sally, dear, just look at you!” Candy Pop gushed as he spotted her. “That old fashionista has really outdone himself with his work this year…and I have to admit, he found the perfect model for that one!” The jester grinned as he danced around her to get the full view of the craftsmanship that went into her costume.

“I’ll tell him you liked it,” Sally smiled awkwardly as Pop came back to his original spot in front of her. The jester nodded while Helen helped Dina to her feet. She was still chuckling, and every time she almost managed a straight face the giggles would start back up again.

“Did you tell a really good joke?” Sally asked Pop.

“Oh, no, dear child – I told a story…a story of the most entertaining insult someone has ever tried to throw at me that turned out so amazing I don’t know whether to call it the worst or the best!” Pop laughed again, and Dina couldn’t help herself as she started up again.

“There’s no way!” The blonde spoke in between laughs, “There’s no way he actually said that!”

“Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for him – he most certainly did.”

“Who said what?” Sally asked, not wanting to be left out. It took Pop a moment to calm down. He took a breath to try and keep the laughter at bay and turned to Sally.

“So…you know of Jeff’s brother, yes? The one they call ‘Homicidal Liu’?” Pop started. Sally nodded. She didn’t really know the guy, but she had heard of him at least. “He is the ‘who’ in this story. I ran into him a while ago and it looked like he’d had a rather dismal day, so I decided to cheer him up a little-” The jester was cut off for a moment by Judge’s laughter.

“Alright, so maybe I wanted to mess with him more than cheer him up, but that’s not the point,” Pop corrected himself with a shrug before continuing. “Either way, I upset the man a little bit, and he started telling me to go away. But I couldn’t just leave when it was finally starting to get fun, so I didn’t. He got the angriest I’ve ever seen, and I half-expected Sully to take control and come after me with his knife, but instead, Liu proved his own ineptitude with swears and insults – which isn’t exactly an unadmirable trait, but still – by calling me, and I quote: ‘an anus-eating boner fuck dick-nose’…” Judge was almost back to her knees again as she covered her mouth in attempt to repress her loud guffaws as the blue-haired jester finished,

“…and no, I have no idea what that means, but I could feel Sully’s embarrassment follow me all the way back to my dimension.” The laughter continued as Pop shook his head in mock-disapproval.

“How did you even respond to that?” Dina managed to ask when she had gotten ahold of herself.

“I didn’t…for once, I had no idea how. So I just left.” Pop gestured wildly with his hands as he said it.

“You probably shouldn’t use those words while children are around,” Helen chimed in, “He may have put them together…strangely…but most of those are still swears.” He looked at Sally, who wore a confused expression. She wasn’t any more fluent in swears and insults than the average eight-year-old child, so she didn’t quite see the humor as well as the others did. Pop paused for a moment, then turned to the little Red Queen.

“Please don’t tell your proxy friend you heard me say those things.” He smiled at her, and she grinned mischievously.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” She giggled and ran off in the direction of the roller coaster without waiting for his reply.

-------------------------

She had seen the circus, but Jane just wasn’t feeling up to it this year. She didn’t know why, but hanging out with everyone to be happy and celebrate just seemed like it would feel…hollow. She passed people on the sidewalk going in the opposite direction, telling herself she’d stop in for a bit later. She passed a stray dog as she found her way to a nearby park, and noted the familiarity of it. She’d been here before, but when…?

“Jane?” She turned around at the sound of her name to see a woman her age dressed in a wild, electric-blue wig, black pants, and a red shirt that was labeled, ‘Thing 2’. She was a little taller than Jane, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair that was a bit longer than it was the last time they met. Jane remembered her, and by proxy, this park where they had first spent time several years prior.

“Tatiana.” Jane spoke her name, suspicion clearly evident in her tone. She thought Kate had already hunted Tatiana down and killed her. The Chaser was never one to leave loose ends. The girl seemed to flinch at the coldness in Jane’s voice, but recovered quickly.

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” She said awkwardly.

“Why? So you could finish the job?” Jane replied. Jane didn’t know why she was being so bitchy here; she was certain what happened before wasn’t Tatiana’s fault, but she had to admit she was on-edge around her. She had never gotten a definite answer as to whether the girl was actually SCP or had just been brainwashed by them back then. Speaking of SCP, Jane kept her ears open and inconspicuously scanned the area for any sign that the Foundation’s soldiers may be lurking around here. She didn’t want to be taken by surprise again.

“N-no, I wanted to thank you,” Tatiana stuttered nervously. Jane regarded her silently, and Tatiana continued, “You saved me from Kate.”

“I still don’t know if that was a good idea,” came Jane’s retort, albeit a little less certain that Tatiana was untrustworthy.

“Why?”

“She might have been right. You may be working for SCP, trying to lure me into another trap.”

“No! I didn’t even know what SCP was until I looked it up later!” Tatiana argued. “I didn’t even know what your name was until I did a metric fuckton of Google research. I don’t remember how I ended up in that situation. I was getting ready to go out with some friends, and then I was waking up here, surrounded by dead bodies and you telling another girl not to kill me.”

Jane listened to her explanation, looking for any possible holes in her story. Her set of events answered a couple questions Jane had, but there were still a few things that didn’t add up.

“How did you get away from both Kate and SCP, then? Kate was determined to go after you later and finish you off, and she doesn’t make empty threats. Even if you got away from her somehow, SCP would’ve erased your memory at the very least to keep themselves secret. You being alive here, in this same town, with full knowledge of that night…it doesn’t make any sense,” Jane reasoned.

“I wish I knew the answer to that, but I don’t. After that night, I never saw or heard anything from Kate or SCP again. It was like it was just some crazy nightmare. After a while, I started to think that’s all it really was…but you’re here, so it had to be real.”

“Hm.” Jane didn’t know what to do here. She didn’t buy into what she was being told, but at the same time, she would never risk killing someone who might be innocent.

“What are you going to do?” Tatiana asked.

“Nothing,” Jane shrugged, “I’m not going to kill you, but I’m not going to stick around here and find out the hard way if you can or can’t be trusted.” With that, Jane left the park, determined not to show up there again if she could help it. There were plenty of other nice places in the world to spend her time where she wouldn’t have to be on high alert.

-------------------------

“Jason! We’re supposed to be helping with the haunted house!” Lazari whined. The Toymaker in question looked up from his plate of fettucine alfredo as he slurped up the last of the noodle in his mouth.

“There’s enough people to handle it right now without us. Besides, I told you I’d need snack breaks if I came out to help for the whole night.” He shrugged and started to get another bite on his fork as Lazari pouted.

“A full plate of pasta is a meal, not a snack,” she stuck her tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes. He shoved his mouth full of pasta to the point that he looked somewhat like a chipmunk and Lazari gave up trying to get him to come help before he finished his food.

Instead, she walked off on her own. She circled the little church, happy to see people from the community having a good time. She walked over to a little table surrounded by balloons and set up with bowls of candy where Father Daniel was talking with one of the local families. They finished their chat and parted ways with a call of, ‘Happy Halloween!’ to one another, and Lazari took the opportunity to sneak up behind the priest and startle him with a loud yell.

“Oh, Lazari, please don’t do that. You know I’m just an old man and a heart attack isn’t how I’d like to go.” He told her.

“Sorry, Father,” Lazari giggled. “I tried to get Jason to come back to the haunted house with me, but he’s busy eating.”

“He likes sugar that much, huh? We’ll have to be sure he leaves enough candy for the kids.” the priest joked.

“No, he’s eating pasta, not candy.” Lazari smiled.

“Pasta? Where’d he get pasta at this hour?”

“He probably brought it from his workshop,” the little demon girl shrugged. She looked away toward the tree line and her smile dropped. She found herself looking straight at a certain someone she didn’t want to see here. Even if he wasn’t so much the ‘bad guy’, when the Slenderman showed up somewhere it usually wasn’t good news. The entity seemed to be watching her, and she got the sense that she was the one he was here to see.

Whether that was an accurate assumption or not, she decided to find out what he wanted. The sooner he had what he was after, the sooner he’d go away. She excused herself quickly and made her way toward the trees. The Slenderman was no longer in sight, but she knew he didn’t just leave. She walked out of sight from the church, deeper into the foliage. She found herself in a very small clearing.

“You know it’s easier to talk to people when you’re not playing hide-and-seek,” Lazari called out when she was sure she was out of earshot from the humans. Nothing. Lazari crossed her arms and huffed in that pouty child way. She turned when she heard twigs snapping behind her and saw Father Daniel stepping into the space.

“Lazari, who are you looking for?” the old man asked. Lazari opened her mouth to answer just as she caught sight of a tall figure standing behind him. She ran over, and suddenly the world shifted around her.

She felt dizzy. The world was spinning so fast it took her several tries to open her eyes properly. She heard someone call her name, and turned her attention to the sound. It was Father Daniel, looking somewhat motion-sick. She heard a popping sound behind her, and turned to see a warm fireplace surrounded by several large, comfy chairs. She saw books everywhere despite how dimly lit the large room was, and despite never having been here before and not even knowing how or why she was here now Lazari didn’t feel alarmed or unsafe.

“Where are we?” Father Daniel asked as he shakily got to his feet.

“I don’t know.” Lazari answered.

“This place has many names,” a deep voice rang out in the room, “though the one you’re most familiar with is probably ‘purgatory’.” The voice sounded like it was everywhere, but they found the source when they saw movement over by the fire. Father Daniel gripped the cross around his neck and began to mumble prayers with his eyes open wide and focused on the large demon before them. Standing at full height, the beast was at least three or four times his size, with pitch black skin and mouths all over its body that seemed to glow red from within. It laughed at him.

“Your prayers have no power over me, nor would they affect anything else in this place,” Zalgo grinned, “Thankfully, you don’t need them tonight anyway.” Father Daniel stared at the creature, shocked into silence now. He hadn’t expected to ever come face-to-face with the Devil himself…and in purgatory, no less…

“What do you want?” The priest’s request came out quiet and meek, but that was still much more confident than he felt.

“With you,” Zalgo started, “Nothing. I don’t know why you were brought here, honestly. I needed to speak with her.” He gestured to Lazari, who until that point had seemed to be frozen. Not with fear, but with curiosity. Zalgo’s taunting grin softened as he looked to the little one.

“Welcome. I’ve been waiting so long to finally meet you, my daughter.” Lazari tilted her head as she looked him over. Daughter? She hadn’t been called that by anyone for a while. She vaguely recalled meeting Zalgo in a dream once, but the fact that he was her father hadn’t really set in all the way…until now. She didn’t answer him and must have stood there in her thoughts for longer than it felt to her, because his smile started to wane.

“Does my appearance frighten you, little one? You’ve spent most of your life around humans, so I suppose that isn’t odd.” Zalgo stepped forward, and as he did so his body seemed to melt away into the shadows until all that was left was a man. Zalgo’s human-ish form was still unnaturally tall, but only by a foot or so. He looked normal enough, save for the red eyes and black horns in his head. He stepped closer to Lazari, and Father Daniel got in the way as if meaning to protect her.

Something dark swirled in the demon’s eyes as he addressed the priest.

“You think stepping between a mother bear and her cub is dangerous, but I assure you the risks involved with that are nothing compared to what you’re doing right now. Stand aside – I only get to see her tonight, and I will not have you wasting the little time we have.” Zalgo’s threat obviously terrified the man, but he refused to move. Before anything could happen as a result, Lazari stepped around her long-time friend and approached her father.

“Why now?” She asked. He didn’t seem to comprehend the question, so she elaborated, “Why not sooner? Do you know what she did to me? Do you know what’s happened to me because I’m not human? Why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you come get me?” The questions left Lazari’s lips in a desperate hurry, and it almost seemed that she wasn’t registering what she was asking. Zalgo sighed and reached for her, taking her in his arms and holding her to his chest. She didn’t fight him.

“I can’t go to the living world, that’s why we’re meeting here. I know what she did, and I had no way to stop it because I couldn’t reach you. I do know what happened to you in the living world; I couldn’t come to you, but I could keep an eye on you. If I could have prevented it, I would have – I didn’t allow it to happen intentionally. I didn’t come get you because I couldn’t go where you were, but I’ve been trying for years to contact you in ways I’m capable of…it just never worked.” He answered each of her questions quickly as he cradled her small body to himself.

“Even if I could have reached you, the only way we could have stayed together is if you were to die and enter my domain on the other side. I would never intentionally abandon you, my little one…I didn’t have another option to work with. I’m sorry.” His voice was soothing, comforting, remorseful. Things Father Daniel would have never expected from a demonic entity, least of all the King of Hell himself.

Lazari sniffled quietly, but offered no response. There were memories now, dark memories of her childhood with her hateful mother worming their way up from the back of her mind. She didn’t want to remember. She had no choice. Zalgo continued to hold her and say reassuring things, but she didn’t really hear what was being said.

“Look at me, Lazari,” he mumbled as he tilted her head up. Their eyes met, and with that, Zalgo was finally able to establish a mental connection with his child. He pressed his forehead to hers affectionately as he did what he could to dissipate the hurtful thoughts and feelings in her head. “I’m here now, little one. I’m here.”

She relaxed and wiped her eyes, feeling better but still not quite herself. Zalgo moved back to his chair and sat down again with Lazari in his lap. He motioned for Father Daniel to sit in the one across from them, but didn’t intend to force it if the man preferred to keep his distance. It made no difference to Zalgo what the priest did; he just wanted to spend time with his child for as long as he could.

-------------------------

In another part of the world, a certain blue-masked man stalked around through backyards, climbing over fences in search of something to do…or, more specifically, someone to eat. He was hungry, had been so busy lately he hadn’t managed to keep proper track of his food stores, and now was out of preserved organs when he needed them most. At least the current holiday allowed him to wander without catching too much attention. He still had to remain mostly out of sight, but if someone caught a glimpse of him it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

Jack climbed up to the top of the next fence in his path and perched on top of the thin wooden slats. There were people in the next yard, but thankfully a nicely placed tree kept him out of their view. They seemed to be having a little party, but strangely there wasn’t any music. Jack felt his stomach twisting with hunger and decided to move on and get what he needed; though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off here.

Most of the fence was in shadow, and the majority of the people weren’t facing his direction anyway. Jack figured he just had to move slowly and carefully to the other side. He started on his way, keeping his attention toward the people. He reached his hand out to take another step and ended up nearly losing his balance when his hand grasped air at a gap in the fence instead of another piece of wood. He managed to stabilize himself until he heard a shout.

“What the fuck is that?!” Jack tensed and risked a glance at the people. They were facing the opposite direction. Jack looked where they were looking and spotted a familiar face…er, muzzle. Smile Dog was in his larger form, tiptoeing across the fence tops the same way Jack was. The canine seemed to notice the attention on himself and stopped to look at his audience with his terrifying fanged grin. The hellhound’s tail wagged a little and he jumped down into the yard and began to approach the group. The people didn’t take that well, of course; they backed away, yelled, looked for weapons.

Smile stopped going toward them and whined, tilting his head to the side. He hadn’t done anything wrong here, had he? Jack watched the scene through his altered senses. He didn’t like this. Smile barked and wagged his tail again as if trying to convince them he was friendly…but why? Jack knew Smile wasn’t one to approach humans like that, and certainly not in that form; he really only liked Jeff.

The guys in yard kept watch on the dangerous-looking creature in their midst, and Jack noticed too late that they had gradually moved to surround the canine. The two in front worked to distract Smile, the two on the sides closed in; Smile backed up into the last three who threw a thick chain around his neck and he let out a strangled bark as they tightened it. It was like they’d done this before.

They yelled to each other while they tugged at the chain to make Smile go where they wanted. The red Malamute struggled against them, whining and pulling against the bonds. Jack growled, preparing to step in as he saw them bring a cage out to the yard. The cage was large, but certainly not large enough to accommodate what they’d captured.

Jack dropped silently into the yard, unnoticed thanks to the fight Smile was putting up. They opened the cage door as he got closer, and Smile stopped struggling and sat on the grass. They tried to tug him into the cage, but he didn’t budge at all. Jack stopped as Smile started to laugh.

It was an eerie, bone-chilling sound that didn’t belong in a dog’s vocal cords, and the sound seemed to help the humans realize just how badly they’d fucked up here. Smile’s grin seemed to grow wider as he stood and shook himself. He stretched, then suddenly bolted off at full speed toward the other side of the yard, dragging the guys holding onto the chain hard against the rocks before making a sharp turn that slammed them into the wooden fence.

They let go of the chain as they collided with the hard surface, except one who yelled about being determined to make Smile his ‘champion fighter’. Oh, so that was it. Jack understood now; these guys were illegal dog fighters and had become Smile’s targets. That made a lot more sense. He figured there was no need to step in here, but he decided to stick around and enjoy the show in hopes that he could use some of the remains for his supper that night.

The demonic medic watched them try to run, watched Smile toy with them until he was finally ready to go in for the kill. In the end, only one remained. Smile pinned him on his stomach and held his head down with a single massive paw. He moved his head down to his target’s, and bit off half his ear with a disturbing tearing sound…then did the same with the other ear. The man, to his credit, didn’t cry…but he did yell at a decent enough volume.

“What’s wrong? You want to look tougher, don’t you?” Smile taunted him. The large canine speaking clear English in that creepy voice was the straw that broke the camel’s back, it seemed; he started to struggle harder and beg for his life to be spared. Smile bit into the back of his throat firmly, but not enough so to break skin. He lifted his target that way and carried him off toward the house.

Jack followed them around the side to a storm cellar. Smile broke open the door with ease and carried him down. The man was set on the floor in the middle of the cellar which had at least ten cages in it, each containing a depressed-looking, scarred dog.

“Let them out,” Smile ordered. The man started looking furiously around the basement, possibly for a weapon. Smile growled low in his throat, but the man still wouldn’t do it. Jack stepped into the cellar.

“Can I help?” he asked the hellhound. Of course, Smile wasn’t surprised at all – he’d known Jack was there since the beginning. He asked Jack to unlock the cages. Jack went to each one, pulling off locks and opening doors. He reminded Smile of Jeff on a raid as he went along. Soon all the dogs were out, and Smile led them in a frenzied attack against their former tormentor.

While the man was torn apart by dogs, Jack headed back up to the backyard with Smile’s permission to eat from the other corpses.

-------------------------

“He just shouted ‘yeet’ and kicked me out,” Jeff was telling Liu, “Not even a push, he legit kicked my back.”

“Seriously? No warning or anything?” The elder Woods brother asked. Jeff shook his head.

“I’m lucky I didn’t pass out on the way down – I know I wouldn’t die from that kind of fall, but I’d still rather drift down on a parachute.” Liu chuckled a little. Jeff had apparently gone skydiving for the first time with BEN the day before, and Liu couldn’t say he was surprised at the poltergeist’s methods of coaxing his brother out of the plane considering all he knew about BEN.

Jeff took another drink of soda and popped a piece of dark chocolate into his mouth while he kept his gaze focused out on the hills. He and Liu had decided to meet at a condemned old farmhouse this year. It fit the spooky vibe of the holiday, they were unlikely to be disturbed given the dangerous reputation of the building’s construction, and they had a decent view. Well, Liu did anyway. Jeff’s vision certainly hadn’t improved over the years.

“Was it fun, though?” Liu asked.

“Kinda. It was a decent experience, but not as fun as I’d hoped. It might be more enjoyable for people who can actually see the world below them while they fall.” Jeff responded before taking another swig of his drink. He wasn’t usually a soda guy, but tonight was a special occasion. They fell into silence again for a moment.

“Do you ever get the feeling that something important is about to happen?” Liu asked randomly to break the silence.

“I guess,” Jeff shrugged. “I don’t really believe in superstitions.”

“I feel like something special will happen tonight. I don’t know what, but it’s going to be a major thing that makes a big change.” Liu said.

“I guess we’ll see if you’re right soon. If it’s a big change, we’re all gonna know about it by the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

“Yeah.” Liu agreed. The Brothers Woods sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, just enjoying each other’s company while they were able. As soon as dawn came, Sully would consider the annual treaty over and go back to trying to kill Jeff.

For now, they could pretend that they didn’t need to worry about that. For now, they were brothers again…at least until sunrise.

-------------------------

He jogged through the Dark Wood at a decent pace – not too slow, not too fast. He didn’t want them to catch up to him just yet, but he didn’t want to lose them, either. He was surprised they had come after him so willingly despite the circumstances…most would be terrified to follow an unidentified masked man to an unfamiliar place secluded in the woods, especially on Halloween night. Especially considering the way he’d caught their attention in the first place.

He was almost there. He checked back to be sure they were still following, and thankfully they were. He lead them out of the Dark Wood, into a regular forest in the human world. He doubted they saw the changes in the trees at all as they went forward. His destination was in sight; he burst into the clearing and stopped by the shovel he had stabbed into the ground roughly a half-hour earlier when he was done digging.

His pursuers were there mere seconds later. They stopped toward the edge of the clearing, panting heavily from the sudden physical exertion they clearly weren’t used to like he was. There were three of them: two men, one with dark brown hair and brown eyes and the other with slightly longer, messier, and lighter hair; and a woman with long brown hair similar in color to the second man, and bright green eyes. All looked to be somewhere in their mid to late forties.

Masky watched them take stock of their surroundings; the woman and the first man looked confused and worried, but Masky saw a quick flair of recognition in the second man’s eyes. He remembered this place, and he remembered what he did here. His two companions were unaware of why they had been lead here, but he knew. That sick bastard knew his secret was going to be exposed and the proxy could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to think of a way to save his own hide.

Without a word, Masky lifted his hand out in front of him, a glint of metal hanging from his fingers catching the light of the full moon above them. He held it above the open pit next to him that he’d spent so long digging and organizing earlier. The woman covered her mouth with one hand in attempt to hold back tears as she broke away from those she’d come with and approached the wide hole.

She got to the edge of it despite the others trying to hold her back while she kept a wary eye on the proxy. He didn’t move, and she took a deep breath as she looked down into the hole. She collapsed to her knees as her eyes focused on what was there.

The pale bones were old and stained a tan-ish yellow by the dirt they’d been buried under for so long, arranged neatly in the shape of a skeleton on top of a grey tarp. They were clearly that of a young child, though no indications of the child’s exact identity were present…they didn’t need to be.

Mrs. Williams wept as she recognized the remains of her daughter who had been missing from her life for so long. Masky remained silent as the woman grieved, but offered her the piece of jewelry he had. The small necklace was dirty, having been buried with the bones so long, but the chain had held. She unwrapped it from its loose grip on the proxy’s fingers and held it to her chest. It was the final confirmation of what she already knew. It was Sally’s necklace, the one she always wore, the one that was around her neck the night she disappeared.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask this man, but she couldn’t get them out through her tears. She had always had a small, naïve hope that Sally would be found alive, and now that hope was gone. At the same time, there was a feeling of closure, an end to the morbid uncertainty. She felt so many emotions that she couldn’t quite sort out, and any attempts she made at speech came out in strangled, unintelligible sobs.

Her husband was by her side in an instant, holding her for comfort…but his eyes remained glued on the remains of his daughter. The proxy reached down into the hole and grabbed the edges of the tarp with hands that shook ever so slightly. He pulled the tarp around the bones and tied the top loosely like a bag before offering that to couple as well, and he finally spoke.

“She’s been here too long…she needs to go home.” He spoke quietly. Mrs. Williams wasted no time in taking the bag from him, holding it to her chest as she had the necklace, cradling what was left of her little one. The tears that rolled down her face fell onto the rough fabric and soaked through while Masky turned and ran full-speed at her brother…Sally’s killer.

He realized what was happening too late, and was tackled shortly after he turned to run. Masky tackled him to the ground, hard, and they both went rolling into the bushes out of sight of the clearing. Mr. Williams saw it happen and was torn between wanting to help and needing to stay with his wife. There was a yell from the bushes, followed by a wet cracking sound, then another…then another.

Maybe it was having her death avenged. Maybe it was having her remains fully unearthed. Maybe it was the feeling of her mother’s tears against her bones. Whatever the reason, Sally couldn’t ignore the harsh tugs pulling her spirit back to the site where she’d been buried anymore. Her soul, still dressed as the Queen of Hearts, appeared next to the open pit.

They were older now, much older than she remembered from the last time she saw them, but Sally recognized her parents’ faces. They didn’t notice her at first, as she stood there silently with Charlie gripped tightly to her chest. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She never thought this would happen.

“Please don’t cry, Mommy.” The quiet words were hypocritical considering the tears that had started to fall from her own eyes. Mrs. Williams almost fell into the pit trying to reach her. Sally moved to stand in front of them, and the couple embraced their child for the last time.

“It’s okay…Masky took great care of me.” Sally assured her brokenhearted parents as they held her tightly and cried, perhaps in some misguided attempt to keep her with them. Said proxy was watching from just outside the clearing with blood staining both his coat and the rock in his hand. He didn’t want to interrupt their reunion, though he felt warm rivulets of saltwater tracing lines down his cheeks beneath his mask.

“I…I have to go now…can you take me back to the park down the street that we always went to? The one with the green slide?” Sally asked hopefully with a hand on the folded tarp in her mother’s lap as she started to fade away. Her parents made their promises and struggled to hold on, but two humans can’t fight the natural order of things. Their daughter smiled at them as she disappeared into the ether, her final words taking on a faint, echo-like quality.

“I love you.” Then, she was gone. Her parents stayed for a while, her father silent and her mother quietly weeping. The mourning parents eventually got to their feet, Mrs. Williams keeping an iron grip on precious cargo in her arms. They passed Masky on their way out of the clearing, and Mr. Williams gave him a small, knowing nod of thanks that the proxy returned. They didn’t ask about Sally’s killer. Nobody explained it to them, but somehow through the context of the events that had just occurred, they knew what had happened.

Once they were gone out of sight and earshot, Masky turned back to the pit. He placed the bloodied stone in it and picked up the shovel. It didn’t take him long to fill in the hole, symbolically burying the past where it belonged.

“Thank you.” He turned to see Sally standing behind him, her face set in a melancholy expression. She hadn’t actually moved on, after all – she just knew it would be easier on her family if they thought she had. At least now she would get a proper funeral, and her soul would no longer be restricted to this little, isolated area in the woods. Masky dropped the shovel and approached her.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his stomach. She mumbled something, but he couldn’t understand. He held the ghost child he’d come to see as his younger sister as the faintest light began to make its way into the sky. They stayed like that for a while, and when she finally pulled away, he invited her to come stay with him at the cabin, at least until she knew what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go from here.

Sally accepted, and they walked off toward the Dark Wood together as the sun began to rise on a new day, shining with her new-found freedom.

//Sally can finally wander, y’all! She’s free from her area restriction! Masky’s a hero, and that is a hill I am willing to die on!//

#ask the good creeps #ask creepypasta #creepypasta #Halloween #all the pastas #short story

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nika-the-hunter · 4 years ago

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House of Mist [Ch. 10]

So I apologize for the massive delay. This chapter was going to be a flashback POV from the Archon, but writers block and the current world events have sort of driven that to a halt. In an effort to move the story along, I'm setting the flashback aside for maybe a future chapter/project. I reordered some of the storyboard to fit these changes. Hopefully other chapters will take less time, but I said that last time... so we'll see.

Northern Seattle Ruins, Pacific Northwest House Mist Territory +157 Days

---

Nicole sighed. "The House of Devils seem to have been a real thorn in your side for a long time."

The Archon let out a deep chuckle. "Yes, yes, they have been. Even back on the initial fleets, the Devils were the worst of the worst. Hence their name in your tongue." Marakis sighed and shook his head. His tone dropped. "They've been responsible for many atrocities against your kind, we hear a lot from the humans around here."

"I do want to hear more about the humans here... but... what did you do to draw the Devil's anger?" she asked.

"Well... that is a long one. Centuries ago, while we were living on one of the moons of your sixth planet. The House of Devils managed to track us down. They held us hostage with their superior numbers and ships. We may have had more hardware, but not the crews to use it."

He lifted a computer tablet from the table beside him and slowly swiped through it. "They threatened to wipe us out if we did not act as cannon fodder for their assault on what you call the Last City. There was nothing we could do about it." He brought an image up on the tablet and showed it to her. Smoke billowing up with a Spiderwalker in the foreground. Eliksni were grouped up around its legs, standing in the snow. A small village beneath the rim of something in the sky.

Her Ghost appeared and looked at the image. "This is the Last City? Is this the battle of Six Fronts?"

The Archon nodded. "I do believe that this is what your people call it."

Nicole slapped the Ghost. "So you do know stuff!"

He twirled around with the slap and stopped to blink at her. "It's not really useful information."

"NoT uSeFul inForMaTiOn." Nicole repeated his words in a mocking tone "I don't have any memories of anything. All information is good information."

The Ghost's fins angled down, giving him a frown look. "Okay fine. Once the Archon has finished with this info dump, maybe I can give you another."

The Archon clapped all four of his hands together. "By the Great Machine, you two are adorable. Ghosts have a much better sense of humor than our Servitors."

"Adorable or not," Nicole sighed and leaned back into her chair. "Please continue your story."

"Right right," he paused. "The battle went on for an awfully long time, the Humans were defending the city well. Our Kell decided to take the chance and we retreated. We took all our people and ran. And when the Devils came for us, to make good on their threat; we sprung a trap."

Marakis sighed and looked down at the floor briefly. "The Kell and his Barons stayed behind and held off the Devils as if Mist in its entirety was fighting back. Meanwhile they had the rest of us climb aboard our ships hidden beneath the oceans of the moon... when the time was right, we escaped. The ships jumped to warp immediately upon leaving the methane seas. I do not know what happened once we left, but from what we were able to work out, the shockwave from all our ships disabled the Devil Ketches and prevented them from tracking us here. As far as I know, our Kell and his barons fell in combat, except for Baron Acskis who he sent here to lead our warriors. Acskis has been angry about that ever since."

"He feels guilty that he was the only Baron to survive and not to die with the others" Nicole gave a sidelong glance at her Ghost, remembering that initial shot blowing out her thigh after the first fight in the Pass. Acskis had a monologue about a battle against the Guardians that night before killing her.

"Indeed, many of the old guard perished in the fight with your Last City and the Devils." He shook his head. "The Kell wanted there to be an experienced military leader to advise his son, who took up the mantle of Kell."

"I take it you may have had a run in with Acskis' anger?" He asked, noticing the look on Nicole's face.

"Yes... he shot me many times before finishing me off one night. Threatened to kill Rykis if we told anyone what happened." Nicole felt like informing the Archon was probably safe, and the best solution to that issue. Acskis had to be dealt with.

The Archon signed and interlaced his fingers; his Ether mask bubbled as he took a breath in. "That is troubling... That region is frequented by Human caravans, causing problems with them can be a relations disaster. I will talk with the Kell... and as for you with your acceptance into the House, you can move wherever you want within our territory. I think you would find yourself safer here in... as you humans say... Seattle."

Nicole nodded slowly; she did not want to leave her tower on the edge of the lake. Plenty of future plans had been made for fixing that place up. "Yes... I think I'll have to talk to Rykis about that."

Marakis perked up at that. "You want to talk with the Vandal about moving somewhere else?" He shifted in his seat. "Consulting an Eliksni?"

"Well... yeah..." Nicole felt like she was on the spot. "Rykis and I have basically been living together for the last five months. I think he deserves to be considered... Speaking of... where is he?"

"I never considered the effects of placing an Eliksni with a newly risen Guardian full time..." the Archon ignored Nicole's question and spoke quietly to himself in his own language. Thankfully Rykis had been a good teacher. He seemed to be in thought for a long time. "Well... how close would you say you two are?"

Nicole glanced up at the Archon, a bit of a blush and unease across her face. "I... would say we're pretty close."

He chuckled. "I do not think that he was going to come, I can have one of my associates get him and bring him here."

She nodded. "Yes, that would be nice, thank you."

The Archon summoned a Vandal from somewhere nearby and assigned them to find Rykis. Hopefully, they will come back with the right one; Nicole was not sure if Eliksni had last names but at this point she was too afraid to ask.

"If they are able to track him down, they'll bring him here. There must be more questions you would like to ask?"

"What made you stay here, in the ruins specifically?" She asked, it was not her first question, but keeping in line with the story he told would make it easier to remember.

"Ah well that was simple. The Ketch carrying our main Ether producing Servitor was damaged while escaping the Arcology, the ship crashed into the bay just off this city, and the wreckage was too twisted to free it. At the time it was our only Servitor of considerable size, we could not abandon it."

The Archon waved around, "Now we have many servitors, and we've built a place for us and the Human survivors that wish to take a chance on us. Mist has spent the past centuries forging a place where we can atone for our failures with Humankind. We are not a large house, but we hope it is enough."

Nicole gave him a smile. "Well I do hope that I can help with that." She believed this Eliksni was telling the truth about their motives. Absolutely nothing she had seen so far told her anything different, but the view of life she got in the ruins across the lake was not exceptionally large. "What about the Humans? What can you tell me about them?" There had been a handful of Humans at the admittance ceremony, some wearing House Mist garb, and some not.

"Oh Humans, they're wonderful. There are maybe a few hundred living across Mist Territory, primarily in their own enclaves that are mostly self-sufficient. We trade regularly with a few scattered settlements out across the mountain passes as well, but those haven't been seen since the Devils took up residence there."

She frowned, from what she had heard from Rykis the settlements out there have been quiet for years. 'I see... with the pass cleared will we be making a trip out there to check on them?"

"Likely yes, we also need to restore contact with the Mist crew over at the hydroelectric dam. Flybys with the Jackwings during the battle last month showed that the humans and dam looked to be faring well. But we have not heard from them in a while. Plus, the locals have asked us to check up on some of their people that were out of the flightpath."

"When do you think we'll head out there and do that? Can I go with them?"

"I do think that you will definitely be on that team." He replied. "Make no mistake there. They will want you to meet the locals." The Archon stood and motioned for her to follow him outside. "I anticipate the Kell sending you and the team out in the next few months, they've been doing too many missions lately, we need time to rest and recuperate."

"Then I would like to visit the humans that live here, is that possible?" Nicole asked, passing through the doors behind the Archon.

"That is something we may do. I can have the Vandals bring Rykis to meet us there too." Marakis replied.

"Well, I'd rather speak with them on my own, if you don't mind." She wanted to speak with the other humans on her own terms, and not have the Archon intimidating them. Their opinions on the House of Mist would help her ultimately determine her own thoughts about the trustworthiness of Mist from the Human perspective. From the Eliksni perspective, they seemed alright so far.

He walked her out to an old reflecting pool area underneath the tall art installations she had seen from the air. Various sculptures were surrounded by plants spiraling out from the center. It was obviously well curated. "I think we can do that." The Archon nodded. "Come, to the Skiff"

Nicole followed along to the waiting ship; the rain finally having let up. The Archon must have some sort of non-verbal communication with those that work around him, the oversized Skiff was powered up and ready to go as soon as they boarded.

They did not travel far, and the Skiff stayed low over the rooftops. It headed northwest, over the trees and crumbling buildings. Crossing the old docks, to a large steep hill covered in old low-rise buildings. The structures here looked like they were somewhat newer than the buildings downtown; however, they were far more overgrown. Small trees and bushes sprouted from the tops of buildings, the long unkempt remnants of rooftop gardens and greenspace.

On the other side of the hill was a wide flat area, ringed in a much smaller version of the wall that surrounded the Seattle area. The buildings inside were not very overgrown, many looked like they were still maintained. The area butted right up against the steep hillside that dropped down to the beach, where the water still lapped against the sand. Once the Skiff had done a flyover, it lowered down to an open area outside the wall.

"What is this place?" Nicole asked, hopping out once the Archon disembarked.

"This is one of the local enclaves that the Humans have. This site is arguably older than our habitation of the ruins, but they did not seem to mind once trading started."

Now that they were on the ground, Nicole could see a gate built into the wall. Either side was flanked with House of Mist banners but other, much older, banners blew on a pole above the gate. She had seen one down at the old base... Steilacoom. It was all over that place; painted on rusting vehicles and in tatters on poles. She had to guess that it represented what this region was way back in the Golden Age. The other banner on the pole was not the same layout as the top flag. It had a black and white sea animal superimposed on a geometrical shape. She had seen that before. The faded words on the bottom were not needed for her to recognize the UMIC company logo, the same one from the ID she had found on her old body armor. Thinking on it, she actually did recall the top banner from the card too. It had just been too faded.

She walked forward, taking the lead ahead of Marakis. This was something she wanted to do, finally really meeting fellow Humans.

Her Ghost appeared over her shoulder and looked around the wall. "Seems a bit more hastily built than the other one," he commented. "Last minute construction during the collapse?"

"Maybe, you can ask when we get inside." Nicole replied.

The Archon remained by the Skiff, respecting her wish to meet alone. Nicole approached the door and it began to swing open.

On the other side was an older scruffy Human. He was dressed in a worn bright yellow poncho, reminding Nicole that it had been raining just minutes before. A rifle was slung over his shoulder. He gave her a once over, and stopped on her Ghost, who was giving the old electrical control panel a digital prod. His face lit up. "Guardian! Welcome to Fort Discovery!" He waved her inside excitedly. "Come in, come in."

Nicole smiled and hurried inside. "Please, call me Nicole." The doors behind her slid closed, leaving the Archon outside with the Skiff. "What do I call you?"

"I am Pedro Luzana, sort of the person in charge here." A woman, also wearing a poncho jogged up to them as he led her through their small village. "And this is Athena Miller, my second in charge."

Nicole nodded to them. "Well it is good to meet both of you. I think the two of you are the only humans I've yet to meet face first."

"Right" Athena drew out the word. "You're that new guardian that Mist found poking around the old tunnels, aren't you?"

"Well, I wasn't just down there on my own accord. That's where my Ghost rezzed me." Nicole followed the two as they walked further into the 'fort'.

From the air, this place had looked deserted, and while not as overgrown as the rest of the area, definitely not livable; however from the ground, she could see that most of the overgrowth was on top of awnings and that the ground level was decorated and clear of plants. Human children played in the covered porches of the houses while the adults busied themselves, but everyone waved at the Guardian when they passed.

"Schematics." Athena said.

Pedro chuckled and put his hand on Athena's shoulder. "I'll tell you, when we heard that a Guardian had shown up down in Seattle, we were worried that all this stuff here would come to an end. But then the word came that you wanted to join up, everyone was relieved."

Nicole cocked her head to the side. "As you probably heard I don't know much about other Guardians; them showing up would be bad?"

He shrugged. "Guardians have a habit of shooting at anything non-human and never asking questions. We've never seen one up this way, but stories get passed from the trading caravans. They also like to round up any 'refugees' as they call 'em and send them down to that 'Last City' of theirs." He put his hands up in defense. "Not to say that living in the wildlands isn't dangerous elsewhere, but we've been lucky to have the House of Mist as neighbors."

"Well that's honestly relieving to hear," Nicole said. "I wanted to talk to someone here one on one so that I could find out if this whole Mist situation was okay. All I really know was what Mist told me since I woke up here."

"Mhmm, what we carved out here is good... well, what our founders made has worked well. I'm a third generation Fort Discovery resident. My great grandmother made her way here from a settlement beyond the mountains that got raided by another Fallen House." Pedro had led them to a collection of tables outside of a mostly open building. She could smell food and heard sizzling from inside. "Please have a seat. We can keep talking here."

Nicole plopped down in a seat, she had to adjust her new cloak so that it did not bunch up behind her against the chair back. "So, you called the House of Mist your neighbors? Their Archon said that you were part of Mist."

He sat across from her, and Athena took the seat beside the both of them. "Well yes, we are technically part of the House, but they let us run ourselves. We trade with their markets, help them fish and farm, even assist in the repair of things. Some bits of our old tech still need the Human touch. Do you drink?"

Nicole hummed to herself as she thought about the relationship between Mist and the Humans here. Everything seemed to be working fine with them. "Drink?" she asked, a bit confused, of course she drank water.

"Alcohol or beer? You know that sort of thing." Pedro replied.

The look on Nicole's face was probably response enough, as Athena broke out in a laugh. "I don't think she knows what that stuff is, Pedro."

"No? Right you're newly risen." He looked back into the building over his shoulder and got the attention of another Human inside. "Peter, can you get a cider for our Guardian guest?" The man inside nodded and disappeared deeper in the building. Pedro turned back to the table. "We'll start you on something easy," he laughed.

Nicole gave him a quizzical look. She had been alive for five months now, only eating what the Eliksni were eating, and drinking water. The food was good, but the water was just water. The other human, Peter, brought out a couple mugs and set them on the table. The amber liquid inside fizzed a little. "What is cider?"

"Well, it's a drink made from apples, or other like fruit. We used to get a lot from across the mountains, but that hasn't happened since the Devils closed the pass. This cider here has a kick to it. I think you'll like it." Pedro took his mug and had a sip.

Taking the mug from the table, Nicole looked into it, and gave it a sniff. It smelled bitter, but with a hint of something her mind said was fruity. The deep, not forgotten part of her head said it was apple. Shrugging, she took a sip and let it wash over her tongue. Instant regret. While it started out alright, the after taste was just not good. "Well... it's not bad." She winced. "Never had anything like it before." She set the mug back down on the table. Intent on getting back to the conversation, she looked around and then back to Pedro. "Is there anything bad about Mist? Or the situation?"

Lowering his mug, he set the now empty glass back down. "Eh... not really. They seem really eager to let us be most of the time. I don't think I can think of any incidents in my lifetime that come from Mist. Occasionally a small group of Devils will make it past the perimeter and bother us at our wall, but that's extremely rare."

Nicole thought back to the first night she was rezzed, and the Devil ambush she and Rykis ran into on the other side of the lake. That had been within the supposed safe area. She had put a stop to a lot of those when she helped clear the pass. "So, you think I should trust them?"

Pedro and Athena both nodded at the same time. "Hell yes," he exclaimed, "Like I said, Mist has been good to us, and having a Guardian here might just boost the stability of the area to where we start attracting other people."

"Might attract things we don't want though," Athena pointed out from behind her own mug of cider.

"And that's what I'm for," Nicole nodded, understanding.

"Exactly." Pedro laughed. "Hey Nicole, if you ever have any other questions, feel free to stop by. We'll be happy to help out."

"I think I'll do that. I like talking with fellow Humans." She laughed too.

After a bit more talking, Athena looked up from the table and waved to someone approaching. "Hey, Rykis. What brings you around?"

Nicole looked up and over to see her Vandal walking down the road, waving back to Athena. "Neh-cole asked for me to meet here," he happily replied.

"Well come on and take a seat. Been slow at the market?" Athena asked.

He came over and took the last seat at the table, the chair barely able to fit his larger frame. "I have not been to market for a while. I live with Neh-cole to help her adjust."

"Oh really?" Athena gave Nicole and Rykis a look. "You were the one that got thrown to the Guardian?"

Rykis laughed. "Yes, I was. The only English speaker within the Captain's reach. I thought I was going to die. But Neh-cole was nice."

"I had no idea what was going on when I came out of that hole." Nicole added. "My Ghost had told me about Eliksni, but you all didn't react like he thought."

"In my defense, I got my knowledge from encounters with the House of Winter, and what I learned from the Last City." Her Ghost finally spoke up from her shoulder. He had been flying around looking at things across the fort, and finally returned with Rykis.

"Well glad everything worked out." Athena said.

Rykis looked over at Nicole's full mug of cider. "Are you going to drink that?" he asked.

She shook her head and pushed it over to him. "I think I'm going to have to work on that. It's not really my thing."

"It's an acquired taste." Pedro said. "Once trade resumes with the eastern settlements, we'll have more to try."

Rykis took the mug and unlatched his mask, then proceeded to down the entire glass in one go. "I missed this."

Others from the fort began to make their way up to the table, and Nicole spent the rest of the day talking with the others that lived there. Children liked to poke her Ghost who decided to project a bunch of colors and lights to keep them entertained. It was a good day.

#House Of Mist #hom #destiny #destinygame #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #eliksni #fallen #guardian #hunter

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satonthelotuspier · 5 years ago

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Like Spring Rain. Like Starlight.

OK here we go. NieLan Fic! (P.S. It’s on AO3 if it’s easier for you to read there)

Firstly I have to thank a couple of lovely people for various reasons. Firstly @imaginaryelle for justifying me in my selfish want to write both endings I envisioned for this fic. And pointing me in the direction of their wonderful Good Omens choose your own adventure fic, as an example of (much better) execution, and a great read to boot.

Also @the-sassiest-trixster and @mylastbraincql for giving up their precious spare time to take a look at my fic and convincing me not to delete it at the 5k mark. Special extra thanks for Mei for the extra time she spent giving it a very thorough editing, if you notice it goes downhill after 5k thats 100% on me.

Also big thanks to everyone who showed interest in this at the sneak peak stage, you really made me buckle down to the idea, I really hope the rest doesn’t disappoint too much.

***

Lan Xichen retreated into seclusion following the events of the Guanyin Temple, but after months of vivid, horrifying nightmares he finally seeks out the help of the Yiling Patriarch with the intention of restoring his husband, Nie Mingjue's, consciousness.

Haunted by memories of their courtship and the knowledge that he goes against his clan’s principles, what decision will he finally make, to continue, or accept the past is gone?

***

This is a choose your own ending fic. At the end of this post will be a link to one of two different posts, which will have the ending option you chose! Happy Clicking.

About 13k words with both endings.

CW: Mild sexual description, blood, character death (obviously!)

He was trapped. It was dark and cold, stale air clung to his skin. He reached out to encounter a solid surface directly in front of him; it was made from stone and he tried to push at it but it didn’t move even a little. Feeling around him there were similar surfaces. Walls. Like he was in a sarcophagus. The truth of his situation dawned on him then and he began to claw helplessly against the lid of what was, after all, his tomb. The panic was real and tasted metallic on his tongue, but it was nothing to the feeling of fear as he heard a rustling of cloth beside him in the darkness; one that he hadn’t created. His breath would have caught but there was no longer any in his lungs.

Then that mocking voice, “Da-ge, why would you wish to go anywhere? We have eternity together”

***

Lan Xichen shot upright in bed, his chest rising rapidly with shallow breaths that barely provided enough air. He raised a hand to clutch at the front of his sleeping robes; his hand shook uncontrollably and the hold he had on the soft cloth barely helped steady it. He still felt like he would fly apart at the emotions swirling around inside him and he raised his left arm to sink his teeth into it and try to stifle the surfeit of feelings. He tasted the metallic tang of his own blood, and it sent a visceral shock through his body at the parallels between his dream and reality.

He couldn’t accept this as his reality for a second longer; if he kept dreaming these dreams he would go mad.

He leapt from his bed, barely pausing to pull on an under robe over his sleeping robe.

Lan Xichen had retreated into solitary seclusion many months ago; truth be told he wasn’t even sure how long ago it had been, yet now he left the Hanshi for the first time in that period like his demons chased hot on his heels.

And who was to say they didn’t?

The sky was barely starting to streak with dawn’s rays as he rushed through the paths of the Cloud Recesses to the Jingshi where his brother would just be waking up beside his husband, and if anyone had seen the previously elegant, jade-like Zewu-jun tearing through the pre-dawn light, hair dishevelled and loose, headband crooked, half-dressed and barefoot, they might have assumed they’d seen a ghost. Or a madman.

He paused and knocked urgently on the doorway of the Jingshi.

“Wangji, I’m sorry to disturb you both so early” he said through the door, negating his words with another knock.

The door slid open and Lan Wangji stood on the other side, a faint look of surprise on his passive face.

“Xiongzhang-” any greeting he would have made was brushed aside as Lan Xichen rudely pushed past him and into the Jingshi.

Wei Wuxian had obviously only just woken up at the racket Lan Xichen had caused and was sitting on the side of the bed, scratching at his head sleepily. “Wei Wuxian, I need the help of the Yiling Laozu. I beg you”

Wei Wuxian leapt up with a distressed noise as Lan Xichen fell to his knees and prostrated himself.

***

Lan Xichen was around fourteen the year they had first met. He had accompanied his Shufu to the Unclean Realm for a discussion conference that summer. As his father’s heir, Lan Qiren had wanted him to begin to learn how to take on the mantle of a sect leader and so he had travelled to Qinghe.

They were greeted at the gates and escorted to their accommodations, passing by a group of practising Nie sect disciples, one of whom stood at the front seeming to lead the sword forms. He was tall, broad-shouldered even in youth, and serious looking. Lan Xichen was distracted at the sight of him and stumbled slightly, something he managed to hide - at least from everyone except his Shufu who gave him a considering look.

Lan Xichen chose to pretend he didn’t see that look, unless he was directly questioned by Lan Qiren he would keep his own council.

As he wasn’t to attend the feast that evening he found himself at a loose end and decided to take a walk to explore the Qinghe Nie seat before he lost his time to endless discussions.

He didn’t know if it was karma, coincidence, or luck that he came across the young disciple he had admired that afternoon, but he was thankful to whichever force it had been.

The other young man was a few years older than Lan Xichen, probably around sixteen, and although he had been dressed simply that afternoon, he was now clad in more extravagant robes which told Lan Xichen he was of the Nie clan rather than an outer disciple.

They introduced themselves, and he discovered this was indeed Nie Mingjue, the Nie sect heir.

Lan Xichen was young and, despite his good manners, found it difficult to stop staring at the other; his handsome features were given a certain gravity of age by the sober, focussed look he seemed to wear. The older boy appeared to be in no rush to move on either as his own eyes searched Lan Xichen’s undeniably jade-like, yet still boyishly curved features.

A noise from somewhere off in the distance broke the spell, and they walked on together; Lan Xichen hadn’t missed the faint flush on the other boy’s cheeks, and he was thankful for his own complexion rarely showing his embarrassment.

They talked of the discussion conference, that they were both older brothers who were extremely protective of their younger siblings. There was a larger age gap between Nie Mingjue and his half brother than there was between Lan Xichen and Wangji, and from their words Lan Xichen suspected the other’s was a fiercer, more involved protectiveness compared to his own nurturing, yet light touch approach.

They ran out of route to walk before they ran out of words to say as they eventually found themselves in front of the house Lan Xichen had been assigned. Nie Mingjue asked tentatively if they might perhaps spend tomorrow together.

Lan Xichen was about to apologize and excuse himself, knowing he was expected to be at his Shufu’s side in the morning, but something made him pause.

He really wasn’t a selfish creature, and he understood his responsibility, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn Nie Mingjue down. He agreed, but stipulated they had to be away early, not explaining to the elder boy it was to ensure his Shufu had no chance to foil his plot before it came to fruition.

***

The next morning before dawn Lan Xichen sneaked out of the house, his conscience dictating he at least leave a message for Lan Qiren so he would know nothing bad had happened to him.

They took horses and spent the day exploring the woodland trails around the Unclean Realm; Nie Mingjue was attentive and strove to be entertaining, as if he wanted to make the best possible impression on the younger boy. He didn’t have to try so hard though because Lan Xichen was already dangerously close to being smitten.

It was nightfall before they returned, parting ways reluctantly inside the gates, their eyes not leaving each other until the other was out of sight.

Lan Xichen received the reprimand and penalty he had expected, with promise of further retribution in the form of a stroke of the discipline whip once they returned to Gusu, to remind him of the responsibility he bore to his clan and not himself. He didn’t begrudge his Shufu the punishment as he had been fully aware his actions were not acceptable at the time he had made the decision to disappear with Nie Mingjue that morning.

The following day he attended the discussions as expected at the side of his Shufu.

He really tried to pay attention, but it was doomed from the start as Nie Mingjue was also in attendance and less than half of what went on around him registered as they constantly stole glances at each other across the hall.

He was sent back to Gusu in disgrace the very next day, his Shufu making excuses for his absence. He received the double whip strikes Lan Qiren had ordered for him and retreated to his rooms to recuperate.

***

As he sat at Lan Xichen’s bedside Lan Wangji thought he began to understand how his brother felt in those first years when he had had to watch on helplessly while Lan Wangji mourned Wei Ying’s death. Except, his brother had also lost his husband during that time, and had his own deep grief to process at the same time as trying to support his brother and raise the child Lan Wangji had returned from the Burial Mounds with.

And while Lan Xichen had found some equilibrium in the years following the death of Nie Mingjue, he had been shaken to the core of his being once again by the events of the Guanyin Temple, where Jin Guangyao’s betrayal was brought to light.

Unfortunately, instead of bringing him some measure of peace, his self-imposed seclusion seemed to have had the opposite effect.

Wei Ying paused in his contemplative pacing, “Are we at fault? Should we have done more?” the question was one Lan Wangji had asked himself, but the root of the matter was that no one could come to terms with another person’s grief for them. Lan Xichen had been forced to live through his again, alongside the knowledge he had been betrayed by the person he held closest to his heart outside of his own family, in the most cruel and vicious way.

Lan Wangji placed the bloody cloth in the red-tinted water for the last time; the fact his brother had run to the Jingshi through the Cloud Recesses barefoot showed the disturbed state of his mind; and had resulted in torn and bruised feet which Lan Wangji had tended to.

“He looks so fragile, like if I touched him I’d break him,” there was a hint of panic in Wei Ying’s tone, and Lan Wangji stood up, drying his hands off, and took hold of Wei Ying’s shoulders.

“Wei Ying, calm down,” he rubbed soothingly.

“I can’t, you heard him ask me to return Nie Mingjue’s consciousness as clearly as I did, Lan Zhan. How the fuck am I supposed to react to that? Tell him that what happened with Wen Ning was more blind luck than design? That I was just a stupid, stubborn boy who refused to accept defeat? And if I did would it be the thing that destroyed him? He can’t even rest under the effect of sedatives.” The fact he cursed was an indication of how agitated Wei Ying was, as he waved a hand at the bed where Lan Xichen frowned and clutched at the blankets periodically in his enforced sleep.

He had become so disturbed after begging Wei Wuxian to help him bring his husband back that the only thing Lan Wangji had been able to think of to do was make him tea with sedating herbs in it.

“What should I do, Lan Zhan?”

How could he guide Wei Ying when he didn’t know what the answer was himself?

He couldn’t even decide whether or not to play Song of Cleansing for his brother, unsure of whether it would do more harm than good due to the connotations the music now had for him.

***

One evening, a few days into his recuperation, Lan Xichen woke up from a doze to find his younger brother, Lan Wangji, standing by his bedside. He had such a serious, concerned look on his face Lan Xichen automatically reached out to stroke his hair soothingly; “What’s wrong Wangji?” he asked softly, hiding the wince of pain that the movement of his arm caused as it pulled at his wounds.

“Xiongzhang’s back...” Wangji whispered.

Unfortunately Lan Xichen was unable to do anything to disguise or hide the marks from Wangji; the discipline whip caused significant tissue damage, so all he was able to do was lay on his front with his back exposed and wait for the welts to heal at least enough for him to function again.

“It’s nothing, Wangji, I barely even feel it,” he lied, aware if their Shufu heard him he’d be even angrier that Lan Xichen had dared to tell an untruth, even if it was to save his brother from distress.

“Xiongzhang, why would Shufu want to hurt you?” Wangji asked, worry and confusion in his small voice.

Lan Xichen had to push himself upright then, even though the pain almost made him vomit; he crossed his legs, lotus style, and pulled Lan Wangji into his lap despite the tears he couldn’t hold back at the burning agony it caused.

“Wangji, you can’t ever think Shufu wishes to hurt either of us. He loves us; he’s taken good care of us these years even though he never expected to have to raise children,” he stroked Lan Wangji’s hair again, “I just did some bad, selfish things that disappointed Shufu. He has to set examples for the clan and outer disciples; he can’t be seen to be protecting us just because we’re his family. Shufu is doing his best, Wangji, and we must help him and not blame him. Do you understand?”

Lan Wangji didn’t look entirely convinced, but nodded anyway, before he let his head drop to rest on Lan Xichen’s slender shoulder. Lan Xichen began to sing the lullaby he had always sung to him, one he had made up using snippets of something he could vaguely remember their mother singing to them, until Lan Wangji fell asleep. He wondered how much longer he would get away with such moments with his brother who would soon consider himself too old for cuddles and lullabies, how much longer until Wangji stopped looking at him like he hung the stars and the moon and realised his Xiongzhang was just a foolish, often overwhelmed, boy who definitely didn’t have all the answers Wangji assumed he did.

There was a sound of movement by the door and Lan Xichen’s eyes rose to meet Lan Qiren’s as his Shufu entered his room; he wondered how much of their conversation he had heard.

He held his breath as his Shufu raised his hand and stroked Lan Xichen’s hair gently. There was a soft shimmer of tears in his eyes made obvious by the candlelight. They said nothing for several moments; then Lan Qiren took something out of his robe and placed it on the bed beside Lan Xichen before he lifted the sleeping Lan Wangji into his arms and carried the younger boy off to his own bed.

The item Lan Qiren had left him was a letter, but as curious as Lan Xichen was about the contents, he had used up every reserve of energy he possessed to act normally and comfort his brother, and all he had the strength left to do was resume his previous position and fall into an exhausted, pain-filled sleep.

***

Somewhat recovered, he spent the next morning reading and re-reading the letter which had been sent by Nie Mingjue.

In his solid, unembellished script Nie Mingjue expressed how much he had enjoyed their meeting, his disappointment at the fact they wouldn’t get to spend more time together due to Lan Xichen’s sudden return to Gusu, and an invitation to enter into a correspondence.

Lan Xichen didn’t know what to do for the best.

His heart told him to grasp the opportunity to keep in touch with the young Nie Sect heir with everything he had, but his head told him his inability to separate his responsibilities from his desires had already attracted his Shufu’s ire and caused himself to act in a way which wasn’t compliant with the ethos of his sect, his family’s expectation, or even his own principles.

Perhaps he could be a good friend to Nie Mingjue, and hide his selfish, baser wants in the secrecy of his own heart. This seemed like an acceptable compromise, and, a few days later when he was able to be out of bed, he took up his brush and sent a response.

He considered waiting until his hand was steadier once he saw how shaky his normally elegant and praiseworthy script turned out, but he was too eager to keep Nie Mingjue waiting any longer for his reply.

Thus began their correspondence.

They sent letter after letter, never seeming to run out of things to say to each other; Lan Xichen, master of the gentlemanly arts, also sent poetry and paintings, while Nie Mingjue, a more pragmatic, less artistic boy expressed his admiration for Lan Xichen’s creations. They talked often of their younger siblings, of cultivation and night hunts, and, despite Lan Xichen’s resolution, they talked often of their own feelings, how they would enjoy spending more time with the other when the opportunity arose.

Then came the letter that set Lan Xichen’s heart fluttering in his chest like a caged bird.

Nie Mingjue would attend the Cloud Recesses to study under his Shufu in the spring; Lan Xichen pressed his hand against his chest as if that could still the quivering behind his breastbone.

***

The rest of the winter seemed to last forever and fifteen year-old Lan Xichen spent most of it telling himself he would not renege on his personal promise to be a very good friend to Nie Mingjue and accept that as enough.

Every sensible thought left his head the morning Nie Mingjue and his fellow disciples were due to arrive, however, and if he so happened to find the need to read his lessons under a Magnolia tree close to the gates of the Cloud Recesses, it was just a coincidence; this tree had a lovely amount of warm spring sunlight and shade, and it was next to a stream and the sound of running water was soothing.

It was such a nice spot, in fact, he was soon joined by Lan Wangji who brought his own lesson book and sat next to Lan Xichen with his back to the tree’s trunk, too.

Although it hadn’t been his original plan to have his now twelve year old brother in tow, Lan Xichen enjoyed the companionable silence of their shared study. At lunch he went to collect sweet fruits and water, and they had an impromptu picnic as the gentle spring breeze ruffled the grasses and blossoms around them.

Later in the afternoon the sounds of activity at the gate announced the arrival of their expected guest from Qinghe, and Lan Xichen leapt to his feet in eagerness.

Nie Mingjue was escorted into the Cloud Recesses by one of the gate guards, but Lan Xichen dashed forward, followed at a more normal pace by his brother.

“Nie-xiong!” Lan Xichen came to a stop, and, when Lan Wangji caught up the brothers presented their greetings in perfect synchronisation. Nie Mingjue blinked a little as if to check his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

“This is my brother, Lan Wangji.” Of course, Nie Mingjue would be aware of that; his double take had no doubt been a test to see if he really was seeing two of them. Lan Xichen was aware they were almost perfect copies of each other; only younger and much more aloof in the case of his didi.

Nie Mingjue returned their bow then, “Lan er-gongzi, your brother informed me you’re a considerable talent on the guqin and showing great promise as a swordsman.”

Knowing of Lan Wangji’s disinclination to talk much through his correspondence with Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue kindly thought to address his brother rather than ignore him, and, with a question to which he could give the barest of answers, or merely a nod if he felt unwilling to respond verbally.

Lan Wangji’s earlobes had turned a soft shade of pink at hearing Lan Xichen had praised him to this new acquaintance.

“Xiongzhang is too kind,” he managed, and Lan Xichen squeezed his shoulder.

“Please, let us show you to your accommodations and give you a tour of the Cloud Recesses.” Lan Xichen made the offer to Nie Mingjue which he accepted eagerly.

Lan Wangji excused himself, as he had been asked to see Lan Qiren after classes.

Suddenly inexplicably nervous, Lan Xichen set off in the direction of the guest houses.

He had been nervous, but it really didn’t take long for them to fall back into that easy rapport they had found in Qinghe while Lan Xichen showed him around the main areas of his home.

***

Lan Xichen considered the problem that evening as he meditated before bed, trying to calm his rioting thoughts.

He had wanted to keep things on a friendly footing between himself and the Nie Sect heir, and although he was young and inexperienced in such matters he had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t what Nie Mingjue wanted from him. If he was being honest with himself it wasn’t what he wanted either; he was undeniably drawn to the older boy, and, as naive as he was, he was intelligent enough to realise it was probably the first symptoms of romantic love on his part. A love he was beginning to understand he wanted dearly. And although he had promised himself he would keep things casual and friendly, he realised he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.

Therefore he had to prove to himself, and to his Shufu, that he could be an adult about his feelings; that he could could love Nie Mingjue and devote himself to the other, if that was what Nie Mingjue wanted too, whilst still ensuring he didn’t shirk his responsibilities to his family and his clan.

So he avoided Nie Mingjue in the daytime when he attended lessons with his Shufu. But he waited for the older boy after every class and they spent every spare second they had together. Sometimes Lan Wangji would accompany them, something that didn’t bother Lan Xichen at all, because as long as he spent time in company with Nie Mingjue it was enough; and it was nice to see Lan Wangji come a little out of his shell with someone outside of his family. Whether it bothered Nie Mingjue or not, he never let on and he always included the younger Lan in their conversations and activities. And for that, Lan Xichen loved him even more.

Because, by the time the two months Nie Mingjue had been allotted to study at the Cloud Recesses was almost up, Lan Xichen was sure he loved the other with all the passion and fervour a first love entailed in his impetuous Lan heart.

All too soon the last lessons were over, and their last evening together started. They walked their favourite trails out of Cloud Recesses and into the mountain woodlands surrounding Lan Xichen’s clan seat. At some point Nie Mingjue dared to reach out his hand and link his fingers through Lan Xichen’s. The younger boy’s heart tripped at the gesture, before soaring in elation, and he couldn’t keep the blinding smile from taking over his face.

Lan Xichen had never felt so happy before, like there wasn’t enough room in his chest to feel the things he was feeling, and he might explode with them.

He bounded into the clearing they came upon, stood in the centre, and raised his arms and his face to the sky as if to welcome the soft spring rain that had begun to fall. It was cool and refreshing, and he eventually lowered his arms and turned to Nie Mingjue, who watched him with a look of pure adoration and indulgence on his normally serious face.

Lan Xichen was unable to contain his joy, and, unable to let it out in any other way, he began to trace the intricate steps of a dance, humming the tune his body picked out delicately.

Nie Mingjue watched on, enamoured; every move spoke of Lan Xichen’s grace and elegance, every sweep of a deep sleeve, every flare of a robe hem, every fan of his hair was perfectly timed to the music and his body’s movement.

“Dance with me,” Lan Xichen asked, holding one fair, slender hand out to Nie Mingjue, who shook his head.

“I can’t dance, Xichen, and even if I could, an oaf like me has no business trying to dance with you, whose every movement is poetry,”

“The only oafish thing about you is refusing my invitation to dance. It’s extremely ungentlemanlike.” Lan Xichen caught Nie Mingjue’s hand and, with a strength that surprised the Nie Sect heir, he pulled the other into the centre of the clearing with him. “Just follow me and pretend you have Baxia in your hand. Sword forms are just dancing with weapons.”

Lan Xichen saw some of Nie Mingjue’s resistance crumble, and he seemed to have taken his advice about sword forms on board as he tried to follow Lan Xichen’s movements, watching him carefully like he might a disciple he was sparring with; fighting techniques could be applied to dance with the right thought.

He didn’t acquit himself too terribly and eventually they stopped, grinning at each other.

“Sometimes I think you aren’t real,” Nie Mingjue took Lan Xichen’s hands in his own.

“What can you possibly mean? I’m as real as you are,” he squeezed Nie Mingjue’s fingers between his own to prove his point.

“You’re ethereal Lan Xichen, like some nature spirit made human; I don’t believe you’re a product of this harsh, cruel human world. Your soul is too pure, too beautiful. You even thought to make a brute like me dance with you and managed it, guiding me so I didn’t even fall over you too much. No mere human could do that.”

“Ridiculous!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, but he suddenly felt himself pulled into the other’s embrace, and he stiffened in surprise.

“Mingjue-xiong?”

“I like you, Lan Xichen; you must know that by now. I haven’t tried to hide it.” He feathered his calloused fingertips along the length of Lan Xichen’s jawline, tipping his face up slightly so their eyes locked.

Lan Xichen swallowed, inexplicably flustered considering he had been almost sure of the other’s feelings and of what his own were. “I like you too,” his voice sounded breathless to his own ears, and he nervously ran his tongue along his lower lip. The raindrops that still showered from the spring night sky hadn’t done much to moisten them.

“May I kiss you?” Nie Mingjue asked and Lan Xichen swallowed again, before nodding. Yes, he did want that, although he had never been kissed before and the thought of this particular one was nerve-wracking.

A shudder shook his frame, and he wasn’t sure whether it was the cool, rain-soaked robes he wore or the anticipation of what was to come.

Nie Mingjue’s fingers slid into his hair, cupping the back of his head and tilting it slightly, before he leaned in slowly to feather his lips against Lan Xichen’s, then more firmly as they found the right angles and pressures.

It was both boy’s first kiss, so it was a clumsy and awkward experience, but it was the world to Lan Xichen and he poured everything swirling in his innocent young heart into it as he linked his arms around Nie Mingjue’s neck and held on for dear life.

When they parted Nie Mingjue sighed, and stroked Lan Xichen’s cheek gently with slightly trembling fingers, “I hate the thought of leaving you tomorrow, my Graceful Starlight.”

Despite the initial thrill he felt at hearing Nie Mingjue’s endearment, some of Lan Xichen’s euphoria faded at the reminder that this was their last evening together for the foreseeable future.

“Then we have to make the next time soon,” Lan Xichen told him, trying to take some comfort from the words for himself.

***

Lan Wangji looked up from the guqin as he heard the blankets rustle as Lan Xichen stirred back to consciousness. Lan Wangji was fully prepared for the consequences of his actions, knowing they had been beneath him, although he had acted to protect his brother.

Lan Xichen rose into a sitting position, fingertips against his forehead as he seemed to take a while to come back to his full senses. It was then he realised he was in the Jingshi and looked around until his eyes fell on Lan Wangji.

“Wangji,” a frown marred Lan Xichen’s brow. “You sedated me,” he accused, as he pushed the blankets back and moved to the edge of the bed.

“Yes,” he offered no apology, and Lan Xichen didn’t expect one; he knew Lan Wangji far too well. “Xiongzhang, you worry me.” Lan Xichen’s eyes shot up to meet Lan Wangji’s, a flare of fire in their dark amber depths, before it was tamped down and his eyes slid away.

“I’m aware. As soon as Wei Wuxian returns Mingjue-xiong to consciousness, I will be fine.” He said it challengingly, daring Lan Wangji to argue with him, and Lan Wangji had to admit it was disconcerting; his brother had never spoken to him, or anyone to his knowledge, with that kind of tone before.

And it was understandable. Lan Xichen wasn’t naive enough to think there would be no opposition to his request, and he seemed to be itching to start the fight now.

There was a part of Lan Wangji that thought Lan Xichen was far too emotionally frail to survive those future battles he would have to fight if he really wanted Nie Mingjue brought back to consciousness, and that wasn’t even taking his current physical frailty into account. Lan Wangji rose to his feet and moved to the bed, seating himself beside Lan Xichen, catching his wrist and pulling his sleeve back; the bloody crescent of teeth marks on his forearm had scabbed over, but hadn’t even begun to heal yet, proving his qi wasn’t flowing as it normally should.

He pulled his own sleeve back and placed their forearms side by side.

They were both naturally slender, but in direct comparison it was obvious how wasted Lan Xichen had become in seclusion. His wrist looked so birdlike that it might snap,

“Xiongzhang, even if you have Wei Ying agree to help you with your request, the rest of the world will not just hand you what you want. You will have to fight for it, you know that. You won’t convince them if you’re constantly on the point of physical and mental collapse; they won’t trust you,” he pulled in a deep breath, not wishing to make the next ultimatum, but he had to be honest with Lan Xichen on this point, “And I will not allow you to put Wei Ying in any form of danger, either with the rest of the cultivational world or with Mingjue-xiong’s corpse.”

Lan Xichen reached across to wrap his fingers around Lan Wangji’s forearm, squeezing it soothingly to show he didn’t hold his brother’s honesty against him, “I understand, Wangji. I would do the very same to protect my husband; which is all I’m trying to do.”

Lan Wangji had no words for him, it had never been an option for him in those desolate years of Wei Ying’s death, and therefore he didn’t know how he would have dealt with the situation if he had been presented with the same choice.

For a pragmatic man like Lan Wangji not knowing how best to help his brother was both frustrating and disconcerting.

He would support Wei Ying whatever his decision was, but he was fully aware of the morally grey path they would be walking if his husband did decide to try and help Lan Xichen.

Perhaps the single plank bridge into the darkness was his brother’s to walk this time.

One more thing needed to be made clear, “Xiongzhang, I don’t need to explain how many sect rules you will be breaking in this endeavour.”

“I’m fully aware, Wangji, I will ensure neither you nor Wei Wuxian suffer for my actions, you have my word as Sect Leader.”

***

Lan Wangji was standing on the verandah of the Jingshi when Wei Wuxian returned from the library pavilion, a few books under his arm as he absently twirled Chenqing in the fingers of his free hand. He noticed Lan Wangji and joined him.

“Xiongzhang is dressing.” Lan Wangji told Wei Wuxian as the other tucked the flute into his belt as he slipped under Lan Wangji’s arm and into his embrace.

“How is Xichen-ge?”

“Less disturbed.” Lan Wangji nuzzled Wei Wuxian’s hair.

“I know you’re worried, Lan Zhan, but we’ll get him through this, I promise.” Wei Wuxian pressed his face into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck where he seemed to fit perfectly, and they enjoyed the quiet of the moment.

Lan Wangji thought that probably meant Wei Wuxian had made his decision; he tamped down his natural worry. He would be at his husband’s side through whatever happened this time; and Lan Xichen had accepted he would stop Wei Wuxian at the first sign the Yiling Laozu was in danger from any source. Anyone wishing harm upon the Yiling Laozu would find Hanguang-jun and, hopefully, Zewu-jun in their way.

***

They pulled apart at the sound of the Jingshi’s doors opening, and Lan Xichen stepped out into the warming spring midday air.

He had dressed in robes that Wei Wuxian recognised as Lan Wangji’s; but the twin jades’ aesthetic was much the same and likely no-one else would notice.

He looked nothing like that madman who had appeared on their doorstep that morning now his ink black hair was tidied and fastened with an ornament that belonged to Lan Wangji; his headband was straightened, and the burning, half-feral look had disappeared from his face; although it was settled into a more melancholy, closed expression than Wei Wuxian had ever seen from the elder Lan brother.

There was no disguising how shockingly thin he had become in seclusion, however; it was obvious from the way the borrowed robes, that had been tailored for a man of his natural build, hung off him, looking slightly too big, and the exaggerated narrowness of the waist emphasised by the belt he wore. He would need feeding up to regain his strength.

He needed the cultivation world to submit to his request, and the best way to do so was convince them he was sure this was the best choice to make in the situation. He would need to be eloquent, sure of his conviction, and face down the other’s into agreeing. Wei Wuxian doubted he would be able to in his current physical and mental state.

He would have to work hard to get the agreement of the Sects, although so long as he could secure the agreement of Yunmeng, Lanling, and perhaps most importantly, Qinghe the rest should follow obediently.

And then the process itself would take time and effort; Wei Wuxian had vague memories of the things he had done to bring Wen Ning’s consciousness back but they weren’t entirely clear, and it would likely involve a lot of trial and error on Wei Wuxian’s part.

He couldn’t remember whether he had made a manuscript of the process at the time; perhaps he would speak to Jin Ling and gain access to look through the spoils that had been found in Jin Guangyao’s treasure room. There had been enough of Wei Wuxian’s other manuscripts kept there that if he had made such a record it was a likely place to start.

With that, and the books of cleansing, calming music he had been to the library to hunt out for Lan Wangji, he thought there were taking the first steps needed to help Lan Xichen at least ready himself for what was to come.

“Lets lunch.” he told the Lans cheerfully, and that was a start on one of the other stages; feeding Lan Xichen up into a more natural state.

***

Lan Xichen sank his teeth into the solid, muscled shoulder to stifle his cry of completion as he clung on to Nie Mingjue. The other’s large, calloused hand, currently still wrapped around them both, continued to stroke urgently, dragging soft whimpers from the younger man, until Nie Mingjue pressed his face into Lan Xichen’s neck and moaned “A-Huan, my Starlight.” into his skin as sweet aftershocks trembled through them both. A few moments later Nie Mingjue rolled onto his side and pulled Lan Xichen into his warm embrace, uncaring of the mess between them. Lan Xichen revelled in the duel feeling of utter contentment caused by sexual release and being cradled against the man he loved.

“Mingjue-gege” Lan Xichen murmured, knowing the other adored the soft, nasal sound of the endearment on his tongue; then he angled his head up to steal a kiss that was pure lazy indulgence. “Do we really have to get up today?”

“Unfortunately. I’m not willing to take the chance of your Shufu finding you in my bed. You’ve risked enough on my behalf.”

When Nie Mingjue had first seen the discipline whip scars on Lan Xichen’s back, and more importantly learned of their origin, it had been all Lan Xichen could do to stop the other from walking away from him; the knowledge he’d been the cause, however indirectly, of harm to the boy he loved had almost destroyed their relationship in that single moment. Lan Xichen was nothing if not stubborn though and he had refused to allow it.

“I’d risk them again and again for you, and for us.” Lan Xichen placed a delicate kiss against Nie Mingjue’s chin in an echo of what he had said that first time.

“Then when are you going to tell your Shufu about us, A-Huan? You’re eighteen now, I’m more than ready to declare my suit to your family; to the world. I want to be your husband; to have the right to hold you close to me as I fall asleep, and again when I wake up. I want the right to bring you pleasure, to have you come apart in my arms without worrying who will hear us through the walls of an inn. I want the right to not have to constantly be looking over our shoulders as we steal into each others rooms on the few nights a year we can arrange joint night-hunts. I want you to be mine, Lan Xichen”

Lan Xichen was deeply touched; there was no denying it. But he was also distressed; it wasn’t the first time Nie Mingjue had expressed his desire to formalise their relationship. And Lan Xichen wanted all those things too, but he was terrified his Shufu would raise objections, would find the thought of having his nephew distracted and divided between his duties as a future Sect Leader and his duties as the husband of the Leader of another Sect abhorrent, despite all the hard work Lan Xichen had put in in the last three years, trying to prove he could be everything that everyone needed him to be.

Most of all he was worried that his Shufu would express his dislike of the idea in a way that would be hurtful to Nie Mingjue; he would do anything to protect the man he loved from that kind of pain.

But it seemed he was trying to protect Nie Mingjue from that potential injury only to be causing him actual injury in another way.

“Is it because you’re ashamed of me? I know a brutish butcher’s descendent is hardly fit to even gaze upon the famed First Jade of Lan, but I didn’t think it was something that troubled you” Nie Mingjue asked him and Lan Xichen felt awful for being the person who, unwittingly, had made this proud, brave, and loving man feel like less than he was.

Lan Xichen cupped the other’s face in his warm hands, “Mingjue, if I could spend the rest of my days loved by a man as wonderful as you I would consider it the honour of my life” he pressed their foreheads together, “I never ever wanted to hurt you. I’m just scared my Shufu will. I’m terrified I haven’t done enough in the past three years to prove to him that I’m worthy to lead the Gusu Lan clan, and be the husband you deserve. I’m worried my Shufu will blame you instead of accepting my failures” throughout his admission he had held the other’s dark gaze to prove the earnestness of his words.

Nie Mingjue reached up as he finished speaking to stroke Lan Xichen’s cheek softly, “You silly boy. I don’t care about whether your Shufu is cutting with me or not; I’m willing to fight for us. I never expected you to carry that weight of responsibility alone, A-Huan, a relationship is a partnership; let me bear some of that burden with you.” Nie Mingjue bent to kiss the tears that had spilled over from Lan Xichen’s eyes at his words.

He had never heard anything more beautiful.

Lan Xichen hadn’t realised how much pressure he had put on himself the last years, trying to prove he could keep up with every aspect of his life and execute them all perfectly. With Nie Mingjue’s words it was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps sometimes he didn’t have to be perfect, because his beloved would carry the torch for him when he couldn’t.

“I love you, Nie Mingjue of Qinghe Nie,” his arms slid around the other’s neck and he pressed a soft kiss against Nie Mingjue’s smiling lips, “and it is this lowly gentleman of Lan who is unworthy of the honourable Nie Sect Leader’s love and devotion. But I will talk to my Shufu tonight, I swear it.”

“We will talk to your Shufu tonight,” Nie Mingjue corrected him; “this is for us, I want to be there too, to ask him for your hand.”

A bubble of giddiness rose up through Lan Xichen, and he couldn’t help but tease the other. “But Mingjue-gege, you’ve already had my hand. And sometimes my mouth...”

To say the Nie Sect leader was scandalised was a mild statement of the situation and the First Gentleman of the Cultivation World found himself laughing helplessly at the utterly shocked expression on the other’s serious face.

“Please don’t say that in front of your Shufu, A-Huan” Nie Mingjue shook his head in disbelief, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of pink.

***

Despite Nie Mingjue’s soothing words of the morning Lan Xichen’s stomach was in knots as they knelt, side by side, in front of Lan Qiren that evening.

He didn’t want to have to choose between the Sect he was raised to lead and the man he had been fortunate enough to come to love; he wasn’t even sure whether it would be a choice he would be able to make. Perhaps in a few years time, when Wangji was older, he would be able to walk away; if Mingjue was willing to wait for that long.

He daren’t raise his eyes from the floor, glad it would hide the sheen of tears that the thought of being forced to choose between his duty and his heart caused.

He held his breath as Lan Qiren placed the cup down on the table in front of him, and Lan Xichen curled his hands into fists inside the sleeves of his robes.

“I will speak to your Die when we return to the Cloud Recesses tomorrow and advise him to approve the betrothal”

Lan Xichen let out the breath he had been holding, feeling suddenly dizzy with relief and the intense happiness his Shufu’s words had on him. He was about to turn to Nie Mingjue when Lan Qiren began again.

“If he agrees I advise you to hold the wedding as soon as possible, no later than the summer, considering how long you have been sneaking around in the shadows together”

Lan Xichen’s soul left his body at the implications of Lan Qiren’s words; his neck felt warm, and he spared a quick glance at Nie Mingjue who had been shocked into complete stillness at the mention of their sexual relationship for the second time that day.

Nie Mingjue was about to prostrate himself and beg forgiveness when Lan Qiren raised his hand, “Nie-zongzhu may leave.”

Lan Xichen could see indecision flash across the flushed face of his soon-to-be betrothed.

He reached over and squeezed Nie Mingjue’s arm gently, willing him to follow Lan Qiren’s orders.

Nie Mingjue understood Lan Xichen’s urging and got to his feet, even if it was unwillingly. He offered a low bow to Lan Qiren before leaving nephew and uncle together in the flickering candlelight.

“I am in a particularly difficult position here” his Shufu stroked his beard, indicating he was deep in thought, “I could hardly say no to your marriage considering the nature of your relationship.” he dropped his open palm to the tabletop then, making Lan Xichen jump a little, “But I am unhappy to be tying you to a man you carried off with in secret. It speaks of the nature of your feelings that you neither felt deeply enough on the matter to go through the proper process until now.”

“Shufu!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, “It’s not like that. I love Mingjue-xiong with everything I am. Mingjue-xiong has wanted to formalise our relationship since almost his time at the Cloud Recesses.”

“How can you claim your feelings run this deeply when you refused to do so, then?”

“I was terrified you would reject him; I’ve spent the last years trying to prove to you I could be with Mingjue-xiong and be the Sect Leader you wanted me to be without failing at either. I feared you would think he was a distraction, like you did at Qinghe; that you would send him away; that you would say something to hurt him because of my shortcomings. And if I didn’t ask, you couldn’t say no.”

Lan Qiren was silent for a long time. “When we return to Gusu, you will copy Virtue two hundred times” he said eventually, “Three hundred if you dare to sneak off to that boy’s room again tonight”

“Understood, Shufu. Thank you.” Lan Xichen rose to his feet and made his own bow, forcing himself to walk slowly, as befitting his image, from his Shufu’s room.

He was already resigned to his punishment of three hundred copies of Virtue before he even closed the door behind him.

***

Lan Xichen sat across from his brother-in-law, who hid behind his open fan. He could see there was a war of indecision in his dark gaze. One Lan Xichen had fought himself on many occasions.

He sipped on the tea his host had provided, knowing he’d gain nothing by pushing Nie Huaisang before the other was ready to make his response.

“Er-ge...” it was tentative, “Is Wei-xiong really sure he can bring ge’s consciousness back?”

“No, Huaisang, I’m afraid he can’t promise success, only that he’s willing to attempt it.”

A longer pause.

“I thought, sometimes, that I might ask...but I didn’t know whether...would it be better to not…?”

Again Nie Huaisang only expressed thoughts that had occurred to Lan Xichen again and again in the long days and nights he had spent in seclusion; he had come to his own conclusion only after much reflection. He kept the basis of those conclusions to himself however; Nie Huaisang would use his own to form his decision.

They sat in silence for a while. Nie Huaisang staring blankly into the distance as he processed his thoughts. The sounds of a busy Sect base filtered in from outside on a soft spring breeze that played through the draperies of Nie Huaisang’s hall.

It wasn’t easy, it never had been, sitting here with Nie Huaisang, with the younger brother in the seat that he had been more used to seeing Nie Mingjue in; how often had he moved over and slid himself into his husband’s lap when the hall had been empty of everyone but the two of them?

There was always part of him that expected Nie Mingjue to come striding in, invigorated from some hunt, or sparring session, and boom at them both for wasting the better part of the day at whatever artistic pursuits they undertook in silent companionship.

Lan Xichen had felt he and Nie Huaisang had always gotten on well together; the other just as much a little brother to him by dint of his marriage to Mingjue than Wangji; and Lan Xichen was someone who Nie Huaisang felt understood his personality. The former was just as comfortable with a paintbrush or calligraphy pen in his hand as with Shuoyue; Lan Xichen had therefore been someone who could sympathise with both brothers in their battle of wills when it came to cultivation.

As difficult as this was for Lan Xichen, however, Nie Huaisang had to live in this hall every single day; with the memory of his larger than life brother around every corner; Lan Xichen had much respect that Nie Huaisang managed to cope with it.

That being said, and as much as he had always considered Nie Huaisang like another younger brother, he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted him anymore; there was a side of deep manipulation and scheming he, and the rest of the cultivational world, had never expected; and he was fully aware he had been used by the other at the Guanyin Temple.

The further he got away from the events, however, the less he cared about that fact.

The snap of Nie Huaisang’s fan being folded in an unusually decisive movement brought his thoughts back to the present and he looked expectantly at the other.

“I would have done anything to have saved my brother, er-ge, and there’s a part of me that hates you for trying to protect that piece of shit, for giving him access to ge, and for not noticing what went on under your nose for months, and maybe years”

Lan Xichen couldn’t even defend himself from the accusation; because there was no defence. He had accused himself of the same things over and over again since the truth had come out.

“But there’s the other part of me that knows my brother, that knows if he hadn’t wanted to swear brotherhood no amount of pressure you exerted would have been enough to convince him to do so. I also know that was the part of you he loved the most; your trust, your kindness, your willingness to see the good in everyone, your gentleness of spirit, and I know he would never have blamed you.

“I know you never once complained when you had to walk away bruised and bloodied when the sabre curse took him more and more towards the end; and how hard you worked to try and hide it from me because ge asked you to.

“And I know no one could ever blame you more than you blame yourself, er-ge, because I know that’s the kind of man you are,” he put the fan down on the table in front of him with a click. “I know you made my brother the happiest he had ever been when you agreed to marriage, and that the times after were the most treasured of his life, and for that I’ll never be able to thank you enough.

“In the end neither of us were able to protect ge in life, if I get the chance to do that in death...well...then that's a good thing”

***

In the end they were married very shortly after their audience with Lan Qiren; neither of them willing to wait a second longer than they already had, due to the misguided stubbornness on Lan Xichen’s part.

It was done with little pomp and ceremony, and with very few guests.

The only person Lan Xichen had eyes for that day was Nie Mingjue, so handsome and solemn in his red and gold robes. When he laid eyes on Lan Xichen a smile so tender and joyful pulled at his mouth Lan Xichen thought his heart might stop beating in his chest and never start again.

Later, he was scooped up in the other’s arms and carried off; he protested, “Mingjue-gege, I’m far too heavy,” he laughed at the absurdity, “I can walk perfectly well, put me down.”

“Never again, my Starlight, my husband” he was carried through the courtyard once they reached Nie Mingjue’s house, and through to the bedroom where he was placed carefully in the middle of the bed. Nie Mingjue knelt next to him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Now I have the right to carry you off and keep you close all night, I’ll never stop again”

And he kept his word for the rest of his life.

It was a tragedy that they never realised what a snake with jealous eyes they harboured in their bosom, but the tale of their downfall had already been told elsewhere.

***

Lan Xichen had chosen to meditate that morning, to calm his racing thoughts and carefully construct his arguments.

He knew what he needed to say. He didn’t know how it would be taken by the assembled Sect Leaders.

He had Huaisang on side, that meant two of the four great sects were in agreement already. In reality he need only sway Jiang Wanyin of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect as Jin Rulan, the young and inexperienced head of the Lanling Jin sect, and Jiang Wanyin’s nephew, would no doubt look to his uncle’s decision for guidance on such a matter.

Jiang Wanyin was the wildcard he couldn’t predict the reaction of; that man kept his own counsel these days and rarely became deeply involved in matters of the cultivational world.

Lan Xichen thought it was probably the way Jiang Wanyin chose to protect himself after what had happened to him in the Sunshot campaign and beyond.

They were all living with the consequences of what had occurred in the wider world since the Wens had been defeated; and not many cultivators had walked away unscathed.

Despite his best attempts Lan Xichen’s mind refused to calm, and it could be entirely attributed to the fact he was now, at this stage, however ironically, questioning whether the choice he had made was the correct one.

Was it fair? Was he being entirely selfish? Would Mingjue suffer? The thoughts rioted through his mind on an endless loop, and he could garner neither sense nor reason from them.

He was brought distraction as the small delegation of his brother, his brothers-in-law, and Wen Ning arrived at his door.

Nie Huaisang looked like he’d barely slept the previous evening, he looked as if the decision weighed as heavily upon him as it did on Lan Xichen.

“Xiongzhang, are you prepared?” Lan Wangji asked, and Lan Xichen rose gracefully to his feet.

Their weeks of rehabilitation had had their positive effect on Lan Xichen; he no longer looked quite so emaciated, and the use of alternative calming songs hunted out in the Lan’s library pavilion by Wei Wuxian had helped him channel his nervous energy. Mostly.

He still dreamed the dreams; but he was able to deal with the aftermath better now.

He was about to precede the party out of the door when something occurred to him. He paused, and turned to Wen Ning, who had agreed to attend as the walking example of what they hoped to achieve with Nie Mingjue.

“Wen Qionglin, did you resent being brought back?” The question was no doubt rude, but one he felt compelled to ask once it had occurred to him.

Wen Ning wasn’t expecting the question. He glanced at Wei Wuxian, as if seeking his guidance on how to respond, but Wei Wuxian was too busy, (probably purposefully), trying to get Lan Wangji’s attention to help him out.

Nie Huaisang’s sharp gaze was also avidly fixed on the Ghost General.

“Lan-zongzhu, I was happy to be given the chance to return and protect my loved ones.” The answer was a diplomatic one, and told them nothing. And perhaps everything.

He looked at Nie Huaisang, who’s face held the same torn, undecided expression his must now be showing.

Please choose:

It’s time to let the past go, I won’t continue with our plan.

~ or ~

The future is waiting for us, I will continue with our plan.

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sparksinger · 5 years ago

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A sweet moment in the fic I’m currently writing...

...okay, so the Transformers movies always portray Optimus as this big bad angry™ robot who just wants to kill everyone and destroy stuff.

It is my aim in my fics to show a different and more vulnerable side to the big guy, because even Primes get sad and afraid sometimes, and no, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

In this moment he is teaching Cordelia a little about swordsmanship and tells her about his past.

When you think about what Optimus has gone through, it is no wonder the poor guy is a little angry and sceptical now and again. He had to go through the betrayal of the mech he thought of as a brother, the loss of his freedom, the loss of his people and the loss of his world. Then he finds a new world and saves it to be repaid by his people being slaughtered in cold blood.

In Cordelia he has found someone willing to see past the mantle of Prime and just see Optimus. She listens to his worries and fears, his hopes and dreams for the future. She gets to witness his little dorky moments that nobody else sees (best one being him mouthing the lines to Ghost when he thought no one was watching).

In turn, he is there for her when she needs a pillar of strength and someone to lean on. They are a team, and always have each other’s back.

Anyhoo, onto said moment...

…Thwack. THWACK. Cordelia was brought back to the present by the dull thud of Optimus’ sword. She felt rather than heard the last blow. It vibrated through her chest, sending mini waves of motion to her ribs and sternum.

She made her way from the living room into the kitchen. The back door was closed, but through the glass window, she could see Optimus busily stacking the logs he had chopped into a neat pile. The mechanisms in his back tightened and then loosened as he bent and straightened. She slipped her feet into the snow boots that sat by the doormat and pulled her woollen cardigan tighter about her shoulders.

She stepped over the threshold, shutting the door quietly behind her. Optimus turned to face her, leaning the sword on the back wall of the house. She eyed the pommel of the sword speculatively, but Optimus was already two steps ahead of her.

“Ah-ah. Not while you’re pregnant. The risk of injury to both you and the baby is too great.”

She raised a brow. “Not even one go?” Optimus rolled his optics in mock indignation and stepped behind her.

“Very well. On one condition, I will aid you.” She nodded in agreement and playfully stuck her tongue out at him.

He stepped behind her, his feet crushing the powdery snow that had not yet been trodden in. He reached around her for the sword, which was almost as tall as she was. The tip of the handle came up to her chest. Optimus’ other arm whispered around her waist and gently grasped her right hand in his. He guided it to the base of the pommel and slowly closed her fingers around its thick bottom. “Try lifting it.”

She did as he said and gasped when she felt the weight of it. It was a solid, leaden weight that she found she couldn’t shift even one centimetre. Optimus guided her other hand to sit near the top of the pommel and then helped her to lift it. “Plant your feet firmly on the ground. A stable base is one of the most important factors in efficient swordsmanship.” His baritone voice was silky as he rumbled into her ear, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

She made sure that both feet were planted firmly on the ground, swaying a little to test her balance. “Okay, I’m ready for the next bit.”

“Okay, now we are going to ‘jab’ our enemy. Now, fighting with a sword is a skill that must be honed over many millennia, erh, years. One cannot just jab or stab at their opponent. In all likelihood, the sword will over-balance you.”

He moved her hands with his own, bringing the sword upwards in a curving motion. “We create the necessary momentum…” he pulled the weapon backwards, the pair of them moving as one “…and now, we thrust forward with every ounce of strength that we possess.”

He gently manipulated her arms forward whilst his own arms supported the weight of the sword.

THRUST

She watched as the winter sunlight danced up and down the blade, highlighting the Cybertronian glyphs that ran the length of it. She let go of the pommel as Optimus placed it back up to lean against the wall of the house.

She wrapped her cardigan more securely around her shoulders, hunching them up against the cold. “What do those glyphs mean?”

Optimus opened the back door and stepped away, inviting Cordelia through first. He turned and grabbed the pile of freshly chopped firewood and deposited it into the woodpile in the kitchen. He shut the door with a light nudge of his foot.

“Those glyphs are the foundation for our motto as the Autobots. ‘Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.’ The particulars ones on that sword say, ‘Noble are those who fight for freedom. Free are those who fight for the vulnerable. Weak are those who oppose us.’” Optimus seemed to inwardly sigh.

“What is it?”

He smiled sadly at her before he answered.

“That sword and those words…they originally belonged to Sentinel Prime. He bequeathed the sword to me many eons ago, after I became a Prime. I saw fit to shorten the phrase and…add my own take on it, as the humans say.” His shoulders sagged downwards.

“I still, even now, regret extinguishing his Spark. He was the mech who raised me Lia…the mech who made me who I am! He, who taught me the difference between right and wrong, who gave me my own moral compass! How could his have gotten so skewed? How did he become so lost?!” His intakes whined audibly as the vents on the back of his head cycled in more air.

Cordelia offered him her hands and he clung to them, adrift in the sea of his own emotions.

“There were seven Primes, created by Primus himself. I am descended from that dynasty…and what do I have to show for it? A dead world, a dying race and a world I am struggling to protect!” He let go of her hands and covered his optics. “I am weak, and I no longer have what it takes to be a Prime.”

Cordelia pulled a chair over and stepped up onto it so that she was just a head taller than Optimus. “Yes, you do. You are worthy of being a Prime and so much more.” She slipped her arms around the metal collar that adorned his neck and shoulders. “And do you know what else? I believe in you, Optimus Prime.”

His optics grew misty at her words. She watched as many different emotions flickered across the cerulean orbs, before settling on incredulity. She studied his face carefully, watching the subtle movements of the lenses that made up his optics. They took on a haunted expression, troubled by something that was from his distant past.

“Talk to me big guy. Don’t hold it in.” She gently squeezed his hand as she spoke and his long fingers slowly curled around hers, seeking comfort.

-- excerpt from Lionheart

#optimus prime #transformers #maddy is writing #maddy's fanfiction #optimus prime fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #long post

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snelbz · 5 years ago

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Ghosts of Christmas Past

Christmas in July {Day 6}

Aelin Galathynius

Written with my wonderful best friend, @tacmc.

Aelin hated the holidays. They were full of wretched memories and the realization that she was completely, utterly alone. Her parents had passed away when she was a child, and all of her friends had gone off and married the loves of their lives, leaving Aelin to spend the holidays alone or get pity invites to their family gatherings.

It was now a dark, snowy Christmas Eve and Aelin was sitting in her pajamas watching Miracle on 34th Street with a bowl of popcorn and a Rumchata filled hot cocoa. With a yawn, she stretched out her legs and let her little fireplace warm her naked toes until her eyelids fluttered shut.

Sleep.

She just needed sleep for her pity party to end. So, what? She had no family and was single. That didn’t mean the holidays had to be horrible. She would wake up the next day and go to Aedion and Lysandra’s and all would be well. She would laugh and eat too much and most likely drink too much.

Sleep.

She just needed a little bit of sleep.

Hours later, she awoke with a gasp, sitting up and looking around her townhouse.

She saw no obvious reason for why she’d been ripped from sleep, but she settled back into the pillows, knowing she should go up to her bed.

Then she heard it.

A rattling sound of metal dragging across the floor was getting louder and louder, almost as if it was getting closer. It sounded as if it was directly above her head. She glanced to the stairs, waiting for someone, something to make an appearance and then-.

Sam.

Sam was standing on the landing of her stairs.

Aelin froze, blood running cold. “Sam?”

He smiled, bright and wonderful, that same smile that she had fallen for so many years ago. “Hello, Aelin. Merry Christmas.”

Aelin glanced at the clock on the wall. He was right, it was just after midnight. “I- You’re…”

“Dead?” He asked, brows raised. “Sure am. Wanna go for a walk?”

Aelin hesitated, she couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth to ask him another question, but he just shook his head. “Come with me and your questions will be answered.”

Before she could move, before she could get up, she found herself standing in the snow, the sun blindingly bright against the stark white surrounding her.

There was a little girl skating on the frozen lake. A young man followed her closely, lifting her in the air, making her giggle.

Aelin gasped and breathed, “Dad…”

She felt the tears beginning to fall as she asked, “What is this? Dad!”

“He can’t hear you,” Sam said, standing an inch behind her.

“I don’t understand,” Aelin whispered.

“This is Christmas Eve,” Sam said, gesturing around. “When you were ten.”

The Christmas before her parents died. Aelin watched as the younger version of herself skated around, hand in hand, with her father. She remembered that day. She used to love skating with her father.

“Why did you bring me here?” She asked, her voice as cold as the air around them,

“To remind you,” he said.

She snapped, “Of what?”

“That you used to love Christmas.”

As if his words were a trigger, she suddenly found herself in the cold, unfriendly den of Arrobyn’s home.

After her parents had passed away, Aelin found herself in Arrobyn’s care. He was her only remaining family, being her father’s brother. A horrible bastard, one that only cared about himself.

A young Aelin entered the room, sobbing silently as she plopped down in the corner of the den, where a Christmas tree should have been but wasn’t. Arobynn didn’t do Christmas.

He had gone off somewhere that morning, leaving an 11-year-old Aelin alone on Christmas morning.

Aelin watched her younger self, her heart aching just as much as it had that morning so many years before.

Sam brushed his fingers along her forearm. “I wish I had known you then. I would’ve spent Christmas with you.”

Aelin knew that. Sweet Sam. He had loved her when she hadn’t yet loved herself.

“I hated him,” Aelin said, as her younger self stood up, dried her eyes, and began her chores. “I felt nothing pwhen he died, and maybe that makes me a horrible person but I don’t care.”

Before Sam could reply, the front door swung open and Arobynn entered. The snow was swirling outside, a storm brewing.

Aelin stopped from where she was dusting the mantle. “Merry Christmas,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t know she had been crying.

He didn’t acknowledge her words, only taking a second to look over her cleaning. “You missed the second level of the mantle.”

With that, he swept out of the room and Aelin watched as her knees hit the wooden floors and she began the cry again.

“What’s this to remind me of?” She whispered, bitterness filling her voice.

“Of the moment you stopped loving Christmas.”

Suddenly, she found herself watching as Sam — more solid and corporeal than the man standing next to her — hung ornaments on a lit tree in the corner. Christmas music was merrily playing from the television and he hummed along, making the apartment as festive as possible before-.

The door opened and Aelin stride in wearing her high school cheer uniform. She froze when she saw the decorations. “What are you doing?”

He softly smiled at her, “I thought this place could use some-.”

“You know how I feel about this holiday,” she said, dropping her backpack on the couch and heading for their bedroom. She shut the door behind her and the sound of the lock clicking filled the room.

When Arrobyn has died from a heart attack when she was sixteen, rather than go into the foster system, Aelin petitioned the state for emancipation; to see her, for all intents and purposes, as an adult. It was granted and with the inheritance she received from her parents, she got a cheap apartment across town from the high school and paid a full year’s rent. And then she met Sam. He was a couple years older than her, having went to high school with her. He’d been the light in her dark tunnel, an anchor for her to hold onto when she felt like she was drowning. He knew her inside and out. And he knew how she felt about this time of year.

The Christmas music continued to play until he picked up the remote and muted the tv, and he knocked on the door. “Aelin, baby, open up.”

No response.

Aelin looked over at Sam. “I’ve seen enough.”

He just looked back at her, sadness in his brown eyes.

The knocking continued. “Please, babe, I just wanted you to enjoy Christmas with me.”

Nothing.

Sam grabbed his coat and headed for the door, snagging his keys that were hanging by the door.

Aelin whispered, “Sam, please take me home.”

Her voice was breaking as she watched him leave the apartment and she ran to the window, watched him get in his car, and leave.

“You know what happened next,” he said.

She did.

He’d left and went down to the corner store down the street, presumably to get her chocolates, since that was what was found on him. On his body.

There’d been a robbery and it had gone wrong. Sam had stepped in, to try and defuse the tension.

Sam didn’t walk back out of the store.

Aelin was sobbing. Not the high school Aelin. No, her younger self was scowling out the window as she watched Sam drive away.

So stupid.

So selfish.

“Take me home,” Aelin sobbed, reaching for Sam’s hand.

He tilted her chin up so that her eyes met his, his fingers feeling as solid as they did then.

“Why would you show me this?” She said, not bothering to wipe her eyes. She didn’t reflect much on Sam. When she did, she did not like the emotions that swept through her.

“To remind you of what your bitterness has lost you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her brow.

Aelin’s eyes fluttered shut as a cry sputtered out of her lips. And when she opened them once more, she was alone in her bedroom.

She could still feel him, could still smell him. Trembling fingers reached up to her cheeks and they came away wet.

“Crying already? But your night has just begun.”

Aelin spun around, horror sweeping through her as she beheld Chaol, leaning against her doorframe.

Her face paled. “Are you- have you- when-.”

Chaol gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not dead. No matter how many threats you threw my way when we broke up.”

“How are you- is this all in my head?” She asked, running a hand down her face. “Did I fall downstairs and hit my head? Am I slowly bleeding out or something?”

Chaol just laughed and shook his head. “You already know the answer to that.” He took a step towards her and held out his hand. “Come on.”

Aelin threw her head back and sighed, wiping at her face and when she looked back down, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

When they appeared in the middle of a Christmas party at Manon and Dorian’s, Chaol didn’t let go of her hand. Aelin didn’t either.

It still felt right to hold his hand.

It had only been a few months since Aelin and Chaol had a very dramatic, very explosive break up. Having the same friend circle, they had to get over their issues pretty quickly, and surprisingly enough, they’d had more meaningful conversations in the past three months than they’d had in the year and a half they’ve been together.

Aelin looked over at him and then her eyes locked on as he walked by. She looked back at the Chaol holding her hand and said, “The world does not need two of you.”

Chaol grinned, eyes bright. “Same to you, A. You were invited to this party, you know.”

Yes, she was, but she had politely declined.

“Rather stay at home by yourself and get drunk watching old movies?” Chaol asked with a side glance.

Aelin squeezed his hand before sighing. “Alright. Why are we here?”

Chaol shook his head. “Really? You have to ask? Aelin, look at all these people. These are your friends. They love you. And yet, you’re not here. Why? Because it’s a Christmas party and you’re the grinch.”

Aelin scoffed. “I am not!”

Ghost Chaol just rolled his eyes. “You could be having the time of your life at this party. You should’ve come.”

Aelin said nothing. She simply snatched her hand out of his and crossed her arms. “I get it. Take me home now, weird ghost of Chaol.”

“Can’t do that,” he mused, leaning back against the wall. He was seeming to scan the room. “You’ve still got to learn something from me.”

“And what would that be?” Aelin tried not to pout as she watched her friends having fun, playing games, exchanging presents, drinking and being merry. Chaol just looked over at her and Aelin interrupted him. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me.”

Chaol winked at her and said, “We’ll come back here in a bit. I want to show you somewhere else.”

He held out his hand again and as Aelin grabbed it, she looked up and saw Rowan talking to Lorcan and Fenrys.

She could’ve sworn he was looking at her, too.

“He likes you,” Chaol sang.

Aelin lifted a brow. “Pardon?”

“Whitethorn. He’s into you.” When Aelin rolled her eyes, Chaol’s grin widened. “I know you’re all bitter about Christmas and love and all that shit, but you should give him a chance. When you’re ready. He’s a good guy.”

Aelin had to admit she was attracted to Rowan, but she would never admit that to Chaol. “On with it,” she hissed.

In the blink of an eye, they were standing out in the snow. Aelin, still im her pajamas and fuzzy socks, didn’t feel any chill whatsoever as they passed a sign that read Endovier, Home for Children. Aelin had spent three months in the orphanage after her parents passed while her emancipation was going through. She hated it there.

“Why the hell are we here?” She snapped.

Chaol simply gestured her toward the front window. “It’s tradition here that every year, at midnight on Christmas, they come together and open their gifts.”

Aelin peered inside the front window and froze.

There wasn’t a miserable face in the room. Kids were tearing paper off of presents, eating candy, making crafts. The teenagers and older kids helped the younger kids. There was music filtering out through the windows.

“Where did they get the money for presents?” She asked, turning around to look at him.

His hands were in his pockets as he stepped closer. “They made most of them. Some of the older kids with jobs helped them buy them. They’re all a big family.”

“Family,” Aelin repeated. “Once again, that thing I don’t have,” she spit.

“Don’t you get it, Aes?” He asked, frustration written on his face.

“Get what?” She yelled, stepping away from him and throwing her hands out. “Get that I’m alone, just like I am every year?”

He grabbed her wrist, making her look at him.

He asked, quietly, “Don’t you get that you do have a family?”

Aelin quickly looked away from him, wanting to break eye contact, needing to.

“Blood does not make family, Aelin,” Chaol said, gently. “Circumstances do not dictate your future.”

Aelin’s eyes lined with silver, tears pooling her eyes for the second time that night.

“We all love you,” Chaol went on. “We want you to be happy and seeing you so miserable around the holidays...well, we hate it. We don’t like seeing you like that. You deserve the world, Aelin Galathynius. You deserve the world.”

Aelin watched the kids inside. They were hugging one another, laughing, showing off their gifts. None of them had parents, they were all just like her. And yet? They were happy. Joyful. Dwelling in the holiday season, giving into the spirit of Christmas.

“My father’s favorite holiday was Christmas,” Aelin said, quietly. “My mother used to decorate the house and walk around singing carols, baking cookies, the works.”

Chaol watched her thoughtfully as she reminisced. “Don't you think that they’d want that love to live on? That they’d want you to enjoy every minute of your life, both around Christmas and every other day of the year?”

Aelin didn’t answer. She kept watching the kids inside the house, watching their joy, their holiday spirit.

“Take me back,” Aelin whispered. “Please.”

Chaol sighed and took her hand again.

Before she could blink, they were back in her bedroom. He didn’t say anything, just pressed a kiss to her cheek, let go of her hand and stepped back. He smiled at her and raised a hand. He snapped.

Aelin sat up in bed with a gasp. Her face was still wet from the tears she’d been crying, and she wiped her face and laid back on the bed.

“Going back to sleep so soon?”

Her eyes shot open and sat up, turning to look beside her.

Rowan was lounging on her bed, a smirk on his handsome face. “My turn,” he said.

Aelin blushed and said, “Past, present and...future, huh?”

Rowan swing his legs off the side of the bed and walked around, stopping in front of her. He tipped her chin up until she was looking up at him. “I hate to tell you this, but you aren’t going to like all of the future you’re about to see.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, already having guessed that.

She was still looking into his green eyes when she noticed the room around them had changed.

They were no longer in her bedroom, they weren’t even in her house.

No, they were downtown in a hospital room. Aelin was lying in the bed, hooked up to a series of machines.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “If I don’t gain Christmas spirit I’m going to die? Really?”

Rowan’s green eyes softened as he perched himself on the edge of the hospital cot. “Not exactly. You are heading down the wrong road, though, Aelin. Can you tell me why?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” She asked, arms crossed.

She would be lying if she said that seeing herself lying in a hospital bed, near death, wasn’t unsettling.

“What happened to me?” Aelin asked when Rowan didn’t answer.

Rowan studied her thoughtfully. “You pushed everyone away,” he said, at last.

Aelin brushed her fingers along the heart monitor. “Why?”

Rowan watched her without saying a word. It wasn't until Aelin looked at him with shining blue eyes that he said, “Because you were dwelling in the past. Aelin, no one is telling you not to feel pain from the past. But, the point of a painful past is to learn from it, not to let it control you.”

“What the fuck is the point of my parents dying, huh?” Aelin asked, anger rising. “Why is it so necessary that I like a stupid holiday?”

Rowan watched her, emotions even as he watched her outbreak. “We all feel pain, Aelin. My parents died, too. But we can’t let our pasts define us, control us. They’re still with us, our parents. They’re here, Aelin. And your parents want your future to be bright, to be full of happiness. They want to see you smile, to celebrate, to see Christmas as a time spent with friends, not a time of despair.”

Aelin refused to look at him, she refused to let him see the tears running down her face.

She didn’t want this. Didn’t want a future of misery and loneliness. Didn’t want to allow the bitterness that had taken root in her heart to expand and take over.

“I don’t know what do, Rowan,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes tightly and when she opened them again, she was outside.

It was dark and it was snowy, but had none of the warmth and cheer that the orphanage had had. No, she was cold and confused and...alone.

“Rowan?” She spun around and looked for him, but she was completely and utterly alone in the empty field. She backed up and fell, and fell and fell and fell, until her back hit soft ground. She stood, finding herself a dark, deep...grave.

“Rowan?” She called. When there was no reply, she screamed, louder, “Rowan? Please help me!”

He never came.

Aelin fell to the ground and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her tears fell freely. This was it. This was her life. Her future.

“I don’t understand!” She screamed, eyes burning.

“I don’t understand.”

But she did understand. She was angry, bitter. And the only person making her feel that way, no matter how many times she had tried to blame it on others, was herself. She had lost her parents, and then her first love...but now, on their favorite holiday, she was alone and pissed off. She was tainting their memories by pushing them away, by pretending that the joy and goodness of the holiday season didn’t exist. She missed them. Missed her parents, missed Sam. But instead of pretending Christmas didn’t exist, she should spend Christmas keeping their memories alive. She needed to let go of the anger, let go of the bitterness...and live.

“Rowan,” she whispered. “Rowan, please.”

Fingers tilted her chin up, and her watery gaze locked onto his.

“You’ve got to let it go, Aelin, all of it. The anger, the bitterness, the animosity. Or else you’ll have nothing to hold onto.”

Another sob wracked her body and Rowan leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut.

When she opened them, she was alone.

She was on her couch and she was alone.

The fire still roared in the corner, Fleetfoot was asleep in the recliner and Aelin was struggling to breathe.

She hopped out of bed and dashed up the stairs, quickly getting ready and hopping in her car. She got to Manon and Dorian’s and didn’t hesitate until she was on the front step, about to knock on the door. She looked down at the dress and heels she wore and suddenly felt stupid.

The party had been going on for hours. They wouldn’t want her there. Aelin had made it perfectly clear how she felt about Christmas, and now she was just going to walk in and convince everyone otherwise?

Aelin turned around and walked back down the front porch steps. She was a fool for coming, a fool for believing her dreams had been a reality, a fool for thinking they’d want her there.

“Aelin?”

She turned around at her name being called and found Lysandra halfway out the door. “Hey, Lys.”

Lysandra asked, “What are you doing?” Aelin’s enter body sagged. She was right, they didn’t want her here, they would-. “Where are you going?”

She turned and looked at her best friend. “I was just going to go home. It’s almost over and I don’t want to intrude and-.”

“Intrude?” Lysandra’s voice was surprised as she stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind her. “Babe, you were invited to this party. No one cares when you show up, all we care about is that you’re here. Now, come on. We were just about to do Secret Santa.”

Aelin stood there in the snow, staring at her. “I- I don’t have a gift.”

Lysandra stepped down the stairs and linked her arm through Aelin’s. “Aes, you are the gift.” She led her up the stairs. “And Rowan is going to be very happy you’re here. He’s been asking about you all night.”

A small smile tugged on Aelin’s lips. It appears ghost Chaol was right about that one.

The moment Aelin walked through the door, she was met with smiles and hugs. The house was decorated in reds and greens and golds. Dorian had done a great job, as Aelin knew he was most likely the one to have decorated. Manon probably just sat on the couch with a glass of wine watching him work.

That was precisely where she was sitting now and when Aelin joined her she glanced over. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”

Aelin caught her eye as she drank from her wine glass. “I didn’t either, but...figured it was time to stop being miserable.”

Manon only nodded, taking a sip as well. “Does this mean I’m the only one who hates Christmas now?”

Aelin chuckled and said, “I guess so.”

“Hey.”

She looked up and saw Rowan sitting on the arm of the couch. “Hey, you.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think you were coming.”

Aelin looked around and caught Chaol’s eye. He was smirking as he talked to Dorian. She could only shake her head and chuckle. “I didn’t either, but why stay at home when I could spend time with my friends?”

Rowan’s smile widened as he held out his hand to her. “Care to go for a walk?”

Aelin didn’t hesitate. They walked outside, the back porch dusted with newly fallen snow. Rowan shrugged off his jacket and hung it over Aelin’s shoulders.

“I had a weird dream tonight,” Aelin confessed. “After I fell asleep at, like, eight.”

Rowan’s green eyes gleamed. “Yeah? What about?”

Aelin opened her mouth and closed it just as quickly. She didn’t want to sound crazy. And she surely would.

“Christmas,” she replied, simply.

Rowan huffed a laugh. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream at all.”

Aelin raised a brow. “No?”

“Maybe it was the universe telling you that you belong, and that everything is going to be okay.”

His fingers brushed Aelin’s softly as Aelin tilted her head up toward the sky above, allowing the snow to grace her lips, her eyelashes.

“I think you’re right.”

They stayed out there until Aelin realized she couldn’t feel her fingers. Rowan lead her back inside and sat her down on the open loveseat, surrounded by her family. He returned with a mug of hot chocolate and handed it to her, before sitting down next to her. His arm wrapped around the back of the couch and without thinking about it, Aelin leaned into his side. She tended slightly as he looked down at her.

But then his arm slipped down around her shoulders and pulled her in closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Aelin decided then that her parents and Sam, wherever they were, were watching with a smile on their faces as she celebrated their favorite winter holiday surrounded by her friends, her family.

#throne of ashes and beauty #toab #toab tacmc 12 days of xmaas #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #sam cortland #chaol westfall

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