#more facts: she's an only child. she grew up in a castle. she smells bad. she has piercings i can't be assed to draw. she's neurotypical.

[galebecky97]

my wretched daughter

[black-flames-and-cherry-flowers]

No war AU (Daenerys x Robb endgame) Part 3

Part 1 // Part 2

If not because Tywin Lannister buried his heart with his beloved Joanna, he would have suffered a heart attack after finding in bed together Jaime and Cersei, he still turns very purple, and the only thing to keeps him from screaming it's the knowledge they are on the Red Keep and here the walls listen.

Two weeks after the coronation everyone leaves for their domains, the Starks with the promise of a future visit from Lyanna and her two older childs so they can see were they mother grew up, and it's going to be Jon's first approach to the North and the cold in it, to confirm that he still wants to be a Night's Watch brother.

After giving it some thought Tywin does in fact marry Cersei to Euron Greyjoy, Euron is enough unhinged to serve as lesson for his daughter, to cruel to notice something like she isn't a virgin anymore, and so centered on his travels to be around too much. Cersei spends her days drinking wine, plotting how to have a more prominent position on Pyke and fantasizing about killing her father and Jaime, the first one for sending her to this place to rot, the second one for not doing anything to prevent it.

Rhaella and Daenerys settle on Dragonstone, while the place it's more quiet that King's Landing, it's more secluded and barely there is any people of her age, Daenerys loves how much happier and relaxed her mother looks like there. She finds in library of the castle fascinating, with books dating from were Valyria still was thriving, they are full of tales like how the Five Forts of Yi Ti were built to protect their people from the demons of the Lion of Night, Danny founds interesting how much alike and different at the same time that sounds from the ir Wall in the north. Is very easy to find her with one of the books in Aegon's garden.

It's now when Daenerys starts to dream about dragons almost every night, she can feel their warmth enveloping her, air heavy with the smell of smoke, sulfur and blood, but there is something more, something that sounds like an old Valyrian chant beacons her to investigate the caves near the volcano, although she finds difficult to leave the castle without a proper reason to tell her mother, until she is allowed to do so, she resigns to keep dreaming. Except there is nights were she dreams of thick darkness, a figure hiding in it that makes everything unbelievable cold, so cold that puff of breath feels like loosing a bit of life, until all she can feel is pain piercing her chest and the cold is stealing everything she cherish. Every time she has one of those dreams she wakes up shivering in her bed, tears staining her face, terrified of the threat hidden in the dark.

Rhaegar starts his reign with many things to consider, how to prepare for the catastrophe looming at their heads, how to bring back dragons after so many failures to do so, it's it worth to keep being tied to Elia. She isn't bad woman and she seems to be an affectionate mother to their children. But her weak health, and the now seemingly impossible idea of her bearing another child, his Visenya, makes him wonder if he should find himself a second wife, or a way to dissolve their marriage, but Rhaegar doubts the Martells are going to take very well that. And uproar and a war it's the last thing the realm needs, so maybe he needs to dispose of his wife with discretion, he also needs to consider what to do with his children, Rhaenys is very sweet, she is also loyal and capable to follow his orders, not that smart but not stupid either, but Aegon... his son is the most undisciplined creature he has ever had the displeasure to know, disinterested on the realm that someday is meant to be his, and Aegon isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he is good at hitting things, but there is a reason why not every soldier makes it to captain, maybe the child can have a hunting accident, maybe Rhaegar has enough time to start again, this are the things that Rhaegar I mulls on his head.

While he settles the future or better said the lack of it, of some of his closests family members, Rhaegar orders the demolition of the dragon pit, and the construction of a big theater on it, not only Rhaegar is a patron of music and art, but a theater would be perfect to keep the low borns entertained granting his their sympathy, but it's also a good place for refuge for women and children in case that the city is attacked. He also orders the demolition of several districts, a better planed layout benefits the protection of Kings Landing the transport of goods, and it's not possible that King's Landing a city built by the remains of Valyria in the world looks like an unkempt child next Braavos or the Slaver Cities. That measure isn't popular and the city watch has to suffocate several uproars, but the merchants are more keen to it, once they notice how the distribution of their guilds and the access to those new areas benefit them. To appease the masses, Rhaegar offers 5 silver dragons to every family that sends one son to the Night's Watch. Not only solves a little bit the lack of honest men and workforce in the Night's Watch, but also reinforces the trade in the city, and sooner or later all that money returns to the royal chests.

His siblings are another thing Rhaegar needs to take care off, under the pretense of bring their families even closer, he convinces Doran Martell to marry his older daughter and heir, Arianne, to his brother Viserys, once the insufferable dimwit it's fully stetted in the south is not his problem anymore, and his new family can deal with him in the way they see fit to do. His younger sister a completely different thing. In the same way he thinks of disposing of his wife, he contemplates the idea of marrying his sister, but once he comes to the conclusion that Aegon needs to disappear too, the idea of having to wait until his sister reaches an age were she can bear him children discourages him.

Rhaegar is rummaging through some of his fathers documents, when he comes across a parchment that only says, Daenerys, North, stop the white walkers. A Targaryen in the North that serves him as eyes and ears is tempting, and while his father wasn't the most sane person, Rhaegar is aware of the spark of truth on his divagations, for that, invoking upon the promise once made to Cregan Stark, he writes Ned Stark to offer his sister Daenerys in marriage to his oldest son, Robb.

Hi, long time no see in this story, but I battled a bit on how to keep doing it, after some consideration I thought it was for the best an update that spanned less in the time inside the story but allowed a glimpse to the head of Rhaegar, since most of his decision affect a big group of people. I'm not sure when I'm going to update it again, but until then 🩵

[minsyal]

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

[yourdeepestfathoms]

with this unruly heart of mine

in which we all wish our parents reacted the same way as Alcina does when one of her daughters comes out to her

title is from Unruly Hearts from The Prom because it fit

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

MERCUTIO

If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor. What care I What curious eye doth cote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

Alcina read that line over and over again, but she still had no idea what the hell any of it really meant. She sighed and leaned back into the cushions of her seat. If she kept getting caught up on the literary meaning of every other paragraph then she would never finish this damned book.

She picked up the teacup sitting on the stand beside her chair and took a long sip. The tea was of sweet cinnamon on her tongue. It left a much better taste in her mouth than the rather gross relationship between Romeo and Juliet in this book. If the short amount of time the two knew each other wasn’t bad enough, the age gap made her teeth bare and nose wrinkle in disgust. What the hell was this William Shakespeare guy thinking when he wrote this?

The soft sound of bare feet padding against hardwood brought her back to the surface of complete awareness, her focus shifting away from the book and to the late-night arrival watching nearby.

A certain fly child stood, arm on the doorway. Her hair was shaggy from seemingly just waking up--or maybe she hadn’t slept at all in the first place. Unruly blonde locks were sticking up in various directions around her head, framing her face like an adolescent lion’s mane. The nightgown she wore was a size too big and drowning her thin frame.

The light from the fireplace made her golden-amber eyes look hollow.

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear?”

“May I sit with you?”

“Of course.”

Slower than she’d ever seen her move before, Bela inched her way onto the cushioned chair beside Alcina’s. She pulled her knees up her chest, bare toes poking over the edge of the seat, and Alcina regarded them with a scrunch of her nose.

“What have I told you about going around the castle barefoot?” Alcina chided gently.

Bela didn’t look away from the flickering fire in the fireplace. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Something was bothering her.

Bela was a rather fickle little thing. Some days, she wanted to tell Alcina everything, every little fact of the new knowledge she had obtained from her books, all the small details of her latest stories or ideas. Other days, she put up walls and gave vague answers to questions prodded into her sensitive skin, curling into herself like a frightened snail afraid of being interrogated. This seemed to be something of the latter, and Alcina made a mental note to tread lightly to avoid upsetting her daughter.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Alcina said, waggling the book in her hands, trying to make small talk with her distressed child. She didn’t want to pry and further put Bela on edge more than she clearly was, but she couldn’t not do something about her bitter mood. What kind of mother would she be if she didn’t at least attempt to help with her kids’ problems?

“I can hardly make heads or tails of anything they’re saying,” she continued, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

Bela raised her head from her knees slightly. “What book is it?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

There was a morbid snort. “How coincidental…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bela shook her head. “Lemme see. What part are you at?”

Alina pointed out the current line she had reread at least five times over without being able to discern the Shakespearean into modern-day language. Bela, however, looked it over once, scanned the other pieces of dialogue for context, nodded, then explained, “In this scene, Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio are sneaking into a party thrown by the Capulets by wearing masks to disguise themselves. Romeo is upset over Juliet and says he isn’t going to dance. Mercutio then teases him over this and turns all of Romeo’s words into gratuitous sexual metaphors to poke fun at him. Mercutio ends up going on this whole rant about Queen Mab of the fairies, who visits people in their dreams until Romeo and Benvolio cut in to get things back on track. Romeo also kinda foreshadows the entire play at one point. See? Right here: ‘I fear too early, for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels, and expire the term Of a despisèd life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death.’ I do believe that is hinting at his eventual fate of death.”

Alcina blinked at her for a moment before smiling fondly and rubbing her head. “Such a smart girl,” she cooed. “I could have never gotten that out of this .”

Bela smiled, but then it quickly disappeared, and she leaned back into her chair, curling up and watching the fire once again.

Now Alcina was really concerned. Bela was never one to let go of praise and affection so easily. Usually, she savored it a bit longer before moving onto something else, but here she was, brushing off Alcina’s words and touch as though they were nothing.

Something was very, very wrong.

However, before she had the chance to take the risk and attempt to ask questions, Bela spoke up.

“Have you ever been in love, Mother?”

Surprised, Alcina asked, “And what brought this up?”

Bela shrugged, not making eye contact. She kept looking at the fire as though she wanted to throw herself into it. Her voice was small, so small. “Just curious.”

“I see,” Alcina nodded. She looked up, thinking for a moment as she wracked her brain of the memories of her past life. “I have been in love before. Many times, actually.”

Bela gave her a curious look, finally pulling her gaze from the flames. “Really?”

“Indeed,” Alcina confirmed. “Though, I do believe that just comes with growing up. You gain lovers, you lose lovers. Some were real, some were fantasies I made up. Some lasted a few days, some a few months, some a few years.” She took a sip of her tea again. “None of them really mattered in the end, though. Clearly.” Another sip.

Bela nodded faintly. “Okay.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Alcina decided to ask.

Strangely, Bela went rigid. Her claws clenched around the sides of her calves as she stared forward with pupils that were constricted into pinpricks. Sweat beaded along the golden crown of her head.

“I-I-- umm…”

Alcina furrowed her eyebrows in worry. She closed Romeo and Juliet with a bookmark to mark her page, then set a hand on Bela’s back. Her daughter was trembling.

“Bela?” Alcina said, keeping her voice soothing and low to avoid setting off the poor girl even further. “Is everything alright? You don’t look well.”

“Yes, yes,” Bela answered her, much too quickly for it to be convincing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Before Alcina could prod further, Bela shot up to her feet. She began to chew on one of her claws, flexing her free hand at her side in visible agitation. Pieces of her skin broke off into flies and buzzed around her head madly. She seemed to be dissociating in panic.

“Bela,” Alcina rose to her feet slowly, not wanting to accidentally frighten her daughter. “Bela, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bela said, even when she was so obviously far from fine. Her chest was beginning to heave.

“Darling,” Alcina said, and that seemed to get Bela to crack a bit.

With a tight whimper, Bela shook her head. “Hard-- hard to breathe--”

Instantly, Alcina loosely took Bela by the arms and lowered her to the ground. In the firelight, she could see the pallor of her daughter’s increasing panic as it morphed into a complete attack on her anxiety. Bela grabbed her wrists with her claws dug in for desperate grounding, and Alcina let her, even when it stung her skin. Her comfort was far from important in that moment.

“Alright, honey,” Alcina said. “We’re going to do the thing we’ve been practicing, alright? Do you think you can do it?”

Wordlessly, Bela nodded.

“That’s my strong girl,” Alcina said. “Alright, give me five things you can see.”

“Y-you,” Bela stammered. The words shook when they left her lips. “Your hair’s kinda bushy.”

Alcina rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “Thank you for pointing that out, Bela.”

Bela’s fight instantly gave in at that and she hunched her shoulders in, looking ashamed. Quick to correct herself, Alcina lifted her chin so they could make eye contact.

“I was only teasing you, honey,” Alcina said. “Keep going.”

Bela nodded. “The fire; it’s really pretty. Your-- your, umm, chair; it looks soft. The book; not the best of Shakespeare’s works. And, ah-- the teacup; it has doves on it.”

“Very good,” Alcina praised. “Four things you can feel.”

“The fire’s-- the fire’s warmth. My heart in-- my heart in my throat. The floor under me; I should have worn socks.”

“I told you,” Alcina cut in playfully.

Bela swallowed thickly. “A-and, umm-- and my anxiety. It’s like a Lycan in my chest.”

Alcina frowned at that but quickly wiped it off her face for now. She stroked Bela’s cheek, gaining a spark of hope when Bela leaned into her hand.

“I feel you, too,” Bela said.

“You only needed to name five, little moth,” Alcina said, bopping her on the nose.

Bela just shrugged.

“But you’re doing so well. Can you give me three things you can hear?”

“My heartbeat in my ears; it sounds like thunder. I don’t like thunder. Umm-- the fire crackling; I like that. And-- and a raven outside. I think that’s Merlin. His cawing is kinda raspier than the other birds’. I think he may have hurt his throat at some point.”

A small smile grew onto Alcina’s lips. She continued caressing Bela’s cheek as she talked to her. “Now two things you can smell.”

“Fear,” Bela said almost instantly. Her nose twitched. “I smell fear.”

Alcina could smell it, too. The thickened dread wafting off of her shaken daughter was acrid, bitter, and unsettling.

“Umm--” Bela’s claws fidgeted, clicking against each other softly. “And your tea. Smells like cinnamon. Cinnamon makes me sneeze.”

“One more. One thing you can taste.”

“Fear.”

“Fear?” Alcina echoed, one eyebrow raised. “Again?”

“Yes.”

“What does fear taste like?”

Bela stared down at her claws, which she splayed open before herself. “It-- it has a slightly dull metallic taste that’s mixed with urea, I think. Sometimes it tastes like popping a bloody, pus-filled blister in your mouth and squeezing every drop out with your teeth and savoring it on your tongue. Sucking the wound clean and swallowing it down.” She clenched her fists. “But it doesn’t get clean. It doesn’t dry out. The blister just keeps oozing and oozing until all the discharge comes pouring out of your mouth, but even then it doesn’t stop. Because you can’t force it all down. You can’t just swallow and think it’s done. That’s not how anxiety works. It keeps coming, even when you thought it was gone, and it leaves behind this awful flavor of bitter bile. It’s acidic, too, you know? It melts your chest and stomach and makes you feel like you’re sinking in your own skin.” She looked up at Alcina, and her eyes were shiny and blank. “I taste fear, Mother.”

There was silence between them for just a moment. Bela wasn’t looking at Alcina anymore; she seemed to think the floor was very interesting at that moment. Alcina was still considering her daughter’s dark words, replaying them over and over again until the subtle taste of sour gall spread across her tongue. She swallowed it down and winced when it drooled over the back of her throat like rancid molasses.

“You did it, baby,” Alcina finally said, smiling despite her worry, despite the flavor of fear in her mouth. “I’m so proud of you.”

Bela just nodded. Though she was no longer having a panic attack, she didn’t seem any less upset. Alcina considered letting it go, especially after just having calmed her down, but if something was bothering her daughter so much that she couldn’t breathe when she thought about it too hard, she knew she couldn’t just leave it be. It could escalate into something much, much worse, and she knew damn well that Bela was willing to go to such extremes, if her explanation of fear and the way she kept looking at the fire wasn’t enough proof of that.

“Now,” Alcina saw Bela tense, but she plunged anyway. “I need you to tell me what’s bothering you so I can help.”

Bela shook her head with a strangled whimper.  “I can’t tell you.”

“Bela, I’m your mother. You can tell me anything.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I won’t hate you.”

Bela was quiet. Then, slowly, she dragged her gaze up to Alcina. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, Bela. I would never hate you.”

Bela nodded. “Okay.” Her claws clenched into fists against the floorboards, knuckles shaking and turning white. She took several deep breaths before forcing out, “I-- I don’t-- I don’t like people like that. Like how I’m supposed to.”

Silence.

Tears flowed freely from Bela’s eyes and she choked on a sob. Her head hung in shame as her entire body quaked. The poor girl looked terrified, and the sight hit Alcina right in the heart--though she didn’t quite get it.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“No, no-- you don’t understand,” Bela’s breath was coming out thin and raspy again. She sat up straight, claws now knotted in her nightgown, tensing and pulling. “I don’t-- I don’t like people, Mama. The way other people do. The way everyone does. I’ve-- I’ve tried, but--” She cut herself off with a whimper, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Alcina asked. Trying to discern Bela’s vague words was like trying to discern Shakespearean. “Do you think you can explain it to me, hun? Like you did with the book and the fear. I want to help you.”

Bela sniffled, then nodded. “I-- I, umm-- I don’t feel anything towards people. Like-- like that. Romantically. And sexually.”

Finally, it dawned on Alcina.

“When I read those cheesy romance books Daniela likes, I don’t get the characters’ feelings at all. Just the thought of being in a relationship like that makes me so uncomfortable and I don’t know why, and that scares me, Mama.” Bela continued, her anguish oozing into every word she spoke. “I don’t like the thought of being tied down to someone like that, but it still feels like something has been stolen from me. That promise of a future with true love and marriage and a fairy tale ending that Daniela always talks about is gone, even though I still want it. Or, at least, I think I want it. I don’t know what I want.” She sniffled, looking miserable. “It’s the same for sexual stuff. When I come to scenes with sex in them in books, it makes my skin feel all weird, like severed hands are crawling all over my body. I get embarrassed and awkward and uneasy, and I don’t understand that, either. It just makes me feel so sick to my stomach.”

There was a pause. Bela was taking several shallow breaths and digging her claws into her legs, so Alcina reached out and took one of her hands, stroking her knuckles with her thumbs.

“Breathe, baby,” Alcina murmured. “Breathe.”

“I’ve-- I’ve tried to force myself to be like everyone else before,” Bela said unexpectedly.

Taken aback, Alcina said, “What?”

Bela swallowed thickly. “With-- with a maiden. You know how I am with them- too nice, too polite. I befriended one of them. We were kinda close. After a while, she started making moves on me. I knew what she wanted for so long, but I kept avoiding it because I was uncomfortable or scared. But then I had this revelation: maybe if I did this with her, I would finally feel something! I would be like everyone else! So I did. With her. And I didn’t like it.”

“Bela…”

“It hurt,” Bela whispered. “Like I was being scraped raw. Or my body was being turned inside out. I felt so sick. Humiliatingly, I started crying during it, but I don’t think she noticed. If she did, she didn’t stop. Not until she was finished. When she was, I threw up after she left. I was so sore.” Alcina squeezed her hand, and she sucked in a sharp breath, “But-- but I had to have liked it! I got, umm--” Her cheeks began to turn red with embarrassment, though Alcina didn’t blame her. Having to explain your sex life to your mother would be awkward for anyone. “I got…wet. And-- and that happens when you’re aroused! So-- so I do like sexual stuff!”

“Oh, sweetie…” Alcina sighed sadly.

Bela hunched her shoulders in. “R-right?”

“Honey, ‘getting wet’ doesn’t always mean you’re aroused,” Alcina said gently. “Simply viewing something erotic, like a naked woman, for example, could trigger this bodily response. It’s also a way for the vagina to lubricate itself to help dull the pain of penetration. You can be in a sexual situation and be wet, but not want to have sex. That’s completely normal and one hundred percent okay.” She lifted her hands to cup Bela’s cheeks. “Wetness is not an acceptable body language for consent. Who were you trying to convince: the maiden or yourself?”

Bela stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and damp, breath hitched in the back of her throat. Then, she began shaking her head, pulling her hair, and weeping, “No, no-- I wanted it, I wanted it-- I know I did. I’m normal, I’m normal--”

It was truly heartbreaking to see her child in such a way. Bela seemed downright devastated over her own sexuality, to the point where she thought she was disgusting and unnatural for something that was actually completely normal.

Taking her daughter’s hands to keep her from hurting herself, Alcina went to say something, but Bela cut her off, getting to the words first.

“What’s wrong with me?!” Bela cried. “Why-- why am I like this, Mama? Am I broken? Am I heartless? I-- I love you and Cassandra and Daniela! I love Uncle Karl and Uncle Moreau and Auntie Donna and Angie and the Duke! I love reading and animals and writing, but-- but when I-- when I try to-- when it comes to sex and romance, I--” She finally gave up and sobbed.

“Oh, Bela,” Alcina said sadly. “Oh, my poor, sweet girl…” She pulled Bela into her lap and held her close, rocking her back and forth to help comfort her. Her fingers gently ran through Bela’s messy hair. “Shh, shh… You aren’t broken or heartless, sweetheart. This is an okay thing to feel.”

“You-- you don’t think I’m wrong?”

Alcina’s heart twisted at the way Bela looked up at her to say that, her eyes holding so much sadness and pain. She tucked her daughter’s head back under her chin and tightened the embrace.

“Absolutely not. Do you think you are?”

Bela answered in a strangled whimper. Alcina couldn’t help but wonder what put such a thought in her daughter’s brain--though, this was Bela she was dealing with. her anxiety was a wild, bestial thing that made her worry about the most obscene things.

“Did you really think this would change anything?” Alcina asked. “That I could ever possibly love you any less?”

Bela shrugged weakly.

“I-I just…”

That deep shame from before seemed to return and Bela’s head dipped. Alcina felt like she was going to try and pull away, so she tightened the embrace and used one hand to lift the girl’s chin.

“Hey, hey,” Alcina murmured, brushing away fresh tears on Bela’s cheeks. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this, sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with you, either. And if anyone says otherwise, tell me. I’ll eviscerate them.”

That got a tiny, watery giggle out of Bela.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Alcina went on. “Sex and romantic relationships… They aren’t for everyone. And that’s okay. It certainly doesn’t make you broken or heartless.”

“B-but--”

“Hun, look at me. Do I really look like someone who will judge you for being this way?”

Bela shrugged a little. Her little body seemed to have exhausted itself of all its efforts to argue.

Alcina rocked her gently, stroking her hair the way she knew she liked it. “How about I explain something to you, hm?”

Bela looked up at her blearily.

“Your love may not be arousing or romantic, but you want to know what it is like?”

“What?” Bela asked softly.

“Your love is warm and fuzzy, like being wrapped in a blanket during a blizzard. It’s safe and reassuring. Your love is security and shelter. Your love is noticing all the little details, like my bushy hair because it’s late at night or your Uncle Karl’s finger twitching because he’s nervous at the meetings with Mother Miranda but is trying to hide it or Cassandra’s leg bouncing because she’s full of pent up, restless energy. Your love is knowing what makes each of us tick and doing everything in your power to make us feel better when we’re upset. Your love is like the first flower showing up in the snow as winter melts away and the beginning flickers of a tender flame and the gentle fluttering of bird wings.” Alcina let out a soft laugh. “I’m nowhere near as good at details as you are, my darling. But, most importantly, your love is normal and natural and what makes you you. And you shouldn’t have to try and change that for anyone, no matter what.”

Bela stared up at her in silenced awe, tears trickling down her cheeks. Alcina squeezed her reassuringly.

“I want you to know that I’ll always support you, okay?” Alcina said. “I’m always going to be here for you.”

Bela nodded, hiccuping softly. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered through tiny whimpers. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bela,” Alcina said. She kissed the top of Bela’s head and purred to her softly. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher

Chapter 16 | Steel for Humans

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Warnings: Skeevy bandits being Skeevy bandits

Word Count: 7.5k

Note:  Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also! My tag list is open!

He's looking at her again. 

She can feel it; a shiver up her spine, the prickling feeling in the back of her mind to be alert for something, all telltale signs of his eyes on her. Every time she turns to meet his gaze, to try and decipher the whys and what's in his eyes, he looks away. And in the midst of all of her uncertainty, she's sure of at least one thing, he's still reeling from her confession, despite it being weeks since her name, her real name slipped from her lips. He doesn't say that he's still trying to piece together the puzzle, but he doesn't need to. She can see it in the way he carries himself around her, his lingering eyes and stumbling words. 

More than a few times he's called her Jane, instinctively, if she were to have to guess. And each time she just simply raises a brow at him before he swiftly corrects himself, eyes wild and uncertain, unable to directly look into hers. She never gets mad or annoyed, the exact opposite, in fact. She's never seen this side of Geralt that resembles a fumbling boy who still isn't a man yet; all rosy cheeks and shy conversation. Normally Geralt is so put together, constantly in control of the situation, and yet, something as simple as a name change is all it takes to throw him off. 

Another thing she's certain of is just how much she enjoys the way he says her name, the smooth Valyrian name effortlessly slipping past his lips. It's like a symphony, a sound not even the most renowned of bards could replicate. But she'd never tell him that. 

She continues staring at her face in the old mirror, dust and cracks speckling across her reflection. But she looks past it, staring at her eyes that are like liquid gold, and her fair skin, nearly glowing in the dim light. She frowns, lines appearing around her mouth - lines that weren't always there. Under her eyes are small wrinkles, hidden by the dark circles from countless sleepless nights in the least ideal spots, but she can pick them out a mile away.

She's older, that much is obvious, but how much older is not.

She used to count each day, the wall near the bed in her old room in Blaviken covered in small little lines meant to represent every time she fell asleep. She stopped keeping track after the town burned to the ground. At first, it was too painful to think of anything beyond the basic necessities of her survival. But then time drifted away, things grew easier the longer she spent with Jaskier. She smiled more, laughed more, and felt lighter than she had in a long time. And now she finds herself in an odd position, unsure of how much older she is. 

"Geralt." She doesn't remove her eyes from her reflection. He grunts, a sign that he's listening. Always a man of few words. 

"How long has it been since Blaviken?" She hears a sharp intake of breath before it's released back into the air. It's silent a moment longer.

"You don't know?" Geralt asks, skepticism and disbelief abundant in his voice. 

"No." She reaches a hand up, tracing the new scars that mare her face, they're faint, nothing more than a whisper on her face. To everyone else, they're only visible in the flicker of a candle at the right angle, but she's always aware of them.

"Fifteen years." 

Her hand drops, limp at her side. She turns a flurry of hair and wind, facing Geralt with an odd expression on her face. She can't discern how to feel with that revelation. How is one supposed to react upon figuring out the fifteen years have passed, and they don't even know it? She wants to protest, to scream that he's lying to her, and demand that he tell her the truth, the real truth and not some practical joke. But the longer she thinks on it, her eyes resting on Geralt's stone face, the more it makes sense. 

She thinks back to Winterfell, trying to remember the smells of her previous home. To remember how everything felt under her fingertips - whether it be in the warm castle or the icy cold. She tries to recall how everyone looked the last time she saw them, tried to visualize their exact heights in comparison to hers, to recall small imperfections that made them not smooth porcelain dolls. Only then, when she focuses so hard on doing just that, does she realize she can't even remember their faces. She can see their general shapes, her mind recognizing them as either Jon, Robb, or anyone else important enough to remember. But when she tries to zoom in and make their faces clearer, they're nothing but humanoid-like blurs. 

Her face twitches, in discomfort or shock, she's not sure. 

"Huh." It's the only thing she manages to say, unable to force her mind to think of another response or to form the words with her mouth. She's utterly frozen in place. 

She almost allows her mind to wander, thinking of what may have happened to the rest of the Stark children. Would they have found peace and safety, or would they have blown away like leaves in the wind, desolated by monsters and grief? But she banishes the thoughts before they could form. What would be the point? All it would do is pull her into another bout of melancholy, the same suffering she was drowning in whilst hiding away in Blaviken. So she does what she's best at; she takes all unpleasant thoughts and ghosts and locks them into a little box in the back of her mind. Leaving it to collect dust until it's long forgotten. 

"You didn't know that?" Geralt asks, breaking his statue-like posture to step closer to Visenya. She doesn't answer, she simply shakes her head, her breathing shaky and unsteady. 

'Fifteen years.'

The number echoes in her mind, it's on repeat and she finds herself unable to escape it. He's silent, Geralt is always silent. But she welcomes it, more so now than ever. 

Her fingers begin to count down as she counts up, the numbers hardly above the breaths she takes. She looks down at the ground, counting the grain in the wooden floors. 

"21, 22, 23, 24…" 

She pauses, finishing the math in her mind. She opens her mouth, cautiously.

"Thirty-five… I'm thirty-five years old now." It makes sense, her face appears much older than when she first arrived, the lines and crow's feet not just a result of poor living conditions and battle scars. 

"Is that a bad thing?" Geralt asks. Visenya looks up at him. His facial expression remains much the same as before, but his eyes glow with a hint of curiosity. Not that he would ever admit to it if she ever called him out on it. 

"No, I just-- never thought I'd make it this far," Visenya says, a sardonic grin pulling at her lips that looks more like a grimace than anything. 

"With the life, you've had--" Geralt starts, his voice low and raspy, but Visenya cuts him off with a bout of laughter that sounds more like knives than bells. He closes his mouth, simply raising a brow at Visenya. 

"You have no idea, Geralt of Rivia." She shakes her head, the grin-grimace hybrid still on her face, yet her eyes tell a different story. They're despondent and regretful, and Geralt can't understand why.

"Then perhaps you should tell me." Suddenly Visenya is no longer laughing. She stares at Geralt with a type of intensity he's never seen in her eyes before. And before he can bring himself to get used to it, to allow himself to sink in the new atmosphere that surrounds them, she dissolves it, eyes turning warm and mischievous once more.

"Give it another fifteen years, and maybe then," she says, feather-light laughter following her words. She turns once more, hair whipping behind her as she continues to stare at her reflection. Her hair is longer, reaching a few inches below her breasts. Her roots are slightly grown out, allowing a little bit of shining silver to peek through the mud brown. She still can't decide if she wants to continue dying it or not. But she tucks that thought away, not wanting to unpack everything that comes with those thoughts. Not after she just packed away unpleasant thoughts that are of a similar vein. 

"Plus, I've told you more things than I've told anyone else, and still I feel as though I know nothing of you," Visenya says, turning around once more, moving away from the dingy mirror. This causes Geralt to laugh - it's rough and dark, the complete opposite of Visenya's. It causes shivers to rush up her spine and a fluttering sensation to form in her stomach. 

She passes by him, a hand ghosting over his shoulder. She exits the room and Geralt swiftly follows. His footsteps are much heavier than hers; she's like a soft summer breeze while he's the terrifying winter winds that threaten to blow everything down. 

They walk the length of the hall, down the winding staircase, and out of the inn where Roach is patiently waiting for them. Throughout their small journey, they maintained not only the same distance between one another but the same space. 

She only pauses upon reaching Roach, a hand resting on the mare's side as she gently pets her. Visenya looks at Geralt, who now stands precisely two paces away from her - one pace closer than he had been five seconds ago. 

"Fair is fair," she says, raising her brows. A grumble of a laugh escapes his mouth, so quiet it could almost be mistaken for the world itself shaking. His laughter causes his eyes to close for a brief second before he opens them once more.

"I can't argue with that. In exchange for what you've told me, I'll tell you about my first hunt. Does that sound like a fair bargain?" he asks, a certain lightness in his eyes that quickly disappears in the time it takes for her to blink and open her eyes again. She holds a hand out, and he places his own in it. They shake their hands, two times to be exact. 

"Sounds like a deal to me."

oOo

"I'd only just left Kaer Morhen, a new Witcher who was naive enough to think I could save the world. I came across a gang of men who were about to rape a young girl, a few of them holding back the girl's father." Geralt says, his voice quiet and somber, but she could hear each word perfectly. They're both riding on Roach, with Visenya in front and Geralt's arms slung loosely around her as he holds Roach's reins. The mare doesn't need much guidance though, she just follows the winding road ahead of them, and neither Geralt nor Visenya corrects her. 

"And then what happened," Visenya asks, resisting the urge to turn around and look at Geralt. He's so good at obscuring any emotion or feelings when he speaks, often opting to talk with a monotonous voice. While hilarious when dealing witty one-liners, it makes it near impossible to discern how he feels. His eyes on the other hand are a completely different story. 

To most, they may seem as empty and dead as a poorly done painting, but Visenya can read him like an open book - spotting small flickers of different emotions. After all, Visenya often employs the same tactic to appear as cold and unfeeling as possible, it's only natural she sees through when others try to do it to her.  

"I killed them, the bald man with the rotted teeth and all his friends. The girl's father fled right after--" Geralt says.

"And the girl?" Visenya says, unable to stop herself from interrupting him. When he promised her a tale of his first hunt, this isn't exactly what she expected, yet she finds herself enthralled none-the-less. A part of her wonders how different her history might've been if Geralt lived in Westeros. What would be different, if anything at all. She knows with complete certainty that the Geralt she knows would have no problem defeating the Mountain. But if Geralt lived in Westeros instead of here, he wouldn't be a Witcher. Which means he'd have none of the capabilities that make him superior to mortals. So her train of thought is moot and pointless. 

But she can't help the twitch of a smirk on her lips as she imagines Geralt slicing the Mountain's head off his body; the cut clean and precise. And instead of a girl about to be raped by a slimy bandit, she sees the Mountain looming over her mother, and Geralt saving her just in time. 

"What happened to the girl?" This time she doesn't fight the urge to turn and look at Geralt. She turns her head just enough to see the right side of his face. His eyes are far away, recalling memories that are probably lifetimes away. The mid-day sunlight aggressively shines onto his face, but it's deceiving in its harshness for it provides no warmth. The air is cold and icy, freezing dead leaves and small twigs into timeless statues that will melt when summer comes again. 

"She was covered in the bald man's blood, but unharmed, not that you'd know that with how she reacted. When I approached her, she screamed, vomited, and then passed out," Geralt says. His tone remains even, not portraying any feelings. 

She turns her head to face the road once more, her lips pursing in concentration. 

Would her mother have reacted the same if Geralt swept into her chamber like an angel of death, white hair his halo, and the blade strapped to his back his judgment? Or would she have thanked him, tears streaming down her face as she held her screaming children? 

"And how did that make you feel?" she asks, not daring to turn and look at him once more. She fears if he takes one look at her eyes, he'll see all the thoughts furiously swimming in the flames that dance in them. She can feel him shrug more than see it, the movement of his shoulders causing his arm to brush against her back. 

"Like shit," he simply replies. Visenya scoffs, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips. 

She opens her mouth, a witty quip on the tip of her tongue when she's cut off by a scream. It comes from her right, in the forest, but not so deeply hidden that the dying trees and frostbitten leaves muffle the noises. Her posture turns stiff like a board, the hairs on her body standing up straight. 

"Did you--" she begins, only to be cut off by another scream, this one more guttural than the last, yet not beast-like in nature. Visenya turns, catching Geralt's eyes. He nods, acknowledging that the shouts aren't just in her head, the manifestation of deeply hidden thoughts resurfacing. He hears it too. 

Without allowing a moment of hesitation or for her mind to catch up with her actions, she jumps off of Roach, unsheathing her blade. The dragon hilt is cold as ice, but soothing to the heat slowly rising in Visenya. 

A loud thud follows only a moment later, signaling that Geralt is following her lead. She'd feel touched by his lack of protest when it comes to her charging headfirst into the unknown, but the situation is far too dangerous for any distractions, even if only for a brief second. 

Blood rushing and heart pounding, she turns to ice as another scream echoes in their ears. It's closer this time, sounding as if someone is shouting while choking on their blood. Visenya's pace quickens, her heart racing faster as adrenaline floods her body in preparation for the potential fight that seems more likely than not as each second passes. The grip on her sword tightens as she clenches her jaw. Dozens of battle maneuvers and tactics fly through her mind, all the years of training; both in Winterfell and with Geralt blaring in her mind. 

Another scream, this one deeper than the previous. Visenya picks up her pace again, eager for this confrontation to be over before it even begins. She glances behind and Geralt is right behind her, sword unsheathed and face battle-hardened. 

For the fifth time, another scream rips through the trees, but now that they're closer, Visenya hears the rustling of what sounds like people running. The muffled noise of jeers and mocking voices trickle into her ears.

People, they're dealing with people, and not literal monsters. Though most times, people can be the worst type of monster there is.

With a deep breath that she quickly releases, Visenya reaches a handout, pushing away the branches that separate her and Geralt from the apparent attackers. 

'The blood of the dragon is not afraid.'

The phrase enters her mind without thought. But instead of banishing it away, she embraces it. She imagines Queen Visenya beside her, a stern expression on her beautiful face, lips curling into a snarl that would perfectly mimic Vhaegar. 

When she opens her eyes, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. A group of six or so humans wielding various types of weapons that were dripping with blood stand in the small clearing. The source of the screams quickly became clear; a small family of elves with blood dripping from various wounds. A male elf lays on his stomach, unmoving; meanwhile, a woman cowers in a corner, pressing her body against a tree, three children with her. The smallest of the three were huddled on either side of her as she attempted to soothe them, tears streaming down her bloodied face. Meanwhile, the oldest, only looking to be seven at the most, stands in front of her, the branch from a tree between his unsteady hands. He holds it as if it's a blade, determined to protect what remains of his family. 

The humans are bandits and not very successful ones; with worn mismatched leather armor and blades that look seconds away from rusting. But they wear sneers on the face, showing rotted teeth and foul words. They snap their attention toward Visenya who enters first and watch her for a moment as she watches them, taking in the scene before her.

She expected the worst, but nothing could've prepared her for this. It's too familiar, too close to home. She feels her vision go red, blood pumping in her veins, and skin nearly burning.

"Look at this boys, no need to find a nearby brothel. Looks like our entertainment found us," one of the men says, a twisted smirk curling on his cracked and bleeding lips. Visenya's face contorts into a look of disgust. The other men around them laugh, cackles that sound more like screams than sounds of delight. 

Visenya tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, teeth grinding as she clenches her jaw tighter. She takes a single step forward. 

"Pretty thing you are, and you look like a fighter. Good, I like it when they fight," the man continues, undisturbed or intimidated by Visenya.

"And I like it when bastards like you are six feet under. Lucky for me you will be, soon," Visenya says, her voice gravelly and harsh like a growl. She smiles, her mouth looking more like the snarl of a wolf that's moments away from attacking. 

The man doesn't falter, instead, he barks out a laugh, pointing his finger at Visenya as he does. 

"Funny," he says. He nods his head at a few of the men, turning his attention back to the elf and her children. "But be a dear and be quiet. I have some business to attend to." He lifts his blade and begins approaching the woman. The child holds his stick up high, about to try and defend his mother when the bandit just shoves him aside, knocking the kid on the ground. A loud crack resounds in the clearing as his small head collides with a protruding rock. 

The elven woman screams, crawling to try and get as far away as possible, clutching her kids tighter against her. Tears stream down her face as vigorous as a waterfall. Dread fills Visenya, all her thoughts consumed by panic. 

"No!" Visenya screams. She moves to charge him, but a grimy hand holds onto her, keeping her from running. She turns towards the man, and wildly swings her blade. It misses, but in dodging it, he loses enough of his footing that he lets go of her.  

He goes to grab her again, but before he can try, a blade slices into his neck, causing blood to gush out of the wound before he drops to the ground. Visenya doesn't have to look to know it's Geralt, but she does anyway. A deep scowl is set on his face, eyes blazing in a way that's eerily similar to Visenya's. He growls, eyes assessing the scene before them. He glances at Visenya, then moves his eyes to the leader. Visenya nods, understanding the nonverbal cue. 

Save the girl.

"A fucking Witcher!" The man spits out. He spits turning away from the elf, no longer able to ignore the threat right in front of him. "Just kill them both, I hear Witchers make good coin."

Then everything descends into chaos. The rest of the bandits charge Visenya and Geralt, but she pays them no mind. She nimbly dodges each one of their attacks, leaving them to Geralt. Her eyes stay on the leader, who's eyes rest solely on her as well. He grabs a second blade from the ground, ripping it from the hands of the dead elf. He strides towards her and she meets him halfway in a clash of blades and fury. 

Their blades meet in a cross, the clang of metal ringing in her ears. She scowls as he snarls, spittle flying into her face. 

She jumps back and pivots to his side. His gaze follows her, body turning as she does. Like a butcher cutting a pig, he hacks down at her. She parries it with her blade, pushing it away as if it's nothing more than an annoyance. His second one comes down a moment later and she dodges to the other side, the blade slicing through empty air. A third swing, his other hand comes down, this time towards her face. She crouches low to the ground as she brings her blade up to block the hit, using her lower position to steady her body as she pushes against him, both hands holding onto the hilt. 

He presses down and she pushes upward, arms shaking from the exertion.  She screams, the sound eerily similar to the roar of a dragon, moments before it decimates its enemies with its fiery wrath. With a burst of power, she shoots up, causing him to stumble back. 

Right and left, she slashes her blade at him. His leather armor takes the brunt of the first hit, but the second one manages to piece into flesh. She snarls as he screeches in pain. Clammy hands begin to shakily smack against his belt, desperately looking for a blade to try and stick her with, but she doesn't give him the chance. 

She kicks him in the abdomen. The force of it slamming his already weak body against a tree. There's a loud crack as his body makes contact, another howl of pain escaping his mouth. 

"Stupid bit--" 

Her blade stabs into his neck, stopping him mid-sentence. Blood pours out of his mouth, a gurgling sound replacing his scratchy voice. 

"Fuck you," Visenya says. She then spits at him, the saliva landing on his chest and disappearing into the blood. 

She sighs, the sounds of fighting die down, and she turns around. Geralt is standing in the center of the clearing, blood speckling his armor and dripping off his blades, but luckily none of the blood is his. Her tense shoulder loosens slightly, the adrenaline leaving with the threats. She tosses her blade to the side, making a mental note to clean it later. 

Turning to her right, she sees the elven woman with her children still cowering in the corner, all three of her children around her, the eldest of them knocked out cold. Now that no threats are looming over them, Visenya allows herself a moment to inspect the three of them. 

The mother looks to be middle age, with wheat blonde hair and pallid skin, her bones protruding in a way that the bones of someone well-nourished wouldn't. Her eyes are down and as large as a doe, the sparkle in them enhanced by salty tears. 

The small girl looks nearly identical to her, her wheat hair in a messy braid that's falling apart. She clutches her mother's hand tighter, moving further into her the longer Visenya looks at her. The other boy is the complete opposite, with dark disheveled hair and blue eyes. His face is blotchy and wet from tears, but he doesn't seem to fully understand why. Staring at Visenya with blank curiosity rather than fear.

"Are you hurt?" Visenya asks, making a conscious effort to make her voice as light and harmless as possible. She takes a step forward, a branch breaking under her foot. The woman gasps, pressing herself further against the tree. 

Visenya stops, holding her arms up, a nonverbal sign that she means peace. The woman doesn't relax, not that Visenya expects her to.

"You--you--you," the woman stutters, tears still streaming down her face, but not as frantically as they were moments ago. 

"Saved you, yes," Visenya says, taking another step forward. The woman doesn't cower, but her fear doesn't lessen. 

"I don't have coin," she says, her voice wavering in between her sobs. Visenya shrugs, a small smile curling on her lips.

"And I have more than enough," Visenya says. The woman continues to stare at her, not uttering a single word. It's like they're frozen in place, only the tears running down her cheeks and their shaking forms giving away that they're in fact real. Visenya feels her stomach twist itself into knots. 

She should grab her blade and leave the clearing behind, get back on Roach with Geralt and ride off to the next destination. At the very least her conscience would be eased by the fact that they kept these band of idiots from hurting the woman and her children. 

And yet…

A voice whispers in her ear to not, that she'd never stop thinking about this moment, wondering what became of them. Did they save them from these bandits only to get robbed and left for dead by the next group of pricks with pointy swords? She couldn't live with it, she realizes. Not if she doesn't do everything in her power to ensure they arrive home safely and alive… wherever home is. A sigh escapes her mouth, so quiet it could be mistaken for the wind. 

"You have no reason to trust me, I get that, but at the very least I saved you from those pricks, so I can't be that bad, right?" Visenya asks, voice rougher and blunter than she intended for it to be. Internally she winces as the woman cowers for a brief second, but then slowly she nods her head.

"Right. Your son is injured, how serious, I'm not sure. I don't know, maybe you have some training in the art of healing, but if you're not, at the very least, I'm no stranger to minor injuries. I can help him," Visenya continues. The elven woman doesn't cower anymore, her rapid tears dwindling to a light drizzle rather than a heavy pour. She nods once more, and Visenya finds herself sighing in relief. 

Without wasting another moment she takes a step forward, turning towards the child on the ground. She crouches beside him, his mother moving to be on his other side. Her shining eyes are sharp, watching Visenya with the likeness of a hawk watching its prey. 

He looks to be a mixture of his mother and presumably his father. His hair is a dirty blonde, freckles dotting his tan skin. He's not nearly as frail as his other siblings, similar to how Jon, Robb, and Theon looked when they first started training in Winterfell. But he seems to have much less meat on his bones. 

Visenya places her warm hands on his face, lifting his head and moving a hand to gently cradle his head. There's a large bruise blossoming on the right side of his forehead, but there's no blood or any other signs of injury. She places a hand on his heart, feeling it beat against her hand, then slides it to the side of his neck, feeling a pulse there as well. 

"He didn't get hit with a weapon," the woman says, whether convincing herself of his safety or trying to feed Visenya information she isn't sure. Or it could be a mixture of both. 

"No, but he took a hard fall, I've seen men twice his size get knocked on their heads and never get back up, and if they do, they're never the same. There's bleeding, but that doesn't mean he's completely safe," Visenya says, removing her hands from his body. 

"Is there anything to be done?" she asks, picking his up and gently cradling his head in her lap. 

"Other than wait and see when he wakes? No. As I said, I'm no healer, but I have a tea that can help ease his pain. He'll have a bad headache and sore body, that much is certain," Visenay says. She looks over at the two other children; a girl and a boy. They're young, that for certain, younger than the boy on the ground. 

"How much?" the woman asks, not removing her eyes from her son. Visenya's brows furrow in confusion.

"How much what?"

"How much will I owe you for the herbs?" the woman asks again, looking Visenya directly in the eyes. Her tears are dry, but her eyes still shine from the residual dampness. 

"Nothing. He needs it now more than I do. I can buy more when I reach the next town," Visenya says, keeping her face as pleasant as possible. The woman purses her lips, clearly in thought. Silence washes over them until it's broken by the woman. 

"Thank you. Not many humans would show kindness to elves, much less two so well trained in fighting." 

Visenya snorts, a smirk appearing on her face. 

"One human and a mutant, actually. But you're welcome. What good is all the fighting talent in the world if you don't use it well," Visenya says, slowly standing from the ground? The woman's eyes follow her form as she stands to her full height. "Our horse is near the road. We can take you wherever home is, and make sure you get there safe."

The woman nods, adjusting her son in her arms so that he is lying across her lap. With Visenya's help, she stands from the ground, holding her son's bridal style. Her two other children stay close, hiding a bit behind her, each one with a hand attached to her dress. Visenya turns, eager to leave the clearing and forget any of this happened, but the woman stopped her. 

"I've already lost Aldon, my husband. I could not lose my son too, I truly appreciate what you have and are doing for us."

"I wouldn't speak so soon," Geralt's gravelly voice enters the conversation. They both turn to see him kneeling beside the body, two fingers against his neck. "He's fading, but he hasn't died yet." 

Visenya strides towards Geralt, the woman, still holding her son, hot on her trail while her two children stay in place, silently watching with wide eyes. Visenya sits beside Geralt as the woman nearly collapses on the other side of Aldon's body. She takes a hold of his hand, her grip so tight her fingers begin to turn white.

"Can we save him?" Visenya asks. Geralt grunts, gesturing with his head in the direction behind them. She nods, knowing what he's saying without having to physically say it. She stands and runs the way they came in. Her feet are heavy, beating into the soil and breaking any twigs or crunchy leaves. The world is a blur around her, wind rushing against her skin. They can save him, but only if Visenya can get the supplies back to Geralt in time. 

Either by sheer dumb luck, or the gods truly have shown them favor, Roach is right where they left him. Visenya releases a heavy sigh as she beelines straight for her pack that hangs off of Roach. 

"Good horse. I'm going to give you so many apples once we reach civilization," Visenya breathes out, untying her pack from his saddle. He neighs, happily it would seem. She smiles, patting his side a few times before turning and rushing into the forest once more. 

Everyone is in the exact spots as when she left. Geralt is leaning over Aldon with his wife sitting on the other side of his body. She clutches his hand in hers, knuckles turning white from the tightness of her grip. Her lips are quivering with large eyes, her body shaking every few minutes, the stark contrast of Geralt. With thin lips, hard eyes, and unwavering hands as he cleans the wound to the best of his ability; he's the epitome of stone. Visenya runs towards them, tossing the bag at Geralt once she crosses halfway through the clearing. He catches it in his hand, flipping it open and rummaging through it. He pulls out various bottles; some with powders, liquids, herbs: both brushed and whole, and bandages. 

Visenya slows her pace, moving around Aldon to sit beside his wife. She glances at Visenya for a moment before looking back at her husband. She;'s breathing heavily, the sharp intakes of breath sporadic. A hiccup escapes her mouth every few seconds, eyes on her husband, waiting and hoping for any signs of recovering. Hand on the grass, it moves over until it brushes against her free hand. She doesn't look away from her husband, but she takes Visenya's hand, her cold body instantly feeling warmer from Visenya's proximity. It provides comfort, a sense of reassurance that Geralt knows what he's doing. That her husband will make it out of the mess, and this day won't become a travesty that's burned in her mind. 

Geralt works quickly, each minute passing in a blur. He tears strips of bandages off with his teeth, the tearing sound from it enough to keep Visenya from getting lost in her thoughts. He wipes away the blood with a cloth, pouring a liquid that smells suspiciously like alcohol over the wound. It hisses upon contact but the noise swiftly dissipates. He then grabs one of the vials that contain a thick liquid. It's amber, with various herbs and other ingredients slightly discoloring it. He packs it into the wound, laying down multiple thick layers of the poultice. He then lifts the torso of the man just enough to wrap his torso in bandages. With her only free hand, Visenya helps him keep the body off the ground, mutely watching Geralt work. 

Finally, Geralt sighs, removing his hands from the body, the two of them gently lowering him to once again lay on the ground. Blood is no longer gushing from the wound on the side of his body, unable to seep through the dense layers above it. 

"They were pricks, but luckily they weren't skilled pricks. He would've bled out, but it wasn't a fatal blow. When he wakes he'll be weak, but alive," Geralt mutters. Visenya sighs, eyes moving to the elven woman. She removes her hand from Visenya's grip, moving her child off of her lap. Visenya immediately places hands on the small boy, taking him from his mother and cradling him. The woman cries out in relief, hovering over Aldon's body and placing a hand on his cheek. 

She looks down at the boy in her arms, noticing the way his eyes twitch under his lids. He's dreaming, it seems. And from the small grin on his face, it's a good one. A soft smile forms on Visenya's face, wide eyes watching the boy, her breathing matching his. A familiar tingling sensation runs up her spine. She glances up, seeing Geralt's gaze firmly on her. She smiles, and he returns it. They've done it, managed to save an innocent family, keeping them from being torn apart by stick bastards with pointy sticks. It's...nice.

"We probably shouldn't move him too much in fear of disturbing his wounds. How far are you from here?" Visenya asks, turning her attention back to the woman. She lifts her head, eyes moving from her husband to Visenya. They're wet with tears again, but not tears of sorrow or fear. This time they're from an overwhelming feeling of joy and hope she didn't have moments ago.

"It's a short distance, we live just on the outskirts of Brunwich," she says. Visenya nods, opening her mouth but Geralt speaks before her.

"We just left," Geralt says.

"And we can turn back around," Visenya interjects, looking at Geralt with a stony expression; lips in a firm line and eyes daring him to contradict her. She clutches the child closer to her, not willing to let them go just yet. They need to be safe and back home, and Visenya needs to see it with her own eyes. Otherwise, her consciousness will never be sated. And Geralt gleans this, causing a sigh to leave his lips, not bothering to start an argument he knows he wouldn't win. 

"We can," he concedes, voice lacking any form of enthusiasm or conviction in his words.

"Excellent." Visenya returns her attention to the woman. "Since his injuries are the most delicate, your husband can ride on Roach, and you can ride with him. I can hold your son, but would your two other children be okay to walk? I'm not sure they'd fit on Roach." 

"They won't. We should camp here for the day until he's conscious and well enough to ride," Geralt says. Visenya nods and looks at the woman for confirmation, who nods as well. 

"In that case, I will get Roach," Visenya says. She begins to adjust the boy in her lap to give him back to his mother, but she stands from the ground. 

"I'll come with you," she says. Visenya nods, standing from the ground as well. She walks around Aldon, to stand beside Geralt. She gestures with her chin down at the child. Geralt opens his arms, reluctantly. She places the boy in his arms, and turns, dusting off any dirt that clings to her armor. Visenya nods at her and the two of them exit the clearing. 

The air around them is quiet. They neither speak nor acknowledge each other. Occasionally Visenya glances at her out of the corner of her eyes, and she catches the woman doing the same thing. It's almost like two wolves dancing around each other, trying to figure out how to approach the other. It isn't hostile, neither of them having any obvious tension. It's just….silent. 

The woods are as gloomy as before; a cold chill sweeping through the air with dead trees and crunching leaves in shades of brown coloring their world. Yet everything somehow feels lighter, less dull, and grey. Visenya feels weightless, the adrenaline from the battle still lingering in her veins and the rush from saving innocent lives giving a small skip in her step. 

"I am Amaria," the woman -- Amaria says, making the first move. Visenya nods, continuing to look straight ahead. 

"I am Amaria," the woman, Amaria, says. Her voice is louder than she's heard it, yet the only other times she spoke was during great distress. There's a melodic tone to it, each word slightly flowing together like the lyrics of a song. Visenya nods her head, staring straight ahead. 

"Visenya." Leaves crunch under her boots, matching the pace of her heart, and the distant song that lingers in the back of her mind. It's been too long since she's heard music - and not just the drunken yodeling of tavern goers. She misses music and singing that are enjoyable to listen to. She misses the small tunes and fumbling lyrics that Jaskier always sang throughout the days. Everything is too silent now, and she finds herself trying to fill the silence the way he did. 

"That's a beautiful name," Amaria remarks, stepping over an overly large root. Visenya smiles, glancing over at her. She's only the second person to call her Visenya. It's relieving...finally able to take ownership of her own name once again. 

"Thank you, it's a family name." Amaria nods, falling silent once more, and unlike moments prior, this silence is not an easy one. Nerves fill Visenya, the uncertainty of what to say - if she should say anything at all overwhelming. She mulls over it for another moment, before just opening her mouth and hoping to not offend. 

"What are your children named?" Visenya asks. 

"Rohir is my oldest at seven, he's the one you helped. Then there's Elana, she's only four and my youngest is Vyron, he's only two," Amaria says, a wide smile appearing on her face as she thinks about her children. Visenya watches her with keen eyes, a pang of envy stabbing into her, a piece of her longing to know the feeling of having a family that's all your own. 

"They're beautiful," Visenya says, tightly nodding her head. She drums her fingers against the side of her leg. 

"Do you have any?" Amaria asks. She's seemingly unaware or unconcerned by the awkward air that surrounds Visenya. But it's nothing new, she's never been the best with people. Constantly being around such loud people like Jaskier, or quiet and reclusive people like Geralt, she never notices. But now, walking in the forest alone with Amaria, she can't help but notice how extremely difficult something as simple as conversation is. 

"No," Visenya says, crouching to avoid smacking into a low hanging group of branches. Amaria nods, and then sighs. Her face scrunches into discomfort; pursuing her lips with eyes that are narrowed slightly. 

"Sorry, I should not have asked. I'm sure Witcher mutations make conceiving a child near impossible," she says, her voice sympathetic and apologetic. Absentmindedly Visenya nods, only a moment later, fully processing the words. 

"Wait what?" Visenya stops in her tracks, turning to face Amaria. Her mouth is agape and eyes wide, ashen brows furrow in confusion with lines on her forehead. She continues a few steps before realizing Visenya is no longer walking with her. She stops as well, turning around and facing Visenya.

"You and the Witcher. Aren't you two..." Amaria trails off. Visenya's cheeks are bombarded with heat that makes her skin bright red. There's a funny feeling in her stomach, tingles rushing up her spine. The thought of her and Geralt together isn't unpleasant, and that's the worst part. She almost enjoys the idea. But she quickly sweeps that away, her and Geralt having children would be disastrous, not that he probably could. 

"Geralt and I are not...together," Visenya says, tone more frantic than she intended. 

"Oh, I just thought maybe…"

"Well, you thought wrong," Visenya says, the words harsher than she intended for it to be. She releases a sigh of frustration, watching Amaria jump, slowly taking one step back from Visenya. Quickly, she crumbles back into the scared rabbit she was when Visenya first saw her. The familiar look in her eyes quickly snaps Visenya out of her frustration. Guild replaces her bubbling temper, immediately dousing out any annoyance in her voice. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh," Visenya says. Amaria nods, frown curling into a small smile. "Please, forgive me."

"You are forgiven. I should not have made such assumptions," Amaria says. She steps closer towards Visenya, a non-verbal sign that she doesn't hold any fear for her. Visenya smiles at her, and the two of them continue walking once more. Silence cloaking them in its aura for the rest of their walk, neither speaking even upon reaching Roach and bringing his back to Geralt and her family. 

oOo

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[jooniyah]

Silver Blades

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader ; Yandere Royalty!au 

Genre: Angst, Mature

Warnings: Hard Yandere behavior, emotional abuse, dubcon bordering on non-con, violence, degradation and physical abuse, manipulation, profanity, smattering of smut, blood, swords and murder.

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

This is an incredibly mean yandere, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully. Author’s note:  I have coined a couple of words to better suit my fiction, please be assured that they are not typographical errors. I am sorry in advance for the ending, and for breaking your heart! Okay, read and get your hearts broken! 

Picture credit: YimeiZhu

“Don’t you dare sulk,” your aunt grumbled, adjusting your corset. 

“It is the King’s orders and the law of the land. Keep your face pleasant.”

You couldn’t see properly, all those tears blurring your vision. You searched your aunt’s face for any trace of compassion, but there was nothing kind in the eyes that stared back at you. 

“You know I have my own children to take care of,” she continued, pulling at the lace, crushing your chest tighter. 

You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as the laces bit into your skin. Why were you the Cimarin when there were plenty of other girls in the kingdom? How was it that life always seemed to hand you the worst of luck? 

“Wipe that look from your face,” your aunt chided, bustling around to fetch your Tochir, or gifts, meant to be taken with you to the Prince.

 The ladies from the village had all gathered in your aunt’s house, bringing sprigs of honeysuckle, carnation, and heather as part of your Tochir. As was customary, they draped your corseted body in yards and yards of silk, sprinkling each layer with a perfume that was made of distilled azaleas. 

The smell overpowered you, making you feel giddy and suffocated. Your hair was elaborately braided, complete with tiny flowers set in the twists of your braids.  

  You looked at yourself in the rusted mirror. You were the prettiest you had ever been. Why then was your heart threatening to burst anytime out of your corseted chest? How convenient for your aunt that the King had chosen you. An orphan. Raised unwillingly under the roof of your mother’s sister. 

Your aunt had a way of reminding you often that you were nothing more than a burden to her. How relieved she’d be right now, that her daughters had been spared. It was you that the King had asked for. You, the Cimarin of the Prince. You laughed bitterly at your reflection. 

“Born under the unluckiest of stars,” you spat at yourself miserably.   

The ladies had fashioned the flower sprigs into a small bouquet for you to carry. It was time to leave. Your aunt was telling you how to behave with the Prince, but your numb mind couldn’t process a word. She pressed a jade medallion, also a part of your Tochir, into your palm, the stone feeling as cold as your frightened heart. 

“…. fortunate that I wasn’t asked to provide any dowry,” your aunt was rambling on, her face lighting up, not believing her luck at getting rid of an unwanted encumbrance that had threatened to encroach her daughters’ dowry money. 

Your parents hadn’t foreseen dying at thirty-odd years of their lives and had left you penniless when you became an orphan at the tender age of seven. The Royal carriage arrived, drawn by two luxuriously black steeds. 

The footman opened the dainty doors, waiting for you to board. Clutching your Tochir, you looked back one last time, heart sinking when you realized that every other woman apart from your aunt had a sympathetic look on her face. With a strangled sob, you turned and climbed into the carriage.   

*****

The long ride to the Palace allowed you to bemoan your destiny, tears flowing ceaselessly with each sob that raked your body. The sweat in your palms seeped through your gloves and dampened the stems in the bouquet you held onto for dear life. The smell of heather and azaleas adulterated by the odor of sweat emanating from your gloves seemed to curl around you like wisps of smoke. 

Whatever did you do to deserve this? Would your parents have defied the King’s orders had they been alive? 

“Why didn’t you take me with you, mama?” were the only words echoing desperately in your head. 

You could see the towers of the castle looming in the distance. The Donjon grew bigger in your field of vision as the horses sped with thudding hooves towards the castle. A fresh wave of fear stirred in the pit of your stomach as you sensed the carriage slowing to a halt. 

You were frozen in your seat when the liveried footman opened the door and held an arm out to you. A small group of Royal maids had gathered around the carriage. A matronly woman reached in and pulled your arm harshly, with an air of annoyance, as if she were bored with welcoming distraught Cimarins all her life.

When you alighted awkwardly, with the woman’s hand still gripping you tightly, the rest of the maids sprinkled rose water on you, another rite. But the air, to you, was nothing but a smothering fire, finally consuming your wings, burning them to ashes forever.   

***** The great halls you were led along were adorned with tasteful decorations, every ornate item polished to perfection, every piece of delicate china gleaming vibrantly. There was not a speck of dust on the glass panes, not a spot on the crisp curtains. So different from the grime-covered attic you were used to sleeping in.

The orderliness scared you, the enormity of the fact that you were going to live in the Palace hitting you hard. Your throat went dry when you were finally led to a chamber, furnished minimally with only a cupboard and a divan.

“You won’t be using this room much,” said the maid who had led you to the room. “You will only use this room to retire in case of illness or menstruation.” 

The gravity of her words struck you like cold daggers. Suddenly the room felt like a safe haven you dared not to leave. You hadn’t opened your mouth ever since you arrived, gawking at the intimidating surroundings. The maid looked at you closely, and you thought you sensed a flicker of pity in her eyes.��

“The Prince will be ready for you in an hour.” She stopped and stared at you. “Stop looking so forlorn and wear a smile when you meet the Prince. You are here to be with the Prince, whether you like it or not.” 

And with that, she turned and left.   

***** You had nothing to do except wait to be summoned to the Prince’s chambers. Seated on the divan, you looked down at the silk robes you were wearing. All perfumed up and wrapped elaborately, only to be torn at the hands of the Royal stranger.

 The jade medallion was supposed to be the symbol of good luck you brought to the Prince. Where then was the symbol for the bad luck he brought to you? The cold green stone glinted at you as you kept turning it in your palms.

 Out of nowhere, a maid materialized and said, “The Prince will see you now.” 

You shot up to your feet, blood rushing to your head. Was it time already? Your legs felt like lead as you followed the maid along the long corridors. She stopped before a door and motioned for you to go in. 

“You will wait here.” 

Without any more instructions, she closed the door behind her. This was a large room, furnished with only a magnificent bed, strewn with rose petals. You had been there only a few minutes when a side door opened. 

In walked a young man, dressed in the richest of robes, his eyes never looking once in your direction. He stood and surveyed the bed, his jet-black hair spilling over his eyebrows. His mauve robes contrasted sharply with his fair skin, the light from the windows enhancing the color of his robes and casting a glow on his chiseled face. With a snap of his head, he turned and gazed directly into your eyes. 

You stared back spellbound; how could a mortal man be this handsome?   

He advanced towards you without a word, eyes locked onto yours. His face had a boyish charm that mesmerized you and rendered you speechless. He stopped directly in front of you, one arm catching hold of your robes.

 Losing no time, he pulled the fabric hard, causing you to turn on your heels over and over as he unwound the silk hastily. Irritation clouded his features as the silk kept spilling out without ceasing. 

“How many damned layers are there?” he muttered and dug his fingers into the fabric between your breasts and ripped it. 

He said nothing as he tore at the silk, finally reaching the corset. Like an angry child tearing at the wrappers of a gift, he butchered the lace, reducing it to shreds. Finally, with a dark joy, he yanked off the corset, drinking up the sight of your body, with his arms suspended in the air, holding the mangled corset. 

You instinctively raised your arms to cover your chest, when he gripped you hard.

 “Do not dare do anything you aren’t told to.” 

His coal-black eyes roamed maniacally all over your body, a frightening grin curling up his lips.

“It is my birthday, and you are the Cimarin my father chose to gift me. He did well.” 

His arms curled around your waist as he pulled you snug against his clothed chest. 

“Obey me and you will be rewarded,” he sniffed your hair, sighing at the feeling of having his own Cimarin at last.

He was not a boy anymore, he had turned eighteen, and here was a woman picked exclusively to please him. He closed his eyes as he felt the heat of your body against him. He had grown tired of his own hands, he now had another set of hands to caress him. He had never seen a naked woman so close before, he had grown hard as soon as he had set eyes on your rotund breasts.   

When he opened his eyes, you were still rigid in his arms. He didn’t enjoy the stricken look on your face. 

“Disrobe me,” he ordered, letting go of you.

 With shaking hands, you got to work on removing his clothing. He stood still, looking at you as you peeled the robes off his body, revealing broad shoulders and an incredibly taut chest.

 You had been indoors most of your life, never having seen a topless man. Your virginity had been the first to satisfy the criteria for a Royal Cimarin. Your hands stopped at his underclothes, unsure of what to do next.

 “I don’t recall telling you to stop,” ground out the Prince, impatience contorting his features. 

Closing your eyes, you swiftly undid the buttons and pulled the fabric down, your head remaining bent, not daring to look.

 “Do not keep me waiting,” he thundered, pushing your shoulders down to kneel before him. 

“Please me,” he ordered, closing his eyes, waiting to feel your lips on him. 

A whole minute later, he threw his eyes open, rage evident in his burning orbs, only to see you cowering, with no clue on how you were supposed to please him.    

Thoroughly peeved, he grabbed your head into position, with a curt “Open your mouth.”

 Catching a fistful of your hair, he pushed himself inside your mouth, hissing at the warmth. He threw his head back and groaned, all the while snapping his hips into your face. You tried your best to avoid gagging, holding back the tears threatening to spill out. He became more excited, pinching your nose closed, willing you to take more of him. He forced himself deeper, causing your nose to touch the tufts of hair at his base.

His excitement caused him to climax sooner than he had wished to, and he came in your mouth, causing you to cringe. You hoped he hadn’t noticed, and closed your eyes, waiting for him to remove himself. With a shuddering sigh, he released your mouth and cupped your face tightly, making you wince.

“Never do that again. I’ll let it pass since I’m feeling benevolent today,” he said, eyes boring into you.

 You gulped and nodded. There was something in his eyes that screamed danger and you’d rather not be on the receiving end of it. He was astonishingly strong for an eighteen-year-old. The veins in his arms were prominent, bulging with each movement. He could probably snap your neck in no time if he ever felt like it. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked, and when he received no answer, he clucked his tongue. 

“ Swallow it. Always swallow unless I tell you otherwise.”

 You swallowed immediately, and he smiled his arrogant grin again. God, he was enjoying this so much. He wanted to do everything he had ever imagined, try every possible fancy and have his way with you. This, an obedient woman just to satisfy his whims, felt too good to be true.   

You were naïve enough to think it was over for the day. Just as you thought he would leave you alone to mend your broken dignity, he bent and picked you up in one fluid motion. 

Throwing you on the bed, he leaped over you with the swift agility of a panther stalking its prey. His skin glowed in all its naked glory, muscles flexing as he hovered over you. There was a carnal hunger in his eyes, so palpable that the air felt charged with his want.

Without warning, he sunk his sharp teeth into your breast, making you arch in pain. He didn’t seem to care, as he tried to bite deeper and fit as much of the flesh in his mouth. He closed his eyes, one hand kneading the other breast as he inhaled the soft feminine scent emanating from the swell of your bosom. 

As someone whose calloused hands had held only the hard hilts of bloodied swords for so long, he found it hard to comprehend the pliancy of your supple mounds. Wanting to give the same attention to both breasts, he switched sides, gnawing on the other breast with equal vigor. He was growing hard once more, and when he felt ready again, you had two crescents of bite marks on both sides of your chest.    

Spreading your legs, he inspected your core, snapping his head to look accusingly at you, stating, “You are not wet for me.” 

Though he would never say it out loud, it was a humiliating slap to his ego that his own Cimarin was not wet for him. You didn’t feel privileged that the Prince of the land was providing you his ministrations? Fine. Your arousal didn’t matter to him anyway. You were there for his pleasure, and not the other way around. 

His chest twisted in anger, hating you for being apparently unperturbed by him. With a harsh shove, he entered you, hissing at the warmth of your tight walls. The shocked gasp and look of terror on your face appeased him and spurred him to pound into you harder. 

“I wasn’t … I wasn’t ready…” you whimpered, choking on your sobs.    

Wisps of dark hair fell over his eyes, brushing his eyelashes as he panted out, “Your Highness.” He shrunk his eyes at you, snarling, “You are to address me properly, you ungrateful peasant.” 

The words stung you, bringing tears to your eyes. 

“It hurts, your Highness,” you mumbled slowly.

 “Do I look like I care? You will get used to it,” was his reply. 

Something about your teary eyes aroused him, heightening his pleasure. Serves you right for being thankless, he thought. You lay beneath him, watching him tear into you, his exacting hands gripping your hips agonizingly hard. The lack of lubrication made your insides burn. You could do nothing but grit your teeth and bear it. 

Your fear had tightened your walls and had made you feel even better for him. His sinful groans chilled you to the bones, heating your cheeks and causing your core to throb. He thrust harder and harder, deep growls rumbling in his chest as your core pulsed around him. His forehead and torso glistened with sweat when he finally reached his high, releasing himself inside you with a feral groan. A huge smirk broke out on his face, and he pulled out of you. 

God, you felt a thousand times better than his hands ever did. What a fine day to turn eighteen! He was still blissed out when you scurried to make room for him on the bed. His eyes softened a bit before disgust clouded them.

“You have the audacity to think you can share a bed with the Prince?” he scoffed, rolling off the bed. 

The man really knew how to slice you with his words.

 “Dress me up,” he commanded, standing upright. 

Cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment, you clothed him again. As soon as your fingers finished tying his sash, he abruptly turned on his heel and exited the room without a word, leaving you quivering, naked and humiliated. 

*****   The days at the Palace were all the same. You had two maids whose job was to dress you up in the best silks of the land for the Prince. You were supposed to be ready to present yourself to the Prince at a moment’s notice. 

All-day long, you had nothing to do except wait for him to come back from his princely duties and throw himself at you. He never cared if you liked it or not. He ravaged you whenever he pleased, and deserted you as soon as he got dressed. It was as if you were just a mannequin for him to play with.

 But wasn’t it exactly what a Cimarin’s role was? Every Prince had a Cimarin to practice his husbandly duties with, so he could please his bride better. But everyone knew that the real reason was to curb unwanted displays of the Royal heir’s promiscuity with all the maidens of the Kingdom. 

The King usually chose a virgin damsel and appointed her as the Prince’s Cimarin. The title probably served to mask the bluntness of other words one would use to refer to such a companion. 

You had been granted access to saunter in the Royal gardens, but you had quickly learned that you were looked upon with contempt by the maids. To them, you were nothing but another maid of the Royal household, albeit a titled one. Your title did nothing to hide the fact that you were as disposable as they were. 

There were bitter stares directed at you whenever you ventured out of the Prince’s lair. It was even more difficult when you retired five days a month to your little room. No one cared to ask if you wanted anything to soothe the pain, no one brought you a morsel to eat. 

Once you hadn’t eaten during the entirety of your exile, only to be greeted back by the Prince sarcastically with “Those bones look good on you.”   

***** A whole year rolled by, filled with the Prince’s harsh claiming of your body. His habits of biting and pouncing on you had advanced to whipping and choking. He vented all his anger on you, punishing you for things you hadn’t the least to do with. He simply didn’t care if you were in pain because of him. You were his to destroy.

One day, he returned with a stormy temper, his foot sprained, all thanks to his horse, which had thrown him off the saddle. He shouted for you, his face all stony and seething with anger. 

When you rushed to his side, he thrust his foot in your face, saying “Bandage it.”

You ran out to the Royal doctor in your quest for bandages. 

As he waited impatiently, it occurred to him that he had come straight to you instead of summoning the doctor to his private chambers. What had brought him to you? Were you, the insignificant peasant, growing on him? 

When you returned, he searched your face for anything other than the usual revulsion and fear he had grown accustomed to. He noticed how your fingers trembled, evidently scared to make a mistake and get whipped for it. No, you didn’t even like him, he was sure of that. But why was it that he wanted you to think of him all the time, even if it were out of fear and hatred?

Your face was aligned with his foot, bandaging the sprained ankle as he rested his foot on your bent knee. 

“Kiss my foot,” he said, intently staring at you. 

You were taken aback by the strange command and blinked in confusion. 

“I said, kiss my foot,” he drawled lazily, “Which part of it is unclear to you?” 

Not wanting to get punished, you swallowed your pride and pecked the bridge of his foot. T

he Prince leaned back, satisfied. He decided it would be best to remind himself of your station with orders like these. You were not a Princess, surely you didn’t deserve to be treated like one. 

When you placed his foot down gingerly, he barked out, “Fetch me the cavalry officer.” 

He was always this blunt, leaving you to figure out who or what he wanted, leaving ample room for error, and consequently, painful punishments.    

When you ran out to the stables, you found the groom and asked for the cavalry officer on duty during the Prince’s accident. The groom sent you in search of an officer named Jimin. 

As you skidded to a halt in front of the said officer, you were stunned into silence. In front of you was a man looking like he had descended straight from the Heavens. 

His soft blond hair caught the sunlight and shone, and his grey eyes gleamed like jewels. He was dressed impeccably, the crisp riding uniform tailored to fit his lithe body perfectly, clinging to his toned frame. 

Only when he cleared his throat discreetly did you snap out of your trance. 

“Yes, miss?” he asked, and you marveled at his mellifluous voice. 

“The Prince… He wants you,” you managed to blurt out. 

Your cheeks felt hot, your whole body felt like it was on fire. The gallant officer nodded politely, thanking you for the message. He fell into step alongside you, silently walking towards the lair, as you secretly called it. 

As you walked with him by your side, you couldn’t stop the buzzing in your ears. Did he know you were the Cimarin? Did he look down upon you like the rest of the Royal servants did? Did he always dress this well? 

As you led him to the room, you had the sinking feeling that the officer probably knew what happened inside whenever the Prince frequented this part of his suite. You couldn’t bear to look at him when you presented him to the Prince and curtseyed out of the way. 

You could hear Prince Jeon’s deep sonorous voice shouting at the officer for not taking enough care about the steeds, but you found your ears struggling to filter and catch just the cavalryman’s soft measured replies. 

After the meeting ended, the blond man saluted his Prince and left the room, gliding out to the hall you were standing in. As he crossed you, his eyes flitted to yours, crinkling into beautiful crescents as he flashed you a gorgeous smile. You blushed furiously, unable to stop yourself from smiling back, the exchange feeling so natural and effortless. 

You were still in a happy mood when you went back in, it was so obvious that the Prince raised his eyebrows at you. 

“So happy that I’ve sprained my ankle, are you? Do not fret, I shall put my other body parts to good use while my foot recovers.” 

The rest of the afternoon, as the Prince pounded into you, the only face you could think of was that of the blond young officer.   

*****

One month and sixteen days. It had been that long until you had the chance of seeing the smart cavalry officer again. T

his time too, you were bringing him a message from the Prince. He was probably oblivious to the way his charms were making you mushy, or he might probably think nothing about a creature as lowly as a Cimarin. 

Either way, he never lingered near you a moment too long, taking all your breath with him as he marched away. As you stared at his retreating figure, a part of you fantasized about being an average country girl he would meet at inns, someone with an inkling of dignity he could proudly talk to. 

With a sigh, you turned back to the lair, it was getting late and God knew what punishment the Prince was brewing for you now. When you reached the room, however, Prince Jeon was nowhere to be seen. 

Just as you decided it was a lucky day for you, the Prince’s voice drifted from a nearby room. It was treason to overhear, and you hurried to the windows to shut the voice out when the subject of his talk froze you in place. 

“….. that I want another Cimarin,” he was saying. 

“What happened to the one you have now? Is she not good enough?” a deeper voice much like the Prince’s asked. 

Was it the King? You waited with a beating heart for the Prince to speak again. 

“She is satisfactory, your Majesty. But I still wish to have another one.” 

The King remained silent for a moment. “Do you want me to get rid of the present one then?” 

Your breath caught in your throat. Whatever did ‘get rid of’ mean? 

There was a long pause and the Prince replied, “No, your Majesty. She serves me well enough. I was wondering if I could have another Cimarin, in addition to this one. It is not uncommon to have a couple of Cimarins, I believe?” 

You closed the window, having heard enough. They were discussing you as if you were a slave, a toy they disposed of after playing with. Your head throbbed, and you had to calm yourself down before the Prince caught you red-faced and became suspicious.   

*****

When the Prince returned, he was quite put out. He had wanted to see if he felt the same way he felt about you with any other Cimarin. But the King had not given his word, rather choosing to say he would think about it. 

True, having a harem of Cimarins would defeat the purpose of having just one woman to take care of his needs until he got married. But how else would he find out if the feelings were just boyish lust? 

He was annoyed at you for putting him in this position. Had you made him a weak man who only thought with his crotch? How was it that the more he tried to distance himself from you, the more he found himself going back to you? 

You were seeping through the folds of his brain like poison. But the irony was that he wanted it. He wanted to be poisoned by you. Your eyes, your sweet-smelling hair, the way you bit your lips and scrunched your face when he entered you, it all made him go crazy. 

He lay down on the bed and beckoned to you. The rule was to either kneel on the bed or remain standing but to never lie down with him as an equal. Except, of course, he told you explicitly to do so. 

Today, however, he wanted your mouth on him, erasing away all those annoying thoughts that buzzed in his head. He caught your hair in his hand, guiding your mouth to his hard member. His moans filled the room as you got to work on him.

Catching hold of your head, he thrust his hips off the bed and hit your throat deep, enjoying the way your throat muscles constricted around him. He couldn’t help forcing his hands on the back of your head to take him deeper, causing you to make those gagging noises that made him go wild. 

He looked down at the dark hair that bobbed in his crotch and a thought flickered in his mind. You were so fragile that he could just end your life with a snap of his fingers. What if he choked you to death, stuffed full of him? 

His hands left your hair and circled the pulse points on your neck. He could feel your pulse throbbing against his fingertips. Just one hard press and he could break you, break all the insanity you were putting him through. 

Right at the moment he started to tighten his hold around your neck, there was a knock on the door. He let go of you, waiting for you to stuff his member back into his underclothes, and dress him up again.

*****   

 When you opened the door, there was officer Jimin, along with a person who looked more decorated, he was probably a higher authority of the cavalry. They had rolls of parchment in their hands, which they requested the Prince to sign. You went back in as the Prince made his way to the door to reach for the parchment. 

Embarrassment crept up your spine, you wished you could melt away instead of letting Jimin see you in the lair, hair disheveled and mouth crusted with come.

 But luck had its way, and the bottle of ink into which Prince Jeon dipped his quill slipped and shattered to pieces on the floor, splashing ink all over his feet. 

The irate Prince turned back and bellowed, “Hey, you! Come clean this mess.” 

 You scrambled to wipe the ink, feeling as insignificant as the dust on the floor. The Prince saw an opportunity to humiliate you further and thrust his ink-smeared foot towards you. 

Ears burning, you blotted up the ink as well as you could with the end of your robes. You knew he would have a fit if you used the rag to wipe his precious feet. When you were done, he proceeded to nudge his foot into the crook of your hips.

“Pick all the glass.” 

You wished the ground would swallow you. Here you were on all fours, picking glass pieces at the feet of three men, one being the man you had never wanted to witness your mortification. As you hurried, the minute shards pierced your palms, drawing blood. 

When you bit your lips and raised your head, you saw two soft grey eyes looking at you with concern. The indignity was too much to bear, and you gathered all the shards and fled into the room. The grey eyes followed you, unaware that a pair of cold black eyes were staring at them with dark malice.   

***** When the two men turned to leave, the Prince waved one hand at Jimin saying, “Jimin will stay behind.” You instinctively stiffened on hearing it. 

Seeing Jimin look at you with such softness had kindled a fire in the Prince’s chest. He had to establish who you belonged to. 

“You! You ruined my feet on the pretext of cleaning them. Let me hear you whip yourself ten times,” he yelled from the door. 

You hung your head, catching sight of Jimin’s horrified face when you reached for the whip. 

As the whip cracked through the air, hitting you and bringing broken gasps of pain, the Prince enjoyed the growing look of dismay on his subordinate’s face. 

“Is she counting right?” he asked Jimin lazily. The officer stood motionless, unable to respond. When he was finally excused after the sounds of the whip ceased, he turned and marched away, wiping the tears in his eyes.  

Back in the lair, the only words directed to you after Jimin had left were, “Don’t you dare graze me with those shards. I don’t want your blood on me either.”

 As much as it had irked him to make you whip yourself, he justified it to himself that it was to keep Jimin from looking at you that way again. He was sure the man knew what you had been really punished for. He would make up for the pain by going easy on you that night. But he had to change his mind because when he reached to touch you, he was annoyed by the way you flinched. Well, if you wouldn’t behave, you quite deserved the whip. That was one load off his chest, sympathy didn’t really suit him.  

*****   The next day, you were alone in the lair, an official duty had required Prince Jeon to ride far away, on a trip spanning three days. You were considering retiring to your little room when there was a hesitant knock on the door. 

You didn’t recognize this knock. It wasn’t the maids, they ignored you when the Prince was away. It couldn’t be the Prince either, he had left early, he was accustomed to throwing the door open without knocking anyway. 

You opened the door slowly, catching sight of a breathless Jimin in the foyer. He stood there panting, unsure of himself. Finally, he pulled himself together.

“Miss? I was wondering if I could have a word with you?” 

You nodded your head, and he hastily added, “Not here.” 

He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Could you meet me by the rose bushes?” 

There was an urgency in his voice and you replied in the affirmative. He left as abruptly as he had come, not turning back once. 

You made sure you were dressed as inconspicuously as possible, and threw a cloak on, before slipping out of the room unnoticed. The rose bushes were in a dark spot of the Royal gardens, and it was secluded enough to provide privacy. 

When you reached the bushes, Jimin was already waiting for you, his hands in the pockets of his breeches. 

“Miss, I can’t express how sorry I am, it was all my fault yesterday that you had to harm yourself,” he started, his words tumbling out in a rapid torrent. 

He extended his palm towards you with a soft “If I may..” 

When you gave him your hands, he examined the little cut wounds on your palms. 

“I am truly sorry for the suffering I caused you,” he repeated, his eyes now glistening as he took in the welts on your forearm. 

Instinctively you pulled the frills on the sleeves to hide them. He didn’t need to see them and feel more guilty. But he had already seen them, his heart bleeding on seeing you trying to put on a brave face for him. 

“Please do not worry, officer. I am fine. I really am.”

  “Please, call me Jimin. I have to tell you something else, miss” he said.

 “Please call me Y/N. No one here even knows my name,” you mumbled. 

You wanted to hear your name roll off his tongue, you wanted to hear your name pronounced in his mellow voice. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking deep into your eyes, “I came to tell you as soon as I heard it. The Prince has requested another Cimarin and the King was just discussing with the minister on whether he should get rid of you.” 

This was something you already knew, except for the fact that the King wouldn’t let the Prince have two Cimarins. 

“I came to tell you I will do everything in my power to help you if you want to escape,” he continued. 

Your eyes widened. So did he care about you, the lowly Cimarin? There was heavy silence before you spoke. 

“But wouldn’t that be treason, Jimin?” you asked in a low voice. 

He looked torn between his Royal obligation and his need to help you. 

“I am prepared to face anything if it ensures your safety,” he replied. 

Your heart swelled on seeing his earnest face. 

“I think the Prince would not relinquish his hold of me that easily. There is still time. But I thank you sincerely for offering your help.” 

He shifted on his feet hesitantly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say next. “Can I meet you again? Would you mind coming with me to a certain place tomorrow?” 

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, and you replied: “I’d love to.” 

A relieved smile blossomed on his face, and he gently raised your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. Little did he know of the storm the feeling of his lips was causing inside you. 

He waited for you to leave first, promising to call on you the next day. Suddenly after so many days of darkness, it felt like the sun was beginning to rise in your life.   

*****

The next day, Jimin was there at your doorstep again, true to his promise. 

“I hope you ride?” he asked as he extended his arm to you. 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you replied shyly. 

He grinned and patted your arm, saying, “Not to worry, Y/N.” 

He smuggled you out of the Royal grounds, taking you to the stables. There was a gorgeous steed swishing its tail, tied to a tree. You pulled the hood of your cloak to hide your face, eyes scanning the surroundings to make sure no one saw you. 

Jimin mounted the horse with a graceful jump and held his hand out to you. His strong arms pulled you up in a side-saddle position, to make up for the lack of your riding habit. He galloped off into the woods, holding you in place between his arms, the wind tearing at your hair. 

It felt wonderful, as if you were on wings, riding to oblivion, far far away from the horrors of the lair. Behind you, Jimin’s warm chest felt like a wall of safety, resting on your back and spreading tendrils of happiness all over you. 

On reaching the heart of the woods, he helped you dismount, and led his horse to water, tying it up securely. When he returned, he was smiling broadly, with no trace of condescendence in his eyes, very unlike the Prince’s. 

He led you to the banks of a small rivulet flowing through the woods, laying his robe down for you to sit on. He sat down beside you, saying, “Hold my hand.” 

He composed himself for a moment and said: “There is something about you that keeps drawing me to you.” 

Blood rose to your cheeks, painting them red as you bent down, trying your best to hide your shy smile. He reached out to lift your chin and found you blushing furiously. He wanted to be sure you liked him too before he made a fool of himself. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, searching your eyes. “Do you feel the same way about me?” 

This felt too good to be true. Was this a dream? You couldn’t believe your ears. 

“Jimin, is this out of pity? Everyone else despises me at the Palace,” you breathed. 

He scoffed and shook his head. 

“Do you think I care about what they think? And no, this is not out of pity. I offered to help you, yes, but this is something that I’ve been meaning to ask you for quite some time.” 

He looked ahead at the water, lost in thought. 

“I like you,” you said softly. 

At that, his head turned to you, blonde hair dancing over his eyes. 

“Did you just say what I thought I heard you say?”

You said nothing, choosing to smile wide instead. He clasped your hand tightly, joy evident on his features. 

“But don’t you find me repulsive? I am just the Prince’s…” 

He placed a finger on your lips before you could say anymore. “Don’t beat yourself up thinking like that. You did not choose to do it. You were forced to obey a Royal order.” 

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, adding, “I would never find you repulsive. It is a promise upon my honor.” 

Tears welled in your eyes, as a huge burden was lifted off your shoulders. He genuinely liked you, he didn’t think you were easy prey, nor did he look down on you. Maybe your future wasn’t bleak after all. You nestled closer to him and wrapped his free hand around your shoulder. 

Fondness flooded his face as he ruffled your hair. God, he was going to take such good care of you. He had been unable to sleep the whole night on that wretched day, his ears ringing with the cracks of the whip. He shuddered and pulled you closer. He wouldn’t mind if he had to die to protect you from that monster of a Prince. 

The whole afternoon passed with comfortable ease, both of you talking and getting to know each other better. It was the first time in months that you breathed freely, laughing at Jimin’s little jokes and marveling at the way his eyes regarded you. 

On the ride back to the Palace, he held the reins in one hand, the other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you as if you were a precious treasure to him. That night was the first in months that you slept without any worry about the future. You had a person who loved you with all his heart, Cimarin or not.   

*****

The three days Prince Jeon had been away were the ones you treasured the most. They were filled with happiness and laughs, delicate holding of hands and deep talk. The more you talked, the more you fell for Jimin. 

You remembered how he had attempted to kiss you; he had been remarkably nervous for a cavalryman who was used to fighting battles. He had cupped your face in his hands, tilting his head to align his lips with yours. Just as his breath had ghosted your lips, you had pulled away. You still remembered the shocked look on his face. 

He had begun to stammer his apologies before you had cut him short saying, “I want to kiss you as your woman, and your woman only. Not as the Cimarin.” 

You giggled when you recalled how relieved he looked on hearing that. True, he had tried to get a kiss from you at least five times after that, proclaiming that he did not care about sentiments like those. But you had slipped from his arms every time, teasing him, saying it would all be worth the wait. 

As you lay on the bed with your eyes closed, a cold voice shook you out of your pleasant reverie. 

“What the devil are you grinning about?” 

You jumped to your feet in horror, the Prince had returned already. He looked at you with narrowed eyes, which were heavy with fatigue. Without waiting for your reply, he pulled you towards him, collapsing on the bed with his arms wrapped snugly around your waist. He fell asleep within seconds, arms hugging you tight. As you lay there in his embrace, you couldn’t help wishing it were Jimin holding you, not the Prince. You smiled again, even thinking about him made bliss course through your veins. 

What were you going to do to hold on to his hand? He was the only bright light in your tunnel of darkness. You looked down at the head resting on your bosom. God forbid the Prince ever found out about Jimin.   

***** Weeks later, a rumor wafted through the Royal household, multiplying as it passed each ear and left each mouth. Someone had claimed that they had seen a Palace horse in the woods, carrying a rider and a cloaked woman. 

It made your face go pale when your maids talked about it while they were dressing you up for the day. Your heart beat faster, not able to control the fear that threatened to make your lips tremble. 

Fortunately, your maids didn’t notice, too busy gossiping away. But the Prince did. He cast one look at your face and raised his eyebrows.

 “Don’t tell me it is time for you to retire to your room for the month already. I might have you whipped for making me come this far for nothing.” 

You shook your head, not trusting your voice.

“What else is it then?” he huffed. 

You weren’t sure if he knew it yet. Palace horses weren’t for romantic trysts, and you knew it would cause serious trouble if the rumor was reported to him. 

“It is nothing your Highness,” you replied, crossing your fingers, “I just have a headache.” 

To your surprise, he placed his thumbs on your temples, pressing them lightly. His face was impassive, but his touch was unusually gentle. 

“Stop squirming,” he said, holding his thumbs in place, keeping your back pressed against his chest. “Better?” he asked, pulling your jaw to face him. 

“Y-Yes…” you stammered. 

This was unusual and somehow scary. Prince Jeon was actually in deep thought. He had been told of the Palace horse incident that morning, but he hadn’t a clue on who the miscreants were. He decided to call the cavalry officers and investigate, but he didn’t want to send you out into the sun with your headache. 

“Get one of the maids, and tell them I summoned officers Shin Ho and Park Jimin,” he murmured to you. 

You obediently left and returned when you had sent a maid on the errand. The Prince was pacing the room, his mind preoccupied with the events that had happened the previous night. 

His father had sent for him, telling him there was a prospective bride for him from the Kingdom of Huwan. He had provided a portrait of the Princess Leila of Huwan, beautifully rendered in pastels by the Royal artist. Instead of being thrilled, the Prince found himself staring at the portrait in dismay. 

The Princess did look captivatingly beautiful, but he felt nothing, she didn’t stir his heart. He had listened to his father talk about all the political ties the union would bring and all the wealth that would reach the Royal coffers. 

“This is a wonderful proposal, and I want you to consider this carefully,” the King had told him. 

Prince Jeon had been caught off-guard. He hadn’t expected to get married at nineteen, but when it came to issues of Royal unions, it was the King’s word that ultimately prevailed. This was a dilemma and according to him, you were the root cause of it. You had messed with his mind and ruined him. But he couldn’t think of a way to salvage the situation. 

Just as all these thoughts were running through his mind, you returned and stood by the bed as was the custom. Damn you. Why hadn’t you been born a Princess? He hated you for placing him in such a knot. He stood observing your lowered head, those eyelashes dusting your cheeks, making you look the picture of innocence. His attention was broken by the sound of footsteps on the foyer, followed by a brisk knock. 

You ran to open the door, moving back to the farthest corner of the room after the Prince reached the doorstep. 

“Shin Ho,” the Prince began, “It has come to my ears that someone from the Palace had taken a woman to the woods on a Palace steed during my absence. It appears that they were engaged in a liaison, such was the report that reached me.” 

As the Prince addressed officer Shin Ho, unadulterated shock registered on Jimin’s face, and he caught sight of you standing behind the Prince, hands covering your mouth to muffle your gasp. 

“This kind of behavior is inexcusable; I want you to inquire into this. I want to know which bastard had the nerve to take one of my horses for a dalliance with some woman.” 

You found yourself struggling to breathe. An innocent stroll in the woods had been warped into an ugly liaison by wagging tongues. What would happen if someone in the stables remembered that Jimin had taken a horse on the specific day and let it slip to officer Shin Ho? You were shaking in apprehension when Jimin caught your eye and shook his head subtly. 

‘Don’t give yourself away,’ his eyes seemed to tell you. 

Prince Jeon discussed with the officers for some more time, telling them how the issue was to be handled. When the officers finally took their leave, you were rooted to the spot, not hearing when the Prince called you twice. 

“Have you gone deaf?” he hollered, shaking you by the shoulders. “What has gotten into you?” 

He was half-distracted by the Princess Leila issue that your shaky limbs and guilt-ridden face didn’t quite register on his usually sharp mind. He wanted to forget everything for some time and get lost inside you. He let go of your shoulders. 

“On your knees, take me in your mouth.” 

When you dropped down to your knees and obediently started working your mouth on his member, he wondered if he could order Princess Leila to do all the things he made you do to him. He closed his eyes to recall her face from the portrait, but to his surprise, he couldn’t even remember how she looked like. Your face kept flashing, replacing hers on the portrait in his subconscious eye. You had become a threat to his sanity.   

***** Exactly one fortnight later, the King summoned Prince Jeon again, asking him for his decision. It was just rhetorical, both of them knew, because the King had already made up his mind and had sent a pigeon to the King of Huwan. 

The news somehow broke out and spread through the Palace like wildfire. When your maids arrived the next day, one of them gave you a haughty look before saying, “I am so eager to see how you would perform your duties as the chambermaid, O mighty Cimarin.” 

Her mouth stretched into a sneer when you looked at her with bewildered eyes.

 “Whatever do you mean?” 

She clucked her tongue, whispering: “We are going to have a proper Princess in this household, someone worthy of the Prince’s attention. I can’t wait to see her kick you out of the Palace. Because, my dear, you are nothing but scum.” 

“And what do you think you are?” a deep voice boomed behind you, as Prince Jeon stood with his nose flaring. 

The maid immediately straightened, muttering incoherent syllables of explanation as the Prince ambled forward, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

He leaned in towards her, making her uncomfortable, and looked straight at her eyes hissing, “You are not to step foot inside the Royal grounds. I will have you beheaded if I see you again.” You saw the woman’s countenance turn ashen. 

“Your Highness, was she telling the truth?” you asked slowly, after the terrified woman fled the room. 

“What was she telling you?” he asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror of the vanity table.

 “That you will be having a bride…” your voice trailed off. 

His hand left your shoulder as if it had been scalded. So you had come to know about it? He misread the look on your face, assuming you were mocking him. You thought he was too drunk with a Cimarin to marry a Princess? Well, he would prove you wrong. 

“Yes, I am.”

 He straightened to stand at his full height, as you rose quickly to your feet. He couldn’t decipher the reaction on your face. Were you as annoyed about it as he was? He wanted to make you hurt as much as he was hurting inside. 

“Well?” he asked, “What is with that look?” 

He cocked his head to the side, saying, “You didn’t expect me to….”

 He threw his head back in mirth. “You thought I would marry you?” 

He laughed loudly, seeing your face twist in humiliation. 

“You are nothing but a concubine” he sneered. “I would never marry a woman like you.” 

He saw the way your lips trembled, shame evident on your face. It made him feel better, he did not want to suffer alone, he had to make you suffer with him. When he left your room an hour later, leaving your body ravaged and bitten, he was sure he had broken you, as much as you had broken him.  

*****

As the months reduced to weeks, and the weeks flew by in haste, the Prince’s behavior towards you became more and more hysterical. He taunted and jibed at you without the slightest provocation. 

He was nervous, unsure of how he would handle his new bride. He released all of his nervous anxiety on you, belittling you and hurting your mind as well as your body. 

At long last, the day of the wedding grew nearer, and the King and Queen of Huwan arrived at the capital. The Palace was decorated with the finest of the Kingdom’s artworks. All-day long, the maids polished the silver and china till they sparkled and shone. The whole Palace was buzzing with feverish excitement, caught up in the whirlwind of the Royal wedding. 

The Prince, however, didn’t stop visiting you. If anything, he visited more often than he had ever done. He never spoke anything about his impending wedding, choosing to talk about your worthlessness instead. You felt like all the insults he hurled at you were sinking in, threatening to make you believe you were nothing more than a slave destined to die at his feet. 

You hadn’t seen Jimin since the day the Prince sent him out to inquire about the misuse of the Palace horse. The only solace you had in these dark times was the memories of those three carefree magical days in the woods.   

It was the eve of the wedding, and all the servants of the Royal household had been instructed to gather in the threshold of the Royal Hall to welcome the new bride. You stood at the very back of the line of servants, craning your neck to see what the new Princess looked like. 

A few minutes later, a magnificent carriage drew up to the steps, and out stepped the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her clothes were made of the loveliest satin, and everything about her features screamed perfection. She had elaborate jet-black curls arranged in ringlets, framing her face and setting off her pale skin perfectly. 

The Prince reached out to her, kissing her knuckles and requesting her arm, to which she happily obliged. She glided up the steps, accepting the welcome of the servants with a gentle bow of her head. The Prince was searching for you along the rows and smirked haughtily when he caught your eyes. As they sailed into the specially decorated ballroom, you couldn’t help thinking they looked perfect for each other. 

You knew the Prince would always be on the best of his behavior with his bride. Because after all, Royal wives were for soft lovemaking and breeding heirs, while Cimarins were for satisfying animalistic desires.   

******

The Royal wedding took place with eminent people from far and wide in attendance. 

The Prince had looked his smartest, in a crisp white wedding suit, with gold piping along the shoulders and Royal decorations adorning the breast of his suit. The Princess had glowed in a dreamy white gown, tailored to show off her slender body beautifully. 

As the guests retired to the ballroom for toasts, a hand pulled you to a relatively abandoned area of the Palace. 

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, “I almost went mad without seeing you for months.” 

His face looked deeply troubled, and he continued, “Come away with me, I shall take you to the farthest land from here, and we shall live as man and wife.” 

Your mouth fell open, the prospect of running away numbing you into silence. 

When you finally regained control over your voice, you asked, “How can we go away without getting caught? The Royal guards are everywhere. How would we cross the borders of the Kingdom?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Leave all of it to me, I only seek your consent. I shall take care of everything.” 

He pressed your hands in his, earnest eyes looking determined. 

“I shall come with you,” you said, squeezing his hands and nodding your head urgently. 

His whole face lit up with elation, all the worry washing away. 

“I will come back and take you when I have everything ready,” he promised and left you after kissing your hands. 

When you walked back to your lair, there was a ball of fear crushing your chest, making it difficult to breathe.   

*****

As you lay on the bed tossing and turning, worrying about Jimin and how you were supposed to escape the Royal guards, there was a heavy rain pouring outside. Everyone had rejoiced that it was a good omen on a wedding night, but to you, the thunder rumbling outside only served to make the night eerier. 

Sleep refused to touch your eyelids, and the wind howling outside your window made your worry grow even more pronounced. 

Suddenly, the door was thrown open with a crash, and a flash of lightning illuminated the profile of the Prince, standing framed by the doorway. He walked in unsteadily, holding a bottle in his hand, swaying slightly. 

The man had been thoroughly intoxicated, the front of his white dressing gown soaked with alcohol. It clung to his body, the white fabric sheer with all the alcohol, showing off his chest with every flash of lightning. He chuckled in a drunken stupor, pulling the sheets and clawing at your legs. You were terrified. This was his wedding night, and what was he doing here, hovering over your legs? 

He took another swig from the bottle and threw it away, the glass shattering to pieces as he wiped his mouth with his forearm. There was an ominous smirk on his face now, and he pushed your legs apart as wide as he could. 

He would never tell a soul what had really happened in his bedroom a couple hours before. He had watched his bride undress sensually, and had noted how much effort she put into making it appeal to him. He had caressed her breasts, running his fingers over her body. He had peeled all the layers of fabric from her body expecting to grow hard. But he had felt nothing. 

Nothing was stirring in his breeches, and to his horror, he had found he was flaccid, his body showing no response to her nakedness. The Royal women were not educated on matters of the bedroom, so she was blissfully unaware of his problem. His cheeks had started burning, he could not allow himself to be humiliated like that. 

He had to imagine your scrunched up face and work on his member to get it hard. When he had entered her and started rocking his hips, he had found the lovemaking too slow for him to enjoy. He had always been a man of feral passion with you, and the irritating slowness had made him go crazy. But he had known better than to be harsh with his bride, he would always have to be careful to never let that side of him slip. When he had finally done the deed, he had escaped as soon as she had drifted off to sleep. The mortification had made him go in search of alcohol, and finally, in search of you.   

As he pushed into you, he let out a long drawn out moan, almost demonic in nature. He started thrusting like a mad man, trying to prove to himself that he had not lost his masculinity and that he was indeed a man of vigor. You caught sight of his eyes, blown wide, as he rammed into you with all his might. 

The lightning made his eyes look predatory, and his snarling teeth made it more frightening. His sounds echoed throughout the room, the bed creaking in harmony with his loud grunts. Finally, when he climaxed, he threw his head back in euphoria. He bit his lip as he emptied himself inside you, deciding he would never let go of you. You were always going to be his Cimarin. 

*****

You woke with a start when a fresh peal of thunder sounded outside, to find the Prince draped over you, his tousled hair tickling your chin. You gently nudged him awake. 

“Your Highness, it is almost dawn.” 

He mumbled sleepily, looking at you in confusion before realization hit him. 

“Quick, dress me up,” he commanded urgently. 

It would never do for the Prince to be caught sleeping away from his wife on the first dawn of his married life. He bolted through the door as quickly as he could, not looking back at you once. The shattered glass was lying everywhere, and you got to work cleaning it, wondering if this was going to happen every night until you escaped.   

***** It was exactly a week later that officer Shin Ho requested an audience with Prince Jeon. He brought a young stable boy with him and had a quick meeting with the Prince. When he left, the Prince was fuming and trembling with anger. He marched straight to the lair, throwing the door open with unusual force. The bed was empty, and you were gone.   

“Hold on a little tighter, lamb. I don’t want you to fall,” Jimin said, riding as fast as he could. 

He was tearing through the wind, whip cracking in the air as he urged his horse to go faster. The hooves were thudding as loudly as your heart was. This time around, you were seated behind him, clasping his waist in your arms, chest draped on his back. You held on tighter and closed your eyes, praying to every powerful force in the world to deliver you safely from the clutches of the Prince. 

You were sure the Prince would have found you were missing by now, and there was a definite possibility that the best riders of the Kingdom had been dispatched to alert the guards at the borders. 

You rode on for what seemed like hours until you had to stop to let the horse drink water. 

“You feeling alright, love?” Jimin asked, catching stray strands of hair and tucking them behind your ears. 

You nodded, collapsing into his chest in a tight hug. 

“You will be alright,” he said, kissing the top of your head, patting your back reassuringly. 

“Let me ask you something, you once said that you liked me. But, fair maiden, do you love me?” 

His eyes twinkled as you peeled yourself from him to look at him indignantly. 

“I would not have come this far if I hadn’t loved and trusted you,” you said and hit his chest with balled fists. 

He chuckled merrily, catching hold of your small fists with a fond look lighting up his features. 

“Let us go then, my love, we shall go far away from all this din and love each other to our heart’s content.” 

******

When you resumed riding, it was past midday, you could tell from the short shadows cast on the ground. You had ridden on for a few more hours when you reached a forest. 

“We need to cross this if we are to avoid going into the village,” Jimin said, cajoling the horse to trot past the prickly bushes that were overgrown on both sides. 

They scratched and jabbed, but you made no complaint, it was nothing compared to what the Prince had done to you ever so often. 

Suddenly, your ears caught a sound, which felt like it came from right ahead of you. You strained your ears, patting Jimin slowly to let him know that you had heard something. 

“Jimin, I think…” you were saying, when an arrow shot right through the trees, hitting Jimin straight at his chest, causing him to gasp and topple from the horse. Frightened by the sudden movement, the horse reared and bucked, throwing you off before fleeing into the dense forest. 

“Jimin! Jimin!’ you cried, kneeling and tapping his face. 

Only then did you see the arrow still sticking out from his chest, drawing blood that pooled around him, staining the forest floor. You started wailing, calling his name out like a prayer, trying to keep him conscious. 

“Y/N,” he breathed out, coughing, blood spurting from his mouth. 

“No no no Jimin, stay with me, don’t leave me” you sobbed, tears flowing and landing on his face. 

“Y/N, ” he said again, blood pouring from the sides of his mouth in a steady stream now. His eyes were losing their luster, and his breathing was becoming rugged. He struggled to keep his eyes open and parted his lips to form a whisper.

“Kiss me.” 

You bent down urgently to place your lips on his, crashing your mouth on his in desperation. But you were met with no yield, his lips did not move to kiss you back. When you pulled away in confusion to look at him, his eyes had stilled, and a lone tear trickled out of the corner of his eyes.

Your wails filled the air, each powerful sob racking your body as you screamed out, wringing your heart in anguish. There was nothing more for you to do, the only light in your life had been snuffed out. It hurt you like someone had punched a hole in your chest, and pulled your heart through your ribs. 

As you kneeled there, your clothes bloodied and Jimin’s head on your lap, the thunder of hooves growing nearer sent vibrations coursing through the ground. 

A pair of riding boots dismounted from the horse with a thud, and you heard a disgustingly familiar sing-song voice saying, “Well well, if it isn’t the Kingdom’s whore.” 

Your tear-filled eyes made out the blurred figure of the body you knew only too well. 

“I could cut you to pieces for betraying me like this, whore!” he said, drawing his sword out and placing it on your shoulder, the blade pressing into the side of your neck. 

“But what is the thrill in that?” he pulled his sword back, the blade cutting the skin of your neck and drawing blood. 

You remained kneeling on the ground, eyes blank, not moving or uttering anything. 

He bent down and bunched your hair in his fist, pulling you up with a harsh tug. 

“You will return to the Palace with me, and serve my wife. You will be the chambermaid, and I shall strip you of your honor, I shall enjoy doing so.” 

His hold on your hair tightened, and he pulled your face closer, placing a volley of stinging slaps on your cheeks until his hands smarted. 

“Lying, scheming ungrateful whore,” he spat out, throwing you over his horse. 

You were lying uncomfortably across the horse, head and legs on either side of the animal. From your position, you saw Jimin’s body lying on the ground, face upturned towards the sky, your eyes never leaving his body as the horse trotted farther and farther away from the scene until he became a dot and disappeared from your line of sight.   

****** Your hand clutched the small hunting knife you had extracted from Jimin’s robes. Life was no longer worth living, there was no Jimin anymore to love you and protect you. You would rather get beheaded than go live with this monster again, you would not endure his violence any longer. There was no reason to endure him, as you now had no purpose in life. You decided it would be better to be hanged than serve Prince Jeon again. 

Clasping the knife tightly, you raised yourself from your awkward position and turned, seeing the surprise on the Prince’s face turn into horror when you sliced the knife through the air, plunging it into his heart with all your might. Both of you fell on the ground, rolling in the dust. 

The knife was embedded deeply in his chest and only a part of the hilt jutted out. You screamed like a madwoman, rushing to your feet and climbing over him, swinging your legs on either side of him. You pulled with all your strength, and retrieved the knife, stabbing him again with as much force you could muster. The Prince’s mouth opened and closed several times, straining to clear the blood that was choking his breath. 

You didn’t stop screaming as you reached out to clasp your hands around his neck, pressing hard and never letting go. The screams leaving your body turned into powerful sobs, your hands only left his neck when his pulse had stopped throbbing. 

His eyes had bulged wide in his fight for air. You let go and rolled off of him, the catharsis hitting you like a wall of bricks. The monster had finally been killed. 

*****   It was a glorious morning, you could hear the sweet chirping of birds drifting through the air. 

You were at peace, all feelings wiped from your mind as you were led through the dark corridors. 

The chains on your hands and feet were clanking with each step. The long corridor opened into an arena, where hundreds of people had gathered. 

When you were led to the guillotine on the podium, the chains were loosened and your hands were cuffed. 

You looked at the sky, which was a beautiful rosy pink. It reminded you of Jimin. You smiled. He always brought a smile on your face. 

“Off with her head,” the King bellowed. 

You raised your face to the sky one last time. 

“I’m coming Jimin, I shall come to you and kiss you, my love,” you whispered, closing your eyes.  

[jackoshadows]

I would like to address some posts I saw that talk about misogynistic double standards when it comes to Jon and Sansa regarding bullying - that Sansa gets criticized and taken to task for bullying Arya but Jon gets a pass for bullying fellow recruits at the Night’s Watch.

First of all, who is giving Jon a pass for bullying Grenn and the others? Are there like 5 page essays out there writing about POV traps and how Grenn was unfairly jealous of Jon and hence deserving of being bullied, how it’s just new recruits being new recruits and Jon did nothing wrong etc.?

Jon’s my favorite character, and I will outright state it - Jon bullied the other recruits at the NW because he was a privileged brat. He was wrong to do it. The text pretty much calls him a bully and unlike some stans, no one is twisting those words to argue otherwise.

And I have never seen anyone defend Jon’s actions there. In fact I have seen these same Sansa stans use Jon’s actions at the Wall to justify Catelyn’s emotional abuse of a child. That even though Jon is a bastard, he was better off than other NW recruits and hence should shut up and stop whining about Catelyn. That his treatment by Catelyn was okay because he had it better than most others in Westeros.

Jon’s actions at the wall are just not mentioned often because it’s accepted that he did wrong. The reason why Sansa’s bullying is often brought up is because Sansa stans write essays about how Sansa never bullied or mocked Arya, how it was just sibling being siblings, how it was because Arya was jealous and hated Sansa, how Arya’s wrong and biased POV is meant to trick readers into hating Sansa when Sansa never actually did anything wrong etc. So it’s book readers responding to this whitewashing of Sansa - because one can read the very real effects this bullying had on Arya’s self esteem and self worth.

In fact the only time Jon’s actions are brought up are when Sansa stans bring it up as whataboutism, to point fingers and accuse others of misogyny - even though no one is actually defending Jon Snow.

And you know what? Yeah, Jon was a bully. But he acknowledges that he did wrong, learned and grew from his mistakes. And I love that about Jon.

“No. They hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he’s a lordling.” The armorer leaned close. “You’re no lordling. Remember that. You’re a Snow, not a Stark. You’re a bastard and a bully.”

Donal Noye leaned forward, into Jon’s face. “Now think on this, boy. None of these others have ever had a master-at-arms until Ser Alliser. Their fathers were farmers and wagonmen and poachers, smiths and miners and oars on a trading galley. What they know of fighting they learned between decks, in the alleys of Oldtown and Lannisport, in wayside brothels and taverns on the kingsroad. They may have clacked a few sticks together before they came here, but I promise you, not one in twenty was ever rich enough to own a real sword.” His look was grim. “So how do you like the taste of your victories now, Lord Snow?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. “I never... I didn’t think...” - Jon, AGoT

Jon noticed Grenn a few feet away. A thick woolen bandage was wrapped around one hand. He looked anxious and uncomfortable, not menacing at al . Jon went to him. Grenn edged backward and put up his hands. “Stay away from me now, you bastard.” Jon smiled at him. “I’m sorry about your wrist. Robb used the same move on me once, only with a wooden blade. It hurt like seven hells, but yours must be worse. Look, if you want, I can show you how to defend that.” - Jon, AGoT

Dareon gave him a look. “The stewards are fine for the likes of you and me, Sam, but not for Lord Snow.”

I never asked for this,” he said stubbornly.

“None of us are here for asking,” Sam reminded him.

And suddenly Jon Snow was ashamed.

Craven or not, Samwell Tarly had found the courage to accept his fate like a man. On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns, Benjen Stark had said the last night Jon had seen him alive. You’re no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you. He’d heard it said that bastards grow up faster than other children; on the Wall, you grew up or you died. Jon let out a deep sigh. “You have the right of it. I was acting the boy... - Jon, AGoT

Jon Snow being hurt by words calling his mother a whore and later making Satin Flowers,a  prostitute, his steward despite opposition.

“Words won’t make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores.” Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind. - Jon, AGoT

Jon is constantly getting his worldviews and his privilege challenged at the wall. He is confronted by some ugly truths about himself and he then takes that advice and changes for the better. It’s the same when he goes among the Wildlings and recognizes that they too are human beings deserving of being on the other side of the wall. We get this gem from him:

“We look up at the same stars and see such different things.”- Jon, ASoS

That’s the difference between how Jon and Sansa are treated in book one. When Jon acts bratty and selfish, other characters call him out on his actions, he acknowledges this, apologizes and makes up for it.

With Sansa, on the other hand, we don’t really see anyone taking her to task over her behavior. Quite the opposite. Catelyn and the Septa only encourage it. Ned ‘both sides’ the issue, often talking to Arya about how she should get along with Sansa and behave like sisters. We never see him giving those same talks to Sansa.

Which is weird because most parents would talk to their elder kids to bring about peace in sibling disputes. But in this case, Ned keeps reasoning with his younger daughter instead of his elder one. Probably because everyone thinks that Sansa is the good girl and Arya is the problematic, unruly one.

And because she is never reprimanded over her behavior, Sansa continues to be a spoiled and selfish brat right till Ned is executed at the end of the first book.

Sansa does become more empathetic in the later books after she becomes sadistic Joffrey’s political prisoner and she tries to help where she can. But while GRRM said this about her:

Sansa was the least sympathetic of the Starks in the first book; she has become more sympathetic, partly because she comes to accept responsibility for her part in her father's death.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/feature.html?tag=westeros-21&ie=UTF8&docId=49161

I don’t think I have actually read Sansa showing true remorse or regret for tattling Ned’s plans to Cersei. Or even feeling bad about how she treated Arya. As late as ASoS she thinks of her dead sister as being unsatisfactory compared to beautiful, graceful Margaery Tyrell. In the Vale, she pretends to be a bastard and yet never once recalls the bastard brother she looked down on.

There is a lot of self pity in Sansa’s POV chapters and she reprimands herself for being naive and stupid. But she never acknowledges the way she treated Arya, the Trident incident and Mycah, betraying her family etc. She does reflect at one point on how she wrongly trusted the Lannisters and she would never do that again.

Other than that there is very little introspection in Sansa’s POV chapters. Jon feels guilt, Arya feels guilt, Dany feels guilt, even Catelyn feels a twinge of regret and guilt about her treatment of Jon after meeting Mya Stone. But this is something I find lacking in Sansa’s POV chapters.

But when readers point this out, we are labelled misogynistic haters who just hate Sansa and want her to suffer, and how Sansa has nothing to apologize for, she did nothing wrong, she’s flawless and blameless of everything.

I am hoping we get acknowledgement, regret and apologies from Sansa when the older, wiser sisters meet again and resolve their issues. There is nothing wrong in apologizing for bad behavior. Everyone does it. It does not make one a super villain. It would go a long way towards humanizing Sansa and making her more likeable, in my opinion.

So anyways this turned into an essay, but yes, Jon Snow was a bully in AGoT when he went to the wall and beat up some new recruits. There is no defense of that behavior and I am glad that Donal Noye gave him a good talking to and set him straight about his privilege.

[creampuffqueen]

Aelin x Rowan baby headcanons

All about Aelin and Rowan’s (many) children

-We all know these two would be next. Let's be honest here.

-From scenes in EoS and KoA, we know that they are open to the idea of children, we know they want them, and that Aelin is not likely taking any contraceptive tonic since she knows that conception may be hard for them.

-Well,,, not exactly.

-For whatever reason, Aelin has a fairly easy time getting pregnant. Around five to six months after Yrene's daughter, Amelie, is born, Aelin finds out she's pregnant.

-She's so so excited, but so so scared. She grew up hearing the horror stories of her mother's pregnancy and birth, how she almost died.

-Aelin tells Rowan on a quiet night they have together, one of the first in a long while. They have been super busy rebuilding and whatnot, after all.

-Rowan is silent for like a solid three minutes, and Aelin thinks he's not happy, but then he breaks out one of the biggest smiles she's ever seen on his face. And then he's crying and laughing and asking over and over again if she's sure this is real. He scoops her into his arms and kisses her, and between kisses Aelin is crying too, and they're both just so excited. You would not believe how excited they are.

-They decide to wait a bit to tell everyone, even though they're dying to tell.

-Well, they can't keep the secret for long. Not because they're bad at keeping secrets, but because Aelin starts getting ALL the pregnancy symptoms and can't hide it anymore.

-Literally. ALL they symptoms. She's not quite a month and a half in, and she can't keep any food down. Morning sickness is the pits, man. But she's also achy and hormonal and tired all the time, and she gets the weirdest cravings. Not to mention, she isn't drinking any alcohol.

-So it doesn't take long for the court to figure out what's going on.

-Lysandra squeals so loud the whole castle hears, and she hugs Aelin and won't let go. She says to Rowan, "This is my wife now," and Rowan, not feeling like getting on the shifter's bad side, lets her be for the time being. Elide almost cries, and then she's hugging her too. Then Aedion joins in. He is full on bawling. Like, ugly baby crying. Aelin jokingly says that even Rowan didn't that hard when he found out, and he's the baby's FATHER.

-Aelin is so sick the first trimester. Like, can't move because she's vomiting so much bad. She can't stand certain foods that she previously loved, and can also devour foods she used to hate. Then her taste buds change completely the next day. Rowan is frantically trying to keep up with her.

-And despite the fact that she is puking her guts up and will cry at the drop of a hat and is aching all over, she's horny. So. Fucking. Horny. Like, she's ready for some at all times. Rowan is scared of hurting her or the baby at first, but Aelin is like, "the only thing that can keep me from vomiting right now is either cake or a distraction, so please, please distract me." Rowan is only too happy to oblige his queen.

-When the morning sickness is over, she gets the rest of the symptoms. She has really good senses, like, really good. And they're heightened by the fact that she's Fae. She can smell what's being cooked for dinner from her suite on the like, fourth floor. It's weird.

-She gets big early on, like a good, seeable bump when she's only around four months. Twins are suspected, but the midwife just says it's one very large baby. Wow.

-Aelin gets frustrated with herself quickly. She's the godsdamned queen, she should be able to DO things, but she's either too tired or in too much pain to do much. She hates feeling so helpless.

-Rowan is never far from her side, and Aelin would find it annoying if she didn't actually need him to help her a lot.

-Imagine every pregnancy symptom, combined, and then times ten. Awful, right? Yeah, that's Aelin's pregnancy. It's bad.

-Despite everything being bad, she still finds time to formally announce her pregnancy. The people suspected, but now it's official. After all, the queen regularly walks around the city, but she hasn't been seen much in the last months.

-The official announcement also alerts Aelin's pregnancy to the neighboring kingdoms. Dorian, of course, sends his regards immediately. Yrene and Chaol send congrats soon after, Yrene again promising to be there for the birth. Ansel even sends a letter to congratulate her. A letter arrives from Nesryn, but as the Southern Continent is pretty far away, it doesn't get there until right before the baby is born.

-One of the only upsides to having every pregnancy symptom ever is that Aelin feels the baby kick fairly early on. The first time she cries, like right then and there. She's in the library, just sobbing, and Rowan finds her, and she has him feel. The baby is kicking and dancing around, and Rowan cries too.

-Of course, baby kicks are only cute when they're few and far between. This baby won't stop moving. Now Aelin can't sleep because her unborn child is already keeping her awake.

-When Aelin has about two weeks left before the birth, Yrene arrives. She has left her daughter at home with her husband, despite the fact they've recently discovered that she's deaf. Yrene puts all thoughts of her family from her mind while she cares for her patient.

-The due date comes, and no baby. Then a few more days pass, and still no baby. Aelin is stressing now; it should have been there by now, is something wrong? She really wants to not be pregnant anymore.

-A meeting with the Lords of Terrasen that had already been delayed arrives. Aelin expected to be a new mother, but she is still heavily pregnant. Like, can hardly walk pregnant. She has to have the meeting, though, so she walks all the way to the meeting hall.

-She is uncomfortable the whole meeting, for some reason she can't explain. She won't stop fidgeting, but doesn't know why.

-She stands up because she has to go to the bathroom, and suddenly a huge rush of water just,,, goes everywhere.

-She says awkwardly "Well, either I've just pissed myself really good, or my waters just broke. Either way, I think I should see myself out to go clean up."

-Everyone is silent and lets her go, with Rowan of course accompanying her.

-They are halfway up to their room when she feels a sudden pain. She cries out, and Rowan lets her squeeze his hand while it passes and helps her breathe through it.

-They get to their room, stopping again for a contraction. Rowan draws her a bath and helps her into it. He washes her hair gently and cools her down from the pain. When she's just soaking in the tub, Rowan calls for Yrene, who is winnowed into the bedroom by Fenrys. The male gives a salute and says "good luck" before disappearing.

-Yrene and Rowan get Aelin out of the bath and dried off, since using her powers is beyond her at the moment. Yrene helps her into a nightgown 'that she doesn't mind ruining'.

-Then they get her onto the bed, which Yrene has stripped, and get her comfortable. Yrene checks her, and she's definitely in labor. But it's going to be a while.

-And a while it is. Aelin's labor is long and hard. Very long. In the early stage she is able to get up and walk around, she dances with Rowan (more like just sways to some music, but it's dancing nonetheless) and reads. Lysandra stops in for a visit and chats while combing out Aelin's hair. The contractions are few and not that bad at this point. Then it gets worse.

-Aelin and Rowan start a bet on if it's a boy or a girl. Aelin thinks a boy. Rowan says girl. Yrene votes girl, Lysandra girl, Aedion and Elide boy. Evangeline comes up for a while with Fenrys, who both vote girl.

-When Aelin can't walk any more she gets into bed and tries to sleep, but it's too hard. She's in too much pain. Yrene gives her both a tonic for pain and for sleep, so she can get some rest and preserve her strength.

-Aelin is in labor for twenty-one hours. By the end she's just crying from pain and exhaustion. Rowan and Yrene are there and coaching her through it. The others left for bed hours ago.

-With the final push, Aelin squeezes Rowan's hand so hard that she breaks it. Rowan doesn't even register the pain because he's so focused on his mate. Aelin screams so loud they hear it down in the city.

-And on an early morning, Aelin and Rowan's baby is born.

-The two of them are still reeling from the labor while Yrene cleans the child, rubbing it and trying to get it to cry. A silent baby is never a good sign, they need to cry so they can breathe.

-But this baby is silent.

-Aelin and Rowan notice their baby hasn't cried yet. And they're worried. Aelin asks if anything is wrong, and Yrene answers honestly; the baby needs to cry so it can breathe, and its not crying.

-Aelin is terrified that her baby is stillborn. With tears in her eyes, she asks Yrene to hand her baby over. The healer does so, whispering softly, "It's a girl."

-A baby girl. She has blonde hair like her mother, and her ears are pointed. Fae through and through.

-Aelin clutches her daughter to her and murmurs encouragement, begging her to wake up and cry.

-They think it's too late. Tears are rolling down the faces of everyone in the room.

-But then- the baby lets out a gasp, and then she starts crying. Her squalling fills the room, and then her parents are sobbing in joy. They have a daughter. Terrasen has a crown princess.

-When Rowan goes to hold the baby, he notices that his hand isn't working. Aelin looks at him apologetically, and Yrene steps in to heal it quickly.

-Their friends soon gather round, cooing over the new baby. She cries and cries, and only stops when her mother or father hold her.

-They name her Lyria Nehemia Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. It becomes sort of a joke within the court, the ridiculously long name of the crown princess.

-When she opens her eyes, they're the same pine green as her father's. Rowan gets a strange sense of deja vu, and he realizes that he's seen this baby girl in his dreams before. It makes him so happy, he won't put her down all day.

-Lyria is a wildfire. Literally. When she's around eight months old and starting to crawl, that's when her powers start showing up. Not only is their baby girl wild, she also nearly burns down her nursery twice. After that she's moved to more... fire-proof quarters.

-It's when Lyria is around seven months old that Aelin starts to feel... off. She can't place it exactly, but something just doesn't feel normal.

-She soon figures out why. She's pregnant again. She hadn't been on the tonic because she thought it would take years more to have another baby. Not to mention, being new parents along with running a kingdom mean that Aelin and Rowan don't have much... alone time. However, the midwife is positive.

-Aelin and Rowan are excited to be having another baby, but Aelin really doesn't want to be pregnant again. The last time was awful, so how is this one going to be?

-The answer? Just as bad. Possibly worse.

-All the same pregnancy awfulness, combined with a wild baby who can set fire to things on accident and is also crawling now. Not a good combo. Rowan tries to take as much off of her as he can, but there's only so much he can do. And some things must be done by the mother. After all, Lyria is still breastfed.

-The court is just as surprised; they also didn't expect another royal baby. The kingdom feels the same way. And all the other friends. Everyone is surprised.

-Lyria stands when she's ten months old, and walks when she's eleven. Poor Aelin is still having bad morning sickness and can't even appreciate her daughter's first steps properly because she is bent over a toilet and puking up her breakfast.

-Despite everything, she's so happy with her family. Her baby girl is wonderful, and she's a fast learner. Her powers are still unpredictable, but she's already managing them better. Rowan is like, the #1 dad. He is the best. Aelin cannot describe just how much she loves him, she didn't think it was possible to love someone so much.

-Her next labor is a little better, only twenty hours this time. And their baby cries as soon as it's born. Aelin bet on another girl, but Rowan insisted that it would be a boy.

-Rowan is right. They have a baby boy with silver hair and Ashryver eyes. His name is Sam Gavriel Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.

-Little Sam is Lyria's opposite. In every way. He is quiet and hardly cries, like, this is one silent baby. Lyria is so interested in her baby brother, it's the cutest damn thing. She loves to sit on one of her parents' laps and hold him, she likes to watch him, she tries to play with him, it's so pure.

-Life progresses. The children get older. Sam also has powers, and quite a lot, but they are slow to manifest. They lean more towards ice and wind, opposite of Lyria's leaning towards fire.

-Both children train with their parents, and when Sam is three, he discovers that he can shift. His other form is a red-tailed hawk. Lyria, on the other hand, is like her mother, with only one form. She is so sad about it, but she learns to love being able to run with her mother while her brother and father fly.

-Aelin finds out she's pregnant again when Lyria is five and Sam is four. She just casually mentions it at dinner with their court one night, saying, "no wine tonight, I can't when i'm pregnant." Everyone collectively gasps, and Aelin just smirks and sips water out of a champagne glass.

-Once again, terrible pregnancy. Just awful. Her children are scared and worried when their Mommy won't get out of bed to play and train with them, and have to be consoled by Rowan for a while.

-Long and hard labor again, twenty-two hours. Aelin says girl. Rowan says boy. Rowan is right again.

-A baby boy is born with silver hair and green eyes. He looks like Rowan. Like, exactly like Rowan. It's uncanny how much this baby looks like his father.

-His name is Aspen Rhoe Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. (because it's a pretty name, and also the name of a tree, like Rowan, hehe) His older brother and sister dote on him at every waking moment. Adorable, and actually fairly helpful.

-Aspen looks more and more like Rowan when he gets older. Even his powers and other form are like Rowan's. His form is a white-tailed hawk, and his powers are ice and wind. Not a single lick of flame.

-You'd think they'd be done having kids after three but HAHA. This is Aelin and Rowan. We all know how they are. And with their children sleeping in their own rooms, they can have some alone time ;)

-Aelin gets pregnant again. It's the same rinse and repeat. Hard pregnancy. Hard labor. Rowan guesses the gender again, damn it, why is he so good at it?

-A baby girl is born with silver hair and ocean blue eyes. Her name is Evalin Elena Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. Lyria is 8, Sam 7, and Aspen 3. They love their baby sister and vow to protect her always.

-Evalin is definitely the fanciest of the Galathynius children. She loves dressing up, and her favorite thing to do is make crowns using her powers. She can control ice and flame equally, so she is always making crowns for her parents and siblings when she has control over her powers. So cute.

-Evalin's other form is a peregrine falcon. Lyria is a little put out now; even her baby sister has another form and she doesn't. But she's soon okay with is when she proves that her powers are the strongest of all her siblings.

-Evalin is 2 when Aelin gets pregnant again. At this point the court is like, ugh, again? but happy at the same time. It's just,,, they have a lot of kids.

-The pregnancy and labor is, again, hard. Now remember when I mentioned that Lyria was a large baby? No? Well, anyway, this baby is also quite large. But hey, all of their kids were big, how hard can this be?

-Hard. So hard. A day and a half of labor. And at the end Aelin has a sudden loss of blood and nearly bleeds out on her bed. It's so terrifying, Rowan can feel the mating bond growing taut because his mate is in mortal peril. Yrene makes the decision to operate. She does, and, turns out... there were two in there.

-Two screaming, silver haired babies are wrapped in blankets and whisked away while Yrene heals and heals and heals. At the end, she actually falls off the bed and faints. Rowan catches her and sends for another healer to heal the healer.

-Aelin survives, but the operation made it so she could no longer have children. Aelin decides right then and there, holding her newborn twins after nearly dying, that she doesn't want any more children anyway. Six is enough, gods, more than enough, and she's so grateful for them all.

-For once, Aelin wins the bet. She bet girl, Rowan boy. There's a girl and a boy.

-They are named Aerith Essar and Thallan Ress, along with their slew of last names that I was too lazy to type.

-Two more silver haired, Ashryver eyed children join the royal family. Of course, everyone adores them.

-The twins don't have any crazy twin powers, but they do have a secret language between the two of them. Seeing the two of them often makes Fenrys's heart melt, thinking about when he was a child with his twin brother. The twins are, without a doubt, Fenrys's favorite royal children.

-The twins have control over ice, wind, and fire equally, like all their siblings except Aspen. Their other forms are red-shouldered hawks. Nobody can tell them apart in their animal forms.

-All the children get older, learn more, and get more powerful. Lyria is like her mother, she loves to fight, she has an attitude. She is also very compassionate and loves Terrasen deeply. Sam is quiet, but watchful, and very educated. He loves to read and listen to music. Aspen is, like, literally just Rowan. Imagine a teenage Rowan without the tattoo, that's Aspen. Evalin loves all things beautiful and fancy, she loves being a pampered princess, but at the same time is always willing to fight. And the twins are troublemakers who, at the same time, have a heart of gold.

-The story Worlds of Fire and Darkness take place when Lyria is 20, Sam is 19, Aspen is 15, Evalin is 12, and Aerith and Thallan are 10.

[hobbitsnapes]

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 14

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever. (I suck at summary’s)

The smell of burgers and general grease wafted the room as soon as Jason and her stepped in. The sound of workers and people muffling the busy cars right outside. They both took their usual seat in the back, preferring to be there rather than up front. Each Sunday Sandy and Jason took what they call their, ‘dad daughter day’ and went out to eat here. Jason took her to the ever so famous bat burger the day he adopted her, and ever since then they come once a week. Maybe not the healthiest thing they could do, but with all the physical activity they do they never worry. But this night in particular was a special night for them.

They always joked about the red hood hotdog, usually getting it and finding it funny that out of all the foods, they chose a hot dog. Well after almost a year being out alongside Jason on patrol, people started noticing her. She was called ‘the red hoods robin.’ And it was announced the popular food chain would be adding a side dish to the red hood dog, a side of archangel wings. They both laughed as they got them because they were in fact just the wings.

They both sat and enjoyed their respected meals, joking around as they usually do. Both of them enjoying themselves and truly just feeling like a father and his daughter.

They both finish their meals after some time, walking out back to his bike. She turns to him, grabbing her helmet and placing it on. “Hey since it’s still early, wanna go to the pier?” He asks, usually they would only go out to dinner. But they decided to go out earlier than normal, having not to go out tonight due to their promise to spend the day as normal as possible. “Sure, I don’t think I’ve been there before?” She replies, wondering if she had been there before as a child. She isn’t able to recall a time she had been before, possibly during the night with Jason but never during the day when she was able to see.

And that’s where they spent most of their day. The pier hadn’t been that large but they made do. They threw rocks, watched as all the many boats swam by, and walked around. As the day grew to evening, and the already cool air became more noticeable, the chill in the air swam around their clothes, they decided to head home.

Never did they think walking into the once lonely and blank apartment that they now called home, would look like it did now. The walls that once were blank that held photos, now all torn to shreds. Glass and wood Scattered around the floor.the wood coffee table they just got, broken into shards of wood. Their tv broken on the ground. Their couch, cut up to pieces. Everything they had built, broken.

Shock and disbelief filled them along with a dick feeling in their stomach. Their hearts dropping but accelerating as it set in. Someone has found them.

Jason turns to her, tears filling her eyes, handing her his gun. “Go look in every room. If you hear anything, scream as loud as you can.” She nods her head, grabbing the gun and slowly walking out of the living room.

Jason looks around the room, looking for any clue whatsoever of who could have done this. And Jason got his answer, Nestled in between the cracked floorboards near the broken couch. Horror filled him as his stomach and heart felt as though they both would expel from his body.

He grabs for his phone, dread filling him as sweat beads down his forehead. This goes against everything he’s built up to do in the last 3 years. His mind screaming at him not to do this. That it’ll only end in pain. But that one voice, the one that screamed at him the moment he saw her over the ledge, the one who screamed at him to help her, the one who told him to protect her, made the answer for him as he dialed the memorized number.

“Hello? Who is this?” Said Bruce, jason's heart dropping into his stomach. Feeling panic rise up to his neck. Bruce asked who is it again, an edge to his voice now. Jason lets out a shaky breath, he has to do this, for her. “This is the last number I thought I’d call. But this is my only option I have.” “J-Jason? I-I how did you rem-” “don’t you remember a part of my training was to memorize this number. I couldn’t forget it if I tried. Now cut the crap with the shock bruce. I, have to ask you for something.” “What is it?” Jason swallowed the pit forming in his throat. “Our apartment, it was broken into. Everything, and I mean everything, is broken. I sent her to go search around here and out back. I-I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought I could protect her. But I know I can’t. Not by myself. It-it’s bad Bruce. I need her to stay there for a while, I can’t be out there trying to figure out what to do whilst also trying with everything in me to protect her. We’ll be there in an hour. If we aren’t there by 10, come looking for us.” “I’ll have alfred ready one of the rooms. But Jason, what about her and-“ “I’ll talk to her. I’m one of the only people she’ll listen to.” Bruce sighs. “See you in an hour.” Jason hangs up the phone, ready for the hell he's about to walk into.

“Did you find anything?” Jason asks as he steps into the room. Tears filling his eyes as he sees her once beautifully decorated room, torn upside down in shambles. “I didn’t, it’s like they wiped everything clean of evidence. Hey, what’s wrong dad?” It’s as if they are so in tune with one another that they can read by just their face that there’s something wrong. Her big blue eyes wide as she looks at him. He lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to do this. But there’s nothing else I can do.” “What is it?” She asks, putting her hand on his arm. “I know I’ve always said how strong, and capable you are. And you always will be. But, this is something even I’m scared of. I, I need you to stay at the manor for a while.” Her once worried face, turns to disbelieve and anger. “What? You can’t be serious dad. Don’t you remember he’s-“ “yes. I know he’s there. But this isn’t a debate. I can’t be out there looking around and finding out who did this.” Anger bubbles up her throat. Her hands shaking by her sides. “And I’ve been fighting alongside you for over a year. And I went under the radar for another year on the streets. Do you have ANY idea how much it’ll hurt to live there with him there!” “AND DONT YOU THINK IT HURTS ME TO PUT YOU THERE!? Don’t you think it makes my blood boil to have to stay under the same roof as the boy who broke my daughters heart? Don’t you think I’d do ANYTHING to find another place to bring you? I would’ve already done it if I could. These people aren’t just regular robbers. They found out our identity, found where we live, and recanted this entire place. For all we know they could’ve bugged the entire building! I’d do anything to keep you from them. But I know that they are our best option to make sure we both aren’t killed. I know you’re smart, I know you're strong. But at the end of the day, you aren’t my partner. You’re my daughter. And I’m your father. And I love you and I know that this is the safest place on the earth for you right now. I wouldn’t be doing this if I had any other option sandy.” Tears fell down both their faces. Realization dawning on both of them what has to happen. She hugs him tightly. Clutching to him as they both cry. “When do we leave.” She asks. “We need to be there by 10. I need you to pack essentials and be at the back door in 10 minutes. Grab only what you need. I’ll bring you up everything else in a few days.” Tears fell down her eyes into his shirt. “Okay.”

The air in the car is thick as they drive down the road. Jason has an emergency car down in a storage shed a block away from their apartment. Exactly for situations like these. Tears fell down both their faces, neither speaking a word. Their hearts and stomach falling the further they go.

The thick trees surround them, a dark blanket of darkness coats the area that the headlights can’t reach. Smooth pavement creating a steady drive the closer they get. Their tears had dried by now. But the ever growing anxiety growing in both of them as the y’all manor looms over the tall trees. Growing larger the closer they get.

Lights illuminate from the windows into the dark night. The tall building high up into the sky as they stop. She had seen plenty of photos of the ever so popular but private estate. But it’s as if the photos were nothing but a mear copy of the truly beautiful building. But that didn’t stop the feeling of vomit growing up their throats the longer they look at it. They turn to one another. Tears filling their eyes again. “Alright, lets go.”

The sound of their boots clicking along the brick ground the only sound as they approach the double doors. They step up to it, Jason reaching his hand out to the door handle before it was opened. An elderly man dressed in a suit answered. A faint smile etched on his face when his eyes met Jason. “Welcome. Master Bruce and everyone is down in the cave waiting for both of you.”

The long hallways were dark, only being lit through the doorway leading into the Library.

The room was nothing but from a fairytale. Long and tall bookshelves filled to the brim lined all the way up to the ceiling. Every inch of the walls were filled with a book.

Jason and sandy walked over to one book in particular. It wasn’t bright in color, or new or old looking. Just an ordinary book. But when Jason pulled it, a rumble was heard from the bookshelf.

A doorway was opened, like one of those secret passageways in a castle.

The walk down the many steps was dark, saved only by a light at the end of it. Their feet padded against the stairway the only sound to be heard, besides the loud beating of their hearts. The pair looking at one another when they reached the last step.

The large cave was filled with computers, a few tables, glass casings, and much more. 6 people stood in the middle of it. Sandy only recognizing 2.

Damian watched as her and Jason walked in, her eyes flashing to his but just as quickly darting away. A pain shot through his chest at the obvious pain in her face when she looked at him. Her eyes flashing pain and shining with unshed tears before going back to normal when she looked at jason. Jasons eyes bore into both Damian and Bruce’s. His stare burning when he looked at Damian.

Jason let out a large sigh as he looked at everyone. What he once called his family, now almost complete strangers staring at him like he has 3 heads. “I’m guessing Bruce already told you guys what happened. Correct?” He asks, everyone nodding their heads. “I’m gonna be honest. You guys are the last fucking people I want her to be around. If I could, I’d erase every single one of you from my memory. But, I know there’s no other option I have to keep her safe. So for a while, she’ll be staying here. But that doesn’t mean you can recruit her to be a part of this, team.” Jasons eyes bore holes into Bruce when he said this. “Sandy is very strong, stronger than you’d think. She’s smart. Don’t underestimate her. Now, there’s some rules I have for you all in regards to her. Just because she isn’t a part of your team, doesn’t mean you don’t watch out for her. After all she is new to this still. But that doesn’t mean you baby her. Trust me on that. You’ll treat her with respect. Anyone having a bad day and decides to take it out on her, and I find out, you’ll be dealing with me. And above all, you.keep.her.safe. You all have done a horrible job at it in the past. But if she EVER gets hurt, either by one of you or what you didn’t do, I’ll make what I did to him look like child’s play.” Jasons eyes burned into Damian when he said this. His eyes burning with hatred and anger at him.

“This will be your room, Miss Todd. I hope it’s to your liking.” Says Alfred. The room was lavish. The size alone was larger than her and Jasons living room. A large plush queen size bed in the middle of it. A large bay window out looking into the front yard. Covered by silk blinds. The floor was a dark oak, but mostly covered by a large dark brown rug. A table that could fold into a vanity sat in the corner by the bathroom. Right next to it was a door leading to a large closet. A small nightstand stood beside her bed on each side.

She turns to Alfred, her eyes searching into his. “Thank you. It’s lovely.” “I do apologize, this is one of the only rooms on this flooring. It is 3 doors down from master Damians room. If you would like I could ready a room upstairs if you are uncomfortable.” “No thank you, as long as I don’t have to walk past his I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking though.” “It’s not a problem miss. Dinner was served earlier, I could come and bring you some if you are hungry.” Her eyes looked into his again, a soft warm smile painted on his face. “I’m honestly not that hungry for anything right now. With everything that’s happened today, I’d honestly rather just go to bed.” She looks away and sets her bag onto her bed. “As you wish miss Todd. And just so you know.” He sets his hand on her shoulder. “If you need anything, there’s a button and speaker right by your bed. It’ll ring to me if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, even just to talk. You are just as welcome here as everyone. That includes your father too.” His eyes looked into her tear filled ones. A smile formed on her face. “Thank you Alfred. I really appreciate it.” He walked away from her and to the door. Wishing her a goodnight.

Tags: @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew @psychovigilantewrites

[tedtonksfm]

⋆ INTRODUCING... 𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐒 .

—  ϟ  ›  ( rahul kohli, cis man, he/his )  ⋆  you know , the gossip in london is insidious , and gossip about a MUGGLEBORN like EDWARD TONKS seems to constantly be afloat. what i know for a fact , though , is that they’re a TWENTY-NINE year old COLUMNIST FOR THE DAILY PROPHET who graduated as a HUFFLEPUFF from HOGWARTS. someone they went to school with told me that a sunny day in the peak of winter, coming home after work with your every bone feeling exhausted, fingerprints smudged on a pair of glasses sitting by the table, homemade pasta, a single bird chirping in the early morning & THE TEN OF CUPS always reminded them of HIM. maybe that’s why the WIZARD has privately declared their allegiance to the ORDER ?

REVERSE AMORTENTIA:

 someone in love with Ted Tonks would smell in Amortentia: the old, tattered suede of the jacket he's been wearing for the past decade, strong black tea with heaping spoonfuls of sugar in it, and bark.

CARD CORRESPONDENCE: 

THE TEN OF CUPS, upright — family, stability, reunion, caring, soulmates, destiny, creativity, fulfilment, harmony;

( read the full app for more info here ) 

THREE HEADCANONS:

1. MEMORY: born in 1952, Ted was one of the unfortunate souls to be taken from his family when he was already nine years old. He was old enough to remember, but young enough that he hadn't even known the magical world before he was taken. He clings to the memory, to this day; he makes sure he doesn't forget anything -- his loving parents, their little house with a garden, their dog. So many things were taken from him, ripped away with no explanation, and he was thrown into a world he knew nothing of. He wrote his parents' names in notes that he hid around his room, he made silly drawings of his dog and his family and hid them under his bed. He wouldn't let himself forget. He couldn't. To this day, he can still tell you a plethora of things about his original family, he can still draw a map of his old house by heart, he still feels the aching tugs of once fully belonging somewhere.

2. NEW HOME: at nine, he was placed with the Bones. They treated him fairly, all things considered. He's heard worse and best stories than his own, when it comes to being fostered. Ted had a bed of his own, food when he was hungry, and other kids in the house to talk to. They never treated him like a son, never one of his own, but it was fair. He didn't make a grand effort to become a part of their family tree; he wanted love, of course, what kid didn't want to be tucked into bed every night, or coddled when they got sick? But he grew up too fast. His parents were not the Bones. His mother wasn't there to tuck him in, his father was too far away to bring him soup when he felt ill. They were gone, living their lives somewhere without a single memory of him anymore, and he refused to let anyone replace them.

3. NAME: the Bones family refused to call him Ted. That was the first impression he got from these magical families -- how stuck-up and too fancy-sounding they were to his ears. He loved his nickname, his mother had given it to him when he was still growing in her belly, and it had stuck for nine years. He barely even remembered his full name, always introducing himself as Ted, Teddy, even Ed felt better than the full thing. The first day he stepped into the Bones house, he was greeted before he could introduce himself, bony hands that beckoned him in and a forced smile: Edward, it's a pleasure to have you. It felt like hearing nails scratch a chalkboard, at the time. He only got to reclaim the nickname when he got to Hogwarts, where he finally introduced himself again, as Ted, to everyone he met. Nowadays, he's gotten used to hearing the full thing.

BOGGART: 

his boggart is ever changing, as if often is. sometimes, he sees his beloved wife, his heart, his home, holding the hand of their daughter -- but their faces are covered by silver masks. if he's not fast enough to spell it away, dromeda will raise her wand and a green burst of light will spew out of it, towards him. he feels embarrassed of this one, because he doesn't mistrust andromeda, he doesn't think she will ever turn against him. and yet. it's the fear of abandonment, fear of betrayal, of losing the one feeling of belonging he ever found in the world ever since he was a kid. he knows she'll never turn to the other side because he knows her heart, but on his weakest days, when he questions everything, that is what he would see.

other days, and more often now, he see andromeda and dora, dead. not dying, per se, but already dead, their bodies frozen, cold, their skin turned pale blue. his biggest fear is that he'll lose them without ever being able to do anything about it, before he even knows it, before he can be with them.

FULL BIOGRAPHY:

ted was born into a loving home. he never had to miss anything, everything was at the reach of his fingertips. sure, he didn't have the newest pair of shoes, his clothes were all hand-me-downs and his toys were barely functioning, but he had so much love. his parents were simple people, but kind. at nine, he lost them. at nine, he lost everything.

it wasn't easy to put himself back together in a completely new world he didn't understand. the bones were nice to him, and tried to accommodate, but it was nearly impossible. he didn't want to be accommodated. for the first few months he was devastated, so deeply upset that it was hard to find the strength to do anything else but cry; as a child, an emotion so cuttingly strong wasn't easy to process. he was whiny, angry, he threw tantrums and he locked himself in his room for days on end. he was labeled as difficult. 

but kids are resilient. he never forgot his parents, he made sure he remembered them, but he knew he had to move on before the bones had enough of him and threw him out on the street. even if he never created a true familiar bond with his foster parents, he was grateful for what they could do to help him.

hogwarts was… confusing. he didn't belong in there, either. he was a muggleborn, and people knew immediately, because gossip traveled fast and the bones were well-known in this world. with a title that he did nothing to earn, he felt thrown into a lion's den on his very first day, encountering people who would twist their nose at him for no reason. the sorting hat sorted him into hufflepuff after only a second or two of thought.

things were better as he grew older. he still didn't feel as if he belonged in the castle, still always feeling this pull towards his real parents, a sense of home that he never found anywhere else. but he loved a lot of his housemates, he learned to keep his bad feelings in the back burner and move along.

somewhere along his late teens, he met andromeda. that's when things really changed. if you asked him now, he'd tell you with sparkling eyes and a silly grin that his life can be easily divided into two chunks: pre-dromeda, post-dromeda.

when he fell in love with her, he didn't know things were gonna be so hard for them. they were young, and innocent, and love bloomed inside of him like it never had before. before they even married, before they even shared a first kiss, he'd say -- she was his home. he was smitten, painfully so. his friends would tease him for it, but he couldn't stop the way the smallest mention of her name would bring a grin to his lips.

it was difficult, watching her separate from her family to be with him. not that he liked them, by any means -- he mostly hates them, nowadays, for making her suffer like this --, but they were her family. he knew it wasn't so easy for her to leave everything behind. he knew it had meant so much strength of her, and so much love, too, that she had for him. he didn't even think himself worthy of it, at the time.

for a while, before they really married, he was scared she would regret this, or resent him, or just wake up one day and realize he wasn't what she really wanted. he loved her, he loved her unconditionally and endlessly, and he just wanted to see her happy. he still finds himself immensely lucky that her happiness is with him.

he always had a way with words, so the job at the daily prophet seemed like a safe way to go. a different perspective, they said about him when he first joined. he can't know for sure what they meant, but he'll take a guess and say it's because of his muggleborn lineage. he writes a small column about random news that no one else seems to care about, but it brings him great joy. a new sign at flourish & blotts, the new ice cream flavor at florean's, the weeds that are growing rapidly around the tiles of diagon alley. silly things that he gets to wax poetical about -- somehow they've left him keep the spot on the paper for a good few years now.

when nymphadora was born, ted found out his heart could still grow. he found out he still had more love in him to give, more room in his heart, no matter how full it already felt. love, love, love, his whole life was so full of love. after never feeling like he belongs anywhere, after pushing through everything the world had managed to throw at him, he finds himself at peace. he has his two girls -- nothing else should matter.

[staylovehearts]

A Tree in a Forest

Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count ~ 3.7 k

Summary: Sometimes you can’t see the tree from the woods. 

Tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, slight angst, but also really cheesy, weird tree metaphors but I promise it’s romantic, or at least I hope it is

"Let go of me, the people are starting to look."

With a pout, you let go of Minho's elbow that you have been holding onto. Actually, you had meant to hook arms, walk arm in arm like an old couple. Or close friends who are goofing around together. But Minho keeps his arm pressed tightly to his side and you have done your best to wriggle at least three fingers in between. But now he's looking at you with this kind of irritated glance. He's even stopped walking. The only thing that's missing is for him to place his other hand on his hip and use his height to tower over you to make you feel like you are a kid being scolded.

"Since when do you care about people looking at you? You love attention. Besides, you always get super clingy with your friends, why do you never let me be close to you?" You cross your arms in front of your chest while speaking. Half because you are not sure what to do with your hand now that you had to remove your fingers from Minho's elbow. You really don't understand why he is always making such a fuss about it. There is nothing wrong with friends holding hands or hooking arms or any of that. Everyone is doing it. And Minho and you have been friends for quite a while now. Actually, you basically grew up together. He lives down the street, when you were younger you used to sit in the sandbox of the playground around the corner, defending the castles you built together from all the other kids trying to get a chance of playing there as well until your parents pulled you out and scolded you. But the next day you'd do it again. You two have been in cahoots for all of your youth. Exploring the forests and fields around town, building secret hideouts in the woods and coming home with scrapped knees. You went to school together. Have even been in the same classes for most of it. Minho and you have always been close. And he used to not mind being touchy-feely with you. But somehow things have changed sometime during high school. Before that, you always used to walk to and from school together. Him waiting up in the morning, standing on your porch and greeting your mother before joking about how you are always making him late. He stopped. Had to go earlier because of clubs and stuff. He also stopped walking home with you. Meeting with friends or staying later for dance practice. It's fine. You do have other friends as well. It's just how things go. But still... something about the distance he's been putting up makes you upset. And the harder he tries to slip away, the more you want to get close to him again.

"It's different when they do it. They are not annoying and clingy like you. Besides, you can't even compare that. With you it's a whole different story", Minho finally answers your question. It feels like you have been staring each other down in the middle of this crowded shopping mall for at least half a minute.

"Different how?", you ask. "How am I different?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you, as if you are stupid for even asking such a question, but he's also not really providing you with an answer. In fact, he seems to be stalling for time. The stance of his body shifts. The angry posture had given him a confident, overpowering look, but now he's unsure. You can read him pretty well most of the time, so it's easy for you to tell that he'd rather not start arguing with you right now.

"You're just... you", he finally mutters. It's so vague that it could mean anything and nothing.

"What's that even supposed to mean?", you demand, but Minho is running away from the question. Literally. He has started walking again before you could even get into complaining properly. You try your best to catch up with him again, for a moment you consider reaching for his arm again. Just to tease him. But then you stop yourself halfway there and just settle for walking next to him.

"Well, either way, let's go eat something. I'm starving"

                                                                ~

"Hey darling, you back already? I thought you were out with Minho?", your mother greets when you walk inside. She's standing in the kitchen, messing around in maybe three different pots and pans at the same time. The air is warm and filled with the smell of different spices and other ingredients.

"He had... a thing later. I think. He didn't really give me the specifics, just told me that he had to leave early. So I'm home already."

Your mother turns around to look at you over her shoulder, not even putting down her spatula or stepping away from the stove. But she gives you this kind of concerned mother look.

"That's odd", she just says, before completely turning back around to stir some vegetables in a pan. Something about the way she says it gives you a feeling that she is implying more than she is saying. But you're mother has always been like that. Giving you that know it all mothery attitude and yet refusing to really talk wisdom until you finally give in and come to her to ask what she means by that. But you're not really in the mood for talking right now.

"Do you want me to set the table?", you ask instead. Without even turning around your mother replies: "Yes, please. You're lucky I made a little extra. I wanted to leave it on the stovetop so you could eat it later when you get here. But now that you're here already you might as well eat with the family."

"Yeah, I'll get right to it."

And that's that. But you have a feeling this conversation is only postponed.

                                                               ~

to Dumbass Catboy: sooooo what do you wanna do for movie night this weekend? i'll take care of snax if you bring the dvd, or do you wanna do netflix?? [sent: 17:35; seen 5 minutes ago]

You stare at your phone in anticipation. Movie night is a staple for you and Minho. When you were younger you used to do when every weekend. But as school progressed and homework started piling up you started reducing the frequency. Every second week and then once a month. But it's a date circled in your calender. Marked with a bright red pen. And you make sure to send him reminders about it at least a week in advance. Minho and you have never skipped a movie night. Not even that one time you came down with a really bad stomach bug. You did switch to watching the movie together over a skype conversation though. Because your mother told you not to leave the house. Not that you had felt like that. You still clearly remember how you paused the movie in the middle of a scene, stood up straight and declared "I'm going to puke my guts out" before rushing out of your room and into the bathroom. You remember Minho laughing and teasing and calling your gross when you stumbled back into your room, face pale but cheeks glowing red, hair messy and sweaty bangs sticking to your forehead. But you continued watching the movie once you had settled yourself back into bed. Movie night has never been skipped.

[Dumbass Catboy is typing]

The three dots move, stop, disappear, show up again. Then, finally, after what seems like hours of waiting – well, just about one hour actually – there is finally an answer. But you sure don't like what you are seeing.

Dumbass Catboy: sry, can't make it, got other plans [sent: 18:27]

He's ditching your movie night? Not even telling you what for? No excuse. Just other plans? What other plans could be more important than watching movies with your bestie? It's a tradition. A ritual. You've been doing movie nights for years. And he's just ditching you? Not even an excuse. You throw your phone across the room, not even bothering with a reply. This is stupid. Outrageous. This is... actually so hurtful.

What happened?

Do people just drift apart like that? Is that just how it goes? Friends come and go and life goes on. But if that's just how it goes then why does it hurt so much? Is it normal that it stings so much, that it makes your chest feel so tight that you almost can't breathe anymore? Hands shaking, all of you shaking, shivering, struggling for air, choking out sobs, tears stinging in your eyes?

Why does it hurt so much?

Just then you hear a gentle knock on your door. You try to quickly clean the tears that have by now welled over and dripped from your chin onto the mattress away with your sleeve. Won't fix the puffy eyes, but the light is dimmed, so maybe it's alright.

"Come in", you croak. Voice hoarse and strangled. Damn. The door opens slowly and your mother comes inside, carrying a basket of freshly washed and folded laundry that she puts down. Usually, she'd leave right after that, but this time she stops in the doorframe to look at you. You try your hardest to avoid her gaze.

"Are you alright?", she asks and that's really all it takes for you to break down completely.

"I think Minho hates me now", you choke out between strangled sobs.

"Oh, darling", your mother hurries over to sit down next to you without hesitation. Gently she places a hand on your shoulder and you curl yourself into her side like you used to do as a child, hiding from strangers at family gatherings and the such. She gently pets your hair while she waits for your sobbing and shaking to calm down again before she begins her interrogation.

"Did you two have a fight?", she finally asks, after you have wiped your face with your sleeves a couple of times and sat up straight again. You shake your head because you still don't trust your voice to be stable, But your mother waits patiently for you to explain more. So you finally give in.

"He cancelled movie night. Didn't even give me a reason. He just said that he has other plans. And he's been so weird and distant lately. Like he doesn't want to spend time anymore and when we're out together he always makes me walk like an arm's length away from him. And when I ask him about it he's so weird. He won't even explain himself. I just don't understand why he's being like this now? I thought we were friends. But it's all changing now and I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose him. I l-", you interrupt yourself there, but the knowing glance your mother is giving you is telling you that she was just waiting for that emotional outburst. I love him so much is what you meant to say. You didn't even realise you meant it until now.

"You know, boys can be really stupid sometimes. I'm sure he doesn't hate you. Maybe he just needs space to figure something out. I know you two have always been close, but things change when you get older. That's just how it is. You can't stay in your little sandcastle forever."

"But what if I don't want things to change?"

"Oh, darling, no one wants for things to change. But the world just keeps turning, and either you learn to deal with change or you get left behind. It's cruel, but life can be like that sometimes."

                                                               ~

"Hey, sorry about last weekend, I was... busy."

You recognise the voice from behind without turning to look. You don't. You allow him to catch up to you but you don't slow down.

"It's okay", you say. Snappy. Short words. Fired like bullets out of your mouth. You don't turn, but you notice him flinch a little out of the corner of your eye. Minho's lips have always formed into a sort of natural pout, but it becomes even more prominent when he is actually upset about something. Such full lips. So soft, so plush.

"Maybe we could make up for it?", he offers. He's walking fast to keep up with you. Maybe you did add a little more speed to your step. You're basically powerwalking down the street. What is he even doing here? Did he have to be out just now when you wanted to go to the store?

"Maybe", you say. And with that, you're basically done with the conversation. But Minho doesn't seem to be willing to let you go so easily.

"Are you also going to the store? Want me to help you carry that?" He points to the bag around your wrist. Your mother gave it to you even though you insisted you'd be able to carry the few things she wanted without any help.

"It's empty. I think I can handle that myself", you explain. Still not even bothering to look at your friend. Can you even call him that right now? Friend feels like such a loaded word. Maybe he stopped being your friend when he started moving into crush territory. You wonder what territory you are in from his perspective right now? Maybe you're nothing. And being nothing only really hurts when you used to be something.

"Don't you wanna try grabbing me today?", he asks, still not able or willing to read the mood.

"Thought you didn't want me to."

"Yeah, but since when has me telling you what to do ever stopped you from getting your will either way, remember when we-"

"Hey, I'm sorry, but I got this kinda important errand to run", you cut him off in the middle of a sentence. You're not in the mood for childhood memories and sharing stories that you have told each other a dozen times already.

"Sure, maybe we can talk..."

You're out of reach before he can get that later out.

                                                               ~

Dumbass Catboy: hey [sent: 22:34]

Dumbass Catboy: i was wondering if we could talk [sent: 22:35]

Dumbass Catboy: look, I know I kinda fucked up and I'm really sorry [sent: 22:36]

Dumbass Catboy: please, I know you are getting these, can you just talk to me please? [sent: 22:47]

You look at your phone, not quite sure what to do. You thought getting some distance yourself would make it easier to deal with your newly realised feelings. But it seems that now, that you have slipped away to finally grant Minho the space he has been demanding he doesn't want it anymore. Suddenly he wants to be close. Texting you, asking to hang out, showing up out of nowhere when you are walking down the street to come up and talk to you. Yesterday he tried to wrap an arm around your shoulder and you just bolted. It hurts. Wanting but not being wanted. Then trying to get the distance. Suddenly being wanted again. But if you cave in now, will he turn cold again?

to Dumbass Catboy: talk then [sent: 22:50; seen just now]

Okay, maybe you're being a little bit unreasonable. A little bit bitchy. But this is basically your first real heartbreak. He's your first real love. It makes sense to be upset, right?

Dumbass Catboi: I thought we could maybe talk in person? [sent: 22:52]

Dumbass Catboi: meet me at our secret place in ten? If that's alright [sent: 22:53]

You glance at the clock on your nightstand. As if the glowing red numbers would give you another time than that displayed on the phone in your hand. It's almost 11 pm.

You grab a coat and head out.

Minho is standing leaned against the trunk of an old oak, the light of his phone making his phone glow a ghastly pale white in the dark of the forest. He raises his head when he hears you step on a twig that snaps under your boots. The light draws weird shadows on his face and for maybe the first time in ages you are unable to tell what he is thinking. His face seems contorted by the light hitting it and you can't read him at all.

You stop roughly an arm's length away from him and wait for him to greet you. Or start explaining why he called you out here in the middle of the night. For him to say anything.

"You know isn't it weird that we are able to find this place so easily even though it's just some random spot in a forest that we made out to be our place ages ago? Like, there is nothing actually special about this tree, we just made it out to be special", Minho finally says after a moment of silence. It's not really what you expected. Well, not that you really expected anything out of this conversation. But you sure didn't think he would go on a rant about trees. But it suits him, talking some weird nonsense instead of getting to the point.

"So you called me out here in the middle of the night to talk about trees?"

"Yes, but also not really", Minho answers. "See, what I'm trying to get at is that you are like that tree. When you look around in a forest there are so many trees everywhere, you could hardly make out a single one. And they all kind of look the same. But once you stop and pick a single tree to be that special tree to you, it begins to stick out. And you start noticing all the weird little details. Like how the moss grows in weird shapes on it and how it leans a little bit to the side. And suddenly that one tree is just not some random tree in a forest. And you don't really notice it at first. It seems to be just that tree that you have picked out as a meeting spot. But when you stop to think about it, you realise that that tree has always been there. This tree saw us grow up. We climbed it when we were kids, we had picnics here and we talked for hours every night in summer. Even though it just looks like one of many trees, this tree is special to me. You are special to me."

Minho's little rant leaves you lost for words and you need a moment to comprehend that between all the talk about trees he just made something like a confession. But still, it's too unclear. To vague to actually tell what he is trying to say. He has put his phone away before he started talking. Now the weird shadows are replaced with pale moonlight painting his features soft, Making his sharp and angular jaw look almost smooth, yet the skin is shining like polished marble. And his lips, oh god his lips, have they always been this tempting?

"That's a really weird metaphor", you finally manage to whisper. There is no reason to lower your voice, but you can't get yourself to speak up. You feel like you are trapped in a giant bubble and once you move to fast or speak too loud it'll burst and this whole little moment of perfect honesty will be gone.

"I guess it is. But you know that saying? Not seeing the wood from the trees or something like that. I think this is like the opposite way around. I haven't been able to see that one tree that is special to me because of all the other ones around it. You know, hide a tree, use a forest. Is that a thing that people say? Ugh, sorry, I'm rambling." Minho reaches out. Hand on your shoulder. Pulls you closer. And arm's length is still just enough distance to reach out and touch someone if you want to. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that I really like you. I've liked you for a long time. And I've been scared of these feelings. So I thought if I just push you away I'd be able to move on. But then, when I really felt like I lost you, I couldn't take it. So I decided that it's better to lose you with at least trying to tell you how I feel than letting you go and never telling you. And now here I am. I like you. I really do. And I want to be with you. And I'm sorry that I have been such an idiot about it."

"You really have been an idiot", you mumble. You're standing closer to him now. Toes almost touching, his hand on your shoulder, yours uselessly hanging down next to your body. You reach out, wrap them around his neck, close the remaining bit of distance. Inhale. Everything about his body is so familiar. And yet it isn't. He smells the same, feels the same. But the bit of height difference hits different now. The way his heart is beating rapidly in his chest. This is new. These feelings are new and yet they are old. This tree is special and still, it is one of many. One that you picked. One that you made special. Because you saw it and you didn't let it go. Just like that little boy down the street who you first met when he was trying to pet a stray cat and you laughed when he started crying after it scratched him. But when he turned to look at you with tears in his big brown eyes, you rushed over to comfort him. And you never let him go again. Because he's special. To you he's special.

"I like you too", you finally return the confession. It feels like it took you both forever to get here. Then again, there is still so much time left. So many days to spend together, so many movie nights to be had. So much to do, it feels like no amount of time will ever be enough. Then again, maybe this moment alone is enough already. For now. And for Forever.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 6--Magic and Memory

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo remembers his last night at home. He and Demyx discuss their pasts, and what their relationship might mean.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo dreamt again about that night.

It had once been vague in his memory, cauterized, but as he grew older, the magic revealed it to him, bit by bit.

The beautiful castle in Radiant Garden, Father. He’d just barely fallen asleep on a night like this one, one full of moonlight, to Father’s soothing voice reading stories. He woke suddenly to a tang of magic aching within his own, and a different stink, a stink of smoke--

“Ienzo! Ienzo!” Even grasping at him, hauling up, but he was eight now, just a little bit too big to be easily carried--Even managed it anyway, stumbling.

“What happened?” he asked, gazed. “It smells like--”

A deafening bang. “There they go! It’s him! He’s got the girl!”

Even ran harder, sending out as harsh a wave of magic as he dared, but it weakened him--Ienzo reached out to lend him his energy, his strength. “Thank you, child,” he muttered. “It’s not much farther--” He squeezed Ienzo so hard it was difficult to breathe.

Aeleus’s voice. “Even?”

“We have to go now, Aeleus, that fool is here and she has reinforcements. ”

“I know. The whole west wing is up in flame. Broke through our wards--there must’ve been a rat.”

“The west--but Ansem--did he--”

“It doesn’t matter. You and Ienzo have to go .”

“What about you?”

“It is my duty to get you out safe--nothing more.”

“What of Dilan? Where’s he?”

“Enough questions-- go .” Aeleus pressed a rough kiss to Ienzo’s head. “Get him out safe--that’s what matters.”

Even ran, and ran, through basement pathways--eventually he set Ienzo down, and they ran together, breathless, clutching stitches, the smell of smoke getting worse and worse--

A smooth, gravelly, deep voice. “There you are.”

Even threw an arm in front of him. “Xemnas? We have to get out of here, that fool Maleficent is--” Then, “the… wards. You--why?”

“Even, you know as well as I do that this system isn’t working. This… oligarchy. People are dying, starving in the streets--you’ve no idea the hell Ansem has wrought over this land.”

“You swore an oath.” He scooped Ienzo up again. “Now let me through.”

“Else?” The smell of smoke grew thicker, then Ienzo realized… it wasn’t just smoke. Thick, dark creatures emerged from the shadows. “Give me the princess, Even. I promise no harm will come to her.”

“Why should I believe another word coming from your filthy mouth? Ansem… he loved you, Xemnas, and you-- betrayed us. Why?”

“Give me the princess.”

Ienzo saw the creatures, their hungry gold eyes, their long sharp claws… he started to pull at his magic, remembering what Merlin had taught him.

“My father has big plans for her.”

“I will kill her myself before I allow him to lay one finger on her. That fool. You were supposed to be different. You said you were, and Ansem believed you--"

Ienzo felt the coldness of a shard of ice against his throat.

“You’re bluffing.”

Even pressed the blade against him a little harder.

The man tapped his long fingers together.

“Better she die quickly than live a life suffering in the darkness.” Even leaned in. “Now, child,” he hissed.

Ienzo screamed and threw the magic with all his might, pulling from places deep within himself he’d always been encouraged to keep hidden, to keep under control. The magic exploded from him, piercing all of the Heartless, striking Xemnas in the chest--

Pain budded in his eyes, growing stronger and stronger as he cut through more Heartless.

“Enough, child, that’s enough--”

The pain peaked.

“You have to stop .”

Everything was going dark, agony exploding from his right eye. “I can’t.”

“You can. You can. Listen to me. Child. Breathe, rein it in. We’ve got him. We’ve--” A strangled noise, and Even disappeared from view, and Xemnas’s hands were wrapped around his throat--

Ienzo screamed and released more magic, and everything abruptly went dark.

---

He always hated that dream. His eyes were damp as he woke, slowly treading consciousness. He sat up and touched his right eye.

Xemnas had betrayed them at his father Xehanort's request, revealing all their weaknesses to the sorceress Maleficent, spilled darkness like ink all over Radiant Garden. They'd been running ever since. All the easier for Xehanort to slip in, to instill control… and Ansem's grip on the rest of the city-states collapsed completely. How on earth was a resistance going to be able to counter that? Then Maleficent ended up “mysteriously” dead, and Ienzo… was half blind. It remained a permanent warning of what would happen to him if he used too much magic. The energy alone will shred you, Even had told him. Literally.  

It was ludicrously early, but he got up anyway, dressing slowly, his skin still so sensitive, achy, almost.

Zo! Good morning! Busy later?

Demyx.

Ienzo never thought he'd have come out of this with a… what, exactly? Boyfriend? Mate? Partner?

Even said there were ways to break this bond. But why should he? He'd never had anything to himself before, and besides, if Demyx could jam him, all the safer. But true… they may have made out for hours yesterday, but they barely knew each other.

He could fix that. Reveal his… truths.

Ienzo exhaled. One thing at a time.

---

He went to class. Eraqus's junior-level industrial/organizational psychology class was interesting, and then there was the class Demyx TA'ed. He hadn't been able to test out of art credits, and found himself glad. He wondered… this was all magic. He hadn't consciously chosen Demyx. Would he have, if he could? He'd never been allowed choices. Was it the magic suddenly finding attractiveness in those features, or his own budding sexuality? Did he have free will at all?

(Thinking of the electricity of that kiss, did it matter? Clearly his magic and body both thought they were things worth seeking.)

Ienzo suddenly wished dearly he had a friend to talk to about all this. All he had were Aeleus and Even; the former had been pulled away by his work, and the latter had been too enraged to speak to him this morning.

Ienzo wished for his father, thought of another sort of coming out--he'd only been seven or so, but knew it was truth down into the core of his being. Going to Ansem in his study. Asking him why he was a girl, receiving a lecture about biology, then stating point blank--"what if I were a boy?" Ansem had been confused, but then, "do you think you are?" And when he said yes, all Ansem did was smooth the dress Even had stuffed him in and say, "then we'd best get you more suitable clothing." It took more time for everyone to get used to calling him the proper pronouns, and even then, they kept the truth of his gender within the inner circle, to wait until he was older. Hence… Xehanort never knowing.

He thought of this as Demyx rounded him up after class, his expression so soft as he looked at Ienzo. "You ready?"

"Quite."

They made their way towards town. "Can I… hold your hand?" Demyx asked. "Or…"

"Perhaps… not just yet."

"Okay," he said, clearly disappointed. "So… Riku's got class then work until like 8, is my place okay? It's still warded and stuff."

Did Demyx think there would be more kissing? (Ienzo cursed the fact that the idea excited him.) "...Alright."

He smiled. "Great."

The inside of the small apartment smelled like garlic. “Ah--sorry,” Demyx said quickly. “I was cooking yesterday and I completely forgot--”

“You like to cook?”

“Yeah, I’m told I’m not half bad at it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nice to--be good at something objective. Which music so totally isn’t. I’d offer you some of what I made, but… Riku demolished it all after he went to the gym.” A shrug.

“Are you two actually friends, or is it merely an arrangement that works?”

Demyx snorted. He pulled a bottle of juice out of the fridge. “Well--yes, and yes. Want some? I made it myself.”

“...Sure.” He was given a glass of something pinkish and cloudy. They sat on that same horrible couch. “I need to… know more about you. All of this is making me wonder--”

“If we even have free will?” Demyx winced. “Yeah. It’s, uh, a conundrum.”

“You’ve known about this bond longer than I--is it… genuine? That is to say--” He had no idea how to put any of this.

“I’ve tried dating,” Demyx said. “Like, not to be a slut or anything, but I’ve dated a bunch of people, of all different genders. And it was fun, and nice, and sometimes I even liked them a whole lot, maybe loved them a little. All I know… this feels a lot… more intense than that.” He bit his lip.

“But this bond. Is it… merely lust and infatuation, and that encourages more stable bonding? Or--”

Demyx let out a long breath. “My parents had this kind of relationship. But the long and short of it is… yeah. If we really… go through with it… if we… choose it, then… it’s kind of a forever thing.”

“What do you want?” Ienzo asked.

“I want… I want to be happy. And I think… this could help.” He swallowed.

Ienzo squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “There are a few things you have to know about me, then,” he said quietly.

“Like what?”

“Firstly… I’m transgender.” The word felt odd in his mouth.

Demyx shrugged. “Okay. No big deal. I’ve been with--” Ienzo heard him catch himself. “It doesn’t bother me, or anything. Why would it?”

His flushed worsened, and so did his anxiety. “So… I was once a girl. And my name… it was--”

Demyx raised a hand. “I don’t need to know your deadname.”

He felt his eyes watering. “In this case it is important.” He tried to slow his breaths. “It was _____.”

Demyx blinked. Then he looked at Ienzo, really looked at him. “As in…” He sputtered. “ Princess _____? You’re--”

“The prince. Yes.”

There was just a moment of shocked silence. “Holy shit ,” he said. “I mean--I’m sorry--ah--your highness--”

Ienzo scowled. “No. None of that bullshit.” He exhaled. “I came here to try and have a normal life… while the resistance… tries to rally itself against Xehanort. To stay alive. ”

Demyx went pale. “I kissed a prince. God, that is probably so--”

Ienzo exhaled. “For the record… I did like it. But-- you won’t--”

“Tell anyone? I’m not a fucking narc. I just can’t believe--everyone thought that the… sorry, princess, is dead and shit.”

“...Precisely. My transition is part of why I’m still alive.”

Demyx tried to gather himself. “Ienzo. Listen, my… people, or whatever, have been hunted for fucking ever. I’m not going to turn you over--to anyone.”

He believed it. “That is… a comfort.”

Demyx touched his cheek. “Is that why I’m so drawn to you? Because you’re uber powerful?”

“Quite possibly,” Ienzo said. “Though… I feel it, too. For you to be able to block me… your power isn’t insignificant.”

“So what do we do?”

“I need to know more about seekers. ...And Riku. Whatever you know about your people. We can… see how this might be of use, to the resistance, or ourselves.”

“Otherwise?”

“Otherwise…” Ienzo trailed off. “I want to… explore this further.”

“Right,” Demyx said softly. He leaned in and kissed him, and like the kisses before it seemed to wake up Ienzo’s whole being. He couldn’t help but respond, already feeling a gathering warmth in his belly. He felt Demyx’s tongue against his lips and let it in, for a moment fascinated by the strange texture of it before Demyx was making him feel things he didn’t think it was possible to feel, making him feel so utterly… turned on, aware suddenly he was sweating. All of him screamed I want. Demyx’s hands wandered over him, exploring slowly, as if to savor it, and he was eased back onto the couch. Feeling their bodies pressed together--Demyx’s hand slid down between his legs--

“No,” he said softly. “No. Not yet.”

Demyx pulled away. “I’m sorry, I… it just kind of happened--I should've asked--”

“It’s okay.” He sat up and neatened himself. His body screamed at him for refusing the touch. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“You’ve never… done anything?”

“No. When would I have?”

Demyx shrugged. “We should probably try to… wait,” he said. “On anything, anything.”

“Until we know each other better? That’s a good point.”

“Because…” He whistled a little. “I mean. Sex kind of seals the deal. You know?”

“Consummation?”

“When you put it like that.” He wrinkled his nose. “Once you… start having actual feelings , and then act on them, it--gets messy.”

“...This is more complicated than I thought.”

“Tell me about it.” He drummed his fingers on his knees. “Tell me about you,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

Ienzo hesitated. He wanted to trust Demyx so badly. But yet… “What is there to tell,” he murmured. He sighed.

“Not the… royal stuff. You . What you like to do.”

Ienzo blinked. “We kind of touched upon this before. But I… like to read. I like to learn. I used to… write, once upon a time, very bad poetry. Growing up like me often made me… quite angsty.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wrote about it--thankfully it’s all long gone. But I don’t need to write, the way I assume you need to create. If I read or learned, I could pretend… my isolation was voluntary.” He flushed. “And this all sounds rather pathetic.”

“Not pathetic , but it does suck.” His eyes were so pitying. “You never… had any friends, or anything?”

“None that lasted--aside from my guardians. Though it seems you are something of a social butterfly.”

Demyx shrugged. “Kinda comes with the territory,” he muttered. “I don’t, like, try to charm people. Or enchant them, or whatever. But like fucking everything I do, it’s not conscious. It just makes me wonder--” He scoffed. “How many of my friends really like me, or are drawn to me because of what I am?”

“I have the opposite problem,” Ienzo said, with a smile. “People hate me because of what I am.”

Demyx smiled too. “It… doesn’t exactly do wonders for my self-esteem. I wish I could turn it off. Part of me… almost has this fundamental fear that I’m unlovable, and the magic just convinces people otherwise.”

Ienzo blinked. “Surprising, then, that you’d consider a pairbond.”

He fiddled with the pendant. “I… know,” he said. “It makes no sense. It’s part of me. Part of my kind. That’s even harder to resist. So I just tell myself it’s a choice. And it is.”

There was a moment where Ienzo was unsure of what to say. “So what is your kind?”

Demyx held the pendant up to the light. “Seeker is kind of a… misnomer, I guess you could say? The language is actually so fucking old. When we were first were created , or whatever, we were apparently put here to… protect.”

Ienzo had a feeling he already knew. “Protect what?”

“Whatever we consider to be important, I guess,” Demyx murmured. “That where everything gets weird. In the myths… nobody told us what our purpose was. So we just draw in everything until we… find that something.” He exhaled. “I wish I were just human. I really do.”

“You and me both. My kind apparently served as a liaison between the gods and man, hence my magic. But I can’t hear them the way I can hear the earth. Who knows if this is all just stories?” He shook his head. “What if it’s all something we made up to give ourselves clarity? And people are dying for such stories ?”

“Who knows,” Demyx said softly.

“So your parents were also seekers. And you haven’t heard from them since the islands fell?”

“Since I washed up on the beach,” he said casually. “But that was before that. I was hoping to find them. Considering what I am… actually finding people isn’t that easy. Maybe they’re dead. I don’t know. Almost makes me glad my memories are like swiss cheese. This stupid necklace is all I have from my past.”

“They… are? Your memories?”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

Ienzo put a hand under his chin. “Do you think perhaps someone… or something… deliberately cut off access to your other form, and manipulated where you ended up?”

He blew a raspberry. “I mean I guess.”

“Can I see it?” Ienzo asked. “The pendant?”

“Uh… sure.” Demyx leaned forward so Ienzo could touch it. It felt like glass, smooth and warm. Again, that rune. Ienzo was suddenly sure he’d seen it before… but where ?

“Could I… study it?” he asked.

Demyx furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve never taken it off.”

“Nothing ill will come of you if you do, right?”

“I don’t think so, but--”

“Maybe I can help you find your memory. My guardian… knows a lot about such magic. Is that something you would want?”

Demyx held it in his palm. “You think this thing could be holding the memory back? Or--”

“I don’t know.”

After a long moment, Demyx reached up and pulled the necklace over his head. He still hesitated before he handed it to Ienzo. “Don’t lose it,” he said, almost desperately.

“I promise I won’t.” He considered it. The necklace was still glowing, though a bit less so than before. “Do you feel any different?”

Demyx shook his head.

“Let me know if you do at once.” He slipped it into his pocket; it still remained warm. “I’ll look into this right away.”

“Do you think it’ll help?”

“I hope it will.”

[hollandroos]

The Price We Pay | Four

Summary: A one night stand was all it took for your entire life to change. You're shoved into unknown territory, agreeing to fake date the prince long enough for his parents and the media to get off of his back only there are a few issues... one of them being that you really can’t stand each other.

Series Masterlist

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: None!

Moodboard by @marvelousxtsh

-

“I thought I told you just to dress casually?” You taunt.

Tom steps out of the car– the passenger seat to be correct because after half an hour of back and forth you finally made him agree to drive, claiming it’d be a waste of time to get a driver. Though a part of you wondered when the last time he drove was and if it’d be safe.

But you were still alive, even after the painfully awkward drive between games of Ispy.

He shrugs, brown curls slicked around. “I wanted to make a good first impression.”

“Tom, sweatpants and a hoodie would have been fine. You could scare them off in that.”

His eyes widen, immediately going to stare down at his outfit– maybe it was a little over the top but truth be told he had no idea about your family and where they came from. He feared underdressing and hadn’t debated overdressing in the slightest.

“Fuck, really?”

You tug him forward by the front of his coat, pulling it off of his shoulders. Beneath was a white dress shirt tucked into his pants and you undid the top button, puffing out the collars. You throw the jacket into the front seat of the car and Tom grimaced at the way the material creased, buttons knocking against the dash.

“That’s a little better, you look good like this.” You felt a little proud and he smiles, glancing around for cameras but he finds none– in fact, he finds no one. Your childhood home really was in the middle of nowhere. “Just c’mon, and remember to relax, my family is nowhere as intense as yours.”

God, were you going to kill him–

He shoves the thoughts to the back of his brain. “S-should I hold your hand?”

“Yeah, we want to pull this off don’t we?”

He takes your hand into his own, intertwining your fingers together. The action was probably the closest you’d been since that night and it bought Tom a sense of comfort, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this– so he began rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Oh yeah, by the way, I have four siblings.”

Maybe you should’ve told him soon– about Kenny who was only a year younger then you and Carley who was eighteen, then there was Louis and Marcus who were fifteen. But Tom never asked.

Four? Tom had none.

He stands startled. “What–”

“Y/N!” A shrill voice calls and you smile at the two twins that raced towards you, one with ponytails and the other a set of muddy shorts.

They were loud and extremely clingy. Personal space didn’t exist and showers were the enemy– even after a day of helping in the backyard.

You turn to Tom and give him a lopsided smile, small crinkles forming beneath your eyes. And rather sarcastically, you kneel. “Welcome to my life, your majesty.”

-

From there, Tom watched you interact with your four siblings, each of a different age except the twins with completely different personalities. You were right, they were loud and it came as a shock to him.

But he sort of liked it.

The prince was used to hundreds of hallways, the only noise being his own two feet padding against the marble ground as well as his men or the grandfather clocks singing a chorus every hour. Here, you had to speak up to be heard and shout across the table which at the palace would’ve been considered rude– here it was the only way to get your thoughts out.

Louis and Marcus had easily gravitated towards Tom and Carley had clearly tried to suck up the prince and he found it amusing. He allowed them to play around in the fairly expensive ride and even gave each of your siblings a box of chocolates as a ‘hey, I’m suddenly dating your sister please like me’ gift.

Kenny didn’t trust the man one bit.

But he watched you interact with each of the kids like they were your own and he briefly remembered you mentioning the hours you’d spend taking care of them when your mum was at work, making their favourite lunches and playing games to pass the hours.

It was a softer side he was pleased to see.

He watched you smile, corners of your lips turning upwards as they fill you in on everything you’d missed like Kenny moving jobs and their science project at school.

Tom had never had that, the comfort of another sibling. From an early age, he was in the classroom learning how to be a prince– the best kind of prince in fact. He wasn’t learning how to balance books on his head but laws at the age of nine. He had maids and cooks and teachers and busy parents that never ceased to forget about his existence.

But it doesn’t take him long of sitting around an overly crowded family table, much smaller then his own for him to realise that someone was missing.

“Where’s your mum?”

You leave the other kids to discuss whose turn it was to do dishes, ignoring your own stomach rumbling. “Right about now she’ll be at work but she’ll be back by dinner to meet my handsome boyfriend, she’s very excited.” You watch his face change. “Yes, Thomas, the people here do have to work long hours to get by.”

“I knew that! I did, I just thought they finished around three you know…” He feels a wave of awkwardness wash over him and fiddles with his fingers. “I don’t think your brother likes me very much.” He nods towards Kenny.

And of course, you being as uncaring as you turned straight to your younger brother. “Ken, what do you think of Tom?”

His face hardens. “I’m undecided.”

The comment makes Tom tense and if his heart wasn’t pounding before then it most definitely was now. He couldn’t put his finger on why he felt so nervous about this. If anything he must’ve been more nervous then you when you met his parents but he wasn’t sure because to this point in time, you’d done a beyond amazing at keeping your feelings hidden.

Tom felt like he’d barely peeled back one layer of many.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” You try, taking his hand into your own and giving it a squeeze once more. “The others love you.”

It was a small action but one that made Tom’s heart run miles.

“Tom!” Carley says, staring between the two of you. She interrupts your small– barely there but there nonetheless moment. “Did you know that you’re the first boy she’s bought home in… probably forever?”

Toms' eyes widen, finding your suddenly fearful gaze. “Really?”

“Okay that’s not true–” You tense, sending her a threatening glare. But your sister only shrugs, a teasing smile making way on her face. She knew what she was doing and you hated it.

“We all didn’t think this day would come but here it is.”

Your grit your teeth and unknowingly squeeze Toms hand a little harder. He notices. “This is why I didn’t fuckin–”

“Tell me more, I want to know all about Y/N.” Tom interrupts, feeling your grip loosen. “What was she like as a child? did she listen at school?”

-

After half an hour of hearing all about your interest without your consent, your siblings all decided to scatter. Some went off to play with friends, some went to their room to do homework and one of them was apparently working out.

You didn’t know when your sister got so productive.

You and Tom wondered around the property, introducing him to your long missed farm animals. You watched his face change to disgust as he stepped over manure and puddles, nearly laughing at the way he seemed nearly unsure of every single step.

Of course, there were animals at the castle but nothing like this.

He didn’t tend to go around to the pens but seeing the pigs at yours– leaning down to pet them and nearly being shoved back when they rammed into his legs was surprising but made him laugh nonetheless.

And the cows– he loved the cows. There were two of them, Betsy and Bucky and without hesitation he pets the both of them.

“Originally we were going to sell them to the slaughterhouse but we grew too attached, mostly me but the younger ones did too of course and we managed to convince mum to keep them. So now they’re like our pets.” You smile, running a hand over Betsy's back.

Bucky moos at Tom.

“They’re adorable.” He smiles, stepping in what was either mud or cow manure. Tom only screws his face up for a second but quickly gets over himself. He had promised to give this a try and he wasn’t regretting it yet. “Do you have chickens?”

“Lots of them. When we were kids it’d be a race to see who could get the eggs first.” You smile at the memory.

“And here I thought you were a towns girl but you’re really a country girl at heart.”

“And here I thought you were an asshole prince, I guess only one of us was right with our assumptions.” You smile cheekily.

The two of you continue to walk around the place slowly, making sure to take it everything from the surprisingly blue sky to the grass that flattened beneath your feet with every step and the smell– because the smell wasn’t the best but the amazement in his eyes was definitely worth something.

“We haven’t actually had a proper moment to talk.” He mutters, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. “I mean there was that first night, we were drunk. Then we were rushed then my parents were involved.”

“Have we not?”

“Nope.” Tom shakes his head, the two of you continue to walk around the property. “I hope you know that I appreciate what you’re doing for me. Seriously– it means a lot. I know it probably wasn’t easy to give up work and going from being… you, to headlining the papers.”

“Work was easy to give up, my boss is an ass and it really wasn’t easy have those out there.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Are you going soft on me?”

“I’ve always been soft, you just push my limits.” Tom teases, taking his hands out of his pockets.

You snort. “I do?”

He ignores the moment his hand brushes against yours.

“You have attitude, you’re feisty, no one’s ever spoken to me the way you do before and it’s– it’s different.” He shrugs, voice reaching a new pitch.

“I’m just real, Tom. I’m not going to start kissing your feet or beg you to love me. You’re a man with a crown and that crown means barely anything to me.”

“You see me as a person.” He highlights.

“You are a person. A person that annoys me to an extent.”

You come across the mud puddles you used to push your siblings into when you were a kid.

“Why do I annoy you so much?”

You don’t have an answer to his question at that moment.

So you shove him.

You watch him hit the ground with a gentle thud, mud splattering up and staining the end of your pants but he looked worse.

“Are you fucking serious?” He hisses.

You cover your mouth, trying to prevent him from seeing the smile that took place and the giggles that threatened to spill. You didn’t even care about how threatening his words sounded.

He looked a right mess. Mud stained Toms pants and right up to his waist, hands planted in the mud were a sticky brown and the frown on his face only topped it off. Dirt clung to his coffee brown curls.

You didn’t even take a second to think about how expensive his clothes were before you threw him into the giant puddle of mud or how long it’d take to clean his outfit, you purely focused on the amusement you felt the moment he hit the mud and the look of pure shock and disgust on his face when he realised that he was now coated in the mess.

“This isn’t funny!” He snaps, screwing his nose up at the god awful smell. “Get me the hell out of here or I swear–”

Tom stops, cutting himself off as he sees you clutching your stomach, laughs slipping from your lips. He watches the way your eyes screw shut, strands of hair falling over your face as you lean forward to grip the post for support and you hurl over just enough to take hold of your lower stomach.

“You just– you look so funny right now. You got such a shock too oh my god.” The words came out between laughs and gasps for air, there was even a single tear.

Then he had an idea– one that he knew could either get him into trouble or extend the fun and of course, Tom wanted to extend the fun.

“Can you help me out?”

He sticks a muddy hand out and you wipe a stray tear away, still trying to get your breathing back as you clasp your hand in his. All you thought he was going to do was push himself up, not pull you in.

“Tom–”

Then you were in the mud too, landing right on top of him. Your hands sunk into the muck which was anything but warm, coating themselves in the dirt before a heavy gasp left your lips, spots of mud decorating your cheeks.

Your laughs stopped, mouth falling open and shut like a fish as you took in the sight of your clothes lathered in ick and it stunk– dear god it stunk but not even a second later you took a hand full of dirt and dropped it on Toms clothed chest, turning the white tee a deeper shade of brown. You shouldn’t have been surprised and if you were watching instead of laughing then you would’ve seen him pull you in.

Still, the thought doesn’t plague your mind for too long because seconds later your hands are back in the mud collecting another handful.

“You’ve started a war you won’t win.” He threatens, a smirk forming on his features. Dirt sits at the corner of his mouth.

“Try me, Holland.”

He dumped mud directly on top of your head, strands of hair now highlighted the same colour of the muck you were still sitting in, back coated too from rolling off of him. Instead of getting annoyed, your chest erupted in giggles.

You felt like a child again, throwing mud back and forth with your siblings when your parents weren’t watching and Tom felt like… he felt like a different person. Because the prince would never do something this dirty just for fun.

With mud slathered all over his hands, Tom places one hand on your cheek gently creating a handprint on your face. You were both covered in the stuff. Your clothing may as well be thrown out and your hair would need some serious care but the smile on both of your faces was enough for it to be worth it.

The sun beat down on the two of you as you continued to layer each other in mother nature's gift, screwing your noses up at the sight of each other but that didn’t stop you.

Tom felt his cheeks flush at the sight of you so carefree but doubted it was noticeable beneath the mud. He basked in your giggles, the way your eyes squeezed shut as you wiped any dirt away from your eyes. You were happy and so was he.

There was no camera flashing or expectations to be held. It was just the two of you like it had been the first night and Tom had to stop and realise- this was the girl he’d spent the night with, giggling over glasses of wine and cheap alcohol.

It was carefree, bittersweet.

Then you were sitting there, both winding down and panting, the odd laugh still slicing through the silence and neither of you could even think about what you’d be going back to tomorrow. The next news line or obstacle you’d have to overcome was forgotten.

“What do we do now?” You sigh, taking in the site of both you and Tom covered head to toe in mud. If your mother were home, she would have lost it with both of you. You’d both be in the corner.

You looked the same way you smelt.

Tom screws his nose up, trying not to laugh at the sight of you with mud prints on both cheeks. “We smell disgusting.”

“Come on, we’ll use the shower before my family gets home– and not together!” You offer, beginning to force yourself out of the muck, noticing how his face changed from suggestive to blunt.

He felt something new.

“Damn it,” Tom mutters under his breath, fighting to urge to pull you back in. He didn’t want to go too far. “It was worth a shot.”

“Keep trying, maybe one day you’ll get there.”

That newfound feeling was hope.

-

The shower was… difficult to say the least.

You had to stand and watch the clear water turn a sickly shade of brown as it hit the floor and ran down the drain, clumps of dirt and shreds of grass following closely behind. It made you grimace but lathering yourself in the coconut scented soap and finally feeling clean again was worth it.

You step out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped just above your breasts and hair down naturally wet after the shower.

Tom glances up once– only once, then he directed his gaze back down to the book he was reading. It was clearly one from your bookshelf and by the looks of things he looked pretty into it, or at least he was pretending to be.

Your bookshelf was full and he wondered if you’d ever actually read a single one of them or if they were just for display.

It wasn’t the book in hand that shocked you but the fact that he wasn’t staring you down, his eyes weren’t filled with a certain hunger and instead they were focused on the pages of the teen romance novel. He was showing basic respect and it shocked you.

“Aren’t going to look? I’m practically naked?” You taunt, reaching into one of your draws. The plush, white towel rides up your thighs.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the pages. “I’m not that bad, you know?” Tom chuckles. His hair was still wet from his own shower, hanging over his forehead in unkempt curls, wet and a darker shade then normal.

“I had a hunch,” You shrug. “Just a little bit surprised is all.”

He wore your brother's clothes, simply a plain grey tee and jeans and you’d admit that you thought he looked better in actual colours but he also looked good in the more– normal, everyday clothing.

And actually seeing him fitting in with your family made your heart flutter, stomach twisting and churning.

It actually felt weird to see a boy in your childhood bedroom– a boy that was used to so much more then a shoebox-sized room and a single bed. He was probably shocked by the little amount of furniture because of course you didn’t have a three-person couch in the corner or your own fireplace for when it got really cold.

But he did fit in, you knew that much.

You duck into the bathroom to throw your clothes on and put your hair up in the towel to dry it off, not wanting to deal with pesky drops of water running down the back of your neck and walk back into your bedroom. He was still in the same place.

“My family should be back soon and we could get going if you want?” You offer, tugging the oversized shirt down your thighs.

Tom glances up, placing the book down beside him. “Why don’t we take your mother's offer and stay the night? I mean I can take the couch and we can just head back tomorrow. It’s what? Half five anyway and the ride back would easily take an hour.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yeah, if you want to that is.”

You furrow your brows, silently pleased that he had put that offer on the table. You had missed your family and staying a night would do you good. Maybe it’d do Tom some good too.

“Okay, Romeo, we’ll stay here tonight and be on the road by eight tomorrow?”

“Eight sounds good.” He smiles innocently, legs folded on the bed crisscross and you notice a scarred line down one of his temples beneath the light, a little imperfection that you wouldn’t have normally noticed.

There were those few exterior imperfections that you’d picked up on like that scar and his eyebrow– the one that was a little wonky compared to the other and his height you’d picked up on. He seemed to want to be taller then he was.

But you didn’t have an issue with any of it.

Of course you had your own flaws too and even thinking about them made you want to duck cover and hide. But Tom was slowly picking up on them. He’d be lying if he said he minded.

That night Tom slept on the couch in the living room with a selection of sheets over the top of him and a woollen duvet. For someone who had never slept on a couch in his life, he slept like a baby and you? You spent a solid hour staring at the ceiling before finally drifting off.

Tom felt a sense of comfort, draped in not only the blankets but a sense of comfort. He didn’t worry that people were watching him– attempting to pry out a secret or expose him to the world and he slept soundly that night.

-

It was a seven am wake up.

The sun streamed through the thin blinds, pulling Tom from a rather deep sleep and quite literally, forcing him out of bed. He wouldn’t admit that he fell from the bed with a tumble, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

He neatly folded the blankets given and straightened out the pillows, making the place look presentable and sat and waited for you to come in. He flicked through papers, tried out different seating positions tried to force him back to sleep before he heard the living room door open and stumbled up, turning to see you looking beyond tired– he feared to ask why.

You grumbled a good morning, hugging the fuzzy robe to your chest and trudged to the kitchen. Tom followed loosely behind much like a lost puppy.

“So, the plan today? We leave at around eight and you dropping me straight home? Because I’m tired and don’t feel like dressing up for your parents again– as fun as it was prancing around in a dress last time.” You laugh lightly, voice slightly raspy.

But Tom doesn’t mind it.

“Yeah I can drop you straight home, we can try and avoid the paps but there is something I need to ask.”

For some reason he felt nervous to ask, utterly unsure as to what your answer would be. Of course you’d only known each other for just over a week but the media had suspected around a month or more.

And as a royal things were expected to move fast.

Then your mother walks in.

“Morning you two.”

Your mum sounds as tired as ever, the bags under her eyes evident and hair thrown around messily– much like yours. She wasn’t cherry, never being a morning person but you knew that she was happy to have you back even if it was just for one night.

Tom tenses.

“Morning Ms. Y/L/N, how’d you sleep?” Tom wraps his arms around your waist as he asks the question, pulling your back flush against his chest making you too look like a real couple. You tensed at the sudden physical act of affection, nearly dropping the butter knife but don’t.

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask but It was one that made him look respectful. You feel his lips ghosting across your temple and for a moment bask in his gentle touch.

“Not well, Marcus kept me up in the night again.” She sighs, “I did sleep a little better though knowing that my daughter was back under my roof.”

You smile, though deep down you felt bad about the lie that you were carrying out. “You know you can come and visit me anytime you need to get away? I’m sure Kenny wouldn’t mind looking after the younger ones for a night or two.”

You’d completely forgotten about Toms question.

“You know I couldn’t, sweetheart, not when you’re finally really starting to live. You have a boyfriend now! And a prince too, that’s incredible.”

You feel a pang of guilt, the product of lying to the women that raised you and only manage to smile awkwardly. So you turn to Tom, craning your neck.

“Oh hey, what did you want to ask me?” You divert attention from her recent comment, feeling a stomach ache coming on.

He blinks a few times, feeling your mums warm gaze on the pair of you. “There’s a gala… yeah, a gala next week and I was wondering if you’d like to come as my date–fake date of course!”

You smile and take hold of his clasped hands– it added to the act. “As long as Harrison does my outfit again then I’m game.”

A gala meant being out in public with Tom as his girlfriend.

Please remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this chapter!! One reblog goes a long way :-)

PART 5

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[theonceoverthinker]

Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way (Tiana/Naveen)

Summary: As Tiana and Naveen work the catering job of a lifetime -- for any place other than Storybrooke, that is -- they reflect on how much they appreciate each other. And maybe, a spark or two flies for their long overdue romance in the process.

AO3    Fanfiction.net

Dynamics Featured: Tiana/Naveen, Captain Swan (Mentioned, but don’t appear), OG Killian and Tiana, OG Killian and Naveen

So, for my 300 follower spectacular, the lovely @daeneryssansa requested either a Tiana/Naveen fic or a CS surprise party fic. Of course, being me, I decided not to just settle for doing one of those suggestions like a normal person, but to do both of them at the same time because I’m freakin’ insane!! Sound fun? I think so, but I’m a bit of a madwoman, so who am I to say for sure? Either way, as always, I hope you enjoy!

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If there was one thing the former Prince Naveen of Maldonia could never see himself tiring of, it was the smell of hot food as it wafted through the air. Ever since he was a child, he found the smell of a baking oven or cooking vegetables to be a source of coziness that was all but unrivaled. Sneaking biscuits with his brother was one of his favorite pastimes and big banquets in their castle allowed for reunions with friends and family alike.

Yes, the enjoyment of food was something Naveen dearly loved.

And relatively recently, he found that the making of that food was something he quite enjoyed as well, especially with good company.

Speaking of...

“I love these Hooks,” Tiana said, stretching her arms above her head after placing a tin tray full of beignets inside the oven. “Between the one whose entire family makes it their goal to bring their co-workers by the Bayou and the one who now gets his catering from us, we never have to worry about hiring a marketing department.”

“You’re definitely not wrong about that. They are quite the patrons,” Naveen said. He looked to Tiana’s side and was amazed at the 25 trays they had filled up with all manner of Cajun delicacies and desserts, a testament to how much work they’d completed thus far. “You’d think we were in charge of feeding the whole town with the storm we’re cooking up here.”

“It’s Storybrooke,” Tiana remarked. “You know we basically are.”

“Does everyone around here always go to everything?”

“According to Killian, yes.”

Naveen sighed, exhausted at just that prospect. “My God. I feel like we’ve been cooking for a year.”

Tiana snickered, and Naveen was happy to hear that at least one of them still had spunk to spare.

“It’s been nine hours,” Tiana specified. Naveen groaned. They’d pulled an all nighter to prepare this catering job, and time was showing itself as to just how much of a toll that it now could take on his body, especially since Ella had to drop out at the last minute to care for a sick Henry and Lucy. What were the odds?

“Besides,” she continued, “we’re more than halfway done and well ahead of schedule, so that’s good! If we keep on working, we’ll be done by this afternoon and be right on time for Killian’s surprise party.”

How Tiana not only managed to be so chipper, but so organized so early in the morning was what Naveen found to be one of her best qualities.

That said, for someone far more lax, such as himself, it set a standard that he had no shame admitting he couldn’t meet so easily. “You know, Tiana,” he stated, “there such a thing as too much hard work.”

“Says who?” Tiana shot back.

“Says the bags under our eyes.”

Tiana chuckled at the half-nag. “Fair enough,” she relented. “Let’s take five.”

Naveen sat down on the kitchen table in Tiana’s apartment and wiped a row of beads of sweat from his forehead. While normally, they’d be doing most of their work at The Rolling Bayou, the volume of their current order required much more cooking space than their truck could provide.

It was an admittedly welcome change of pace from the stuffier confines of The Rolling Bayou for Naveen. It’s not like he didn’t like the truck -- he certainly did, but it was so nice to have some real space to work in and be able to sit down every once in a while on a real chair and not just some metal steps, especially given the scope of their current project.

For a moment, he mused on that project.

“He’s crazy about her,” Naveen remarked, looking at the literal mountain of beignets they’d prepared thus far. “Not only does he want to throw Emma a surprise party, but he’s inviting the entire town.”

“Some people will do a lot for love,” Tiana cosigned.

“Would you ever like a party like that thrown for you?”

Tiana shrugged. “I don’t know. I grew up a princess in a castle. I had plenty of parties thrown for me. I think my ideal birthday would be a night in, doing a bit of cooking.”

“Like we are now?” Naveen pointed out. While Tiana didn’t answer his question, she didn’t frown at him either as she playfully rolled her eyes. He decided not to push it and moved on. “I’ve also got to admit that guy’s money. If being a deputy makes you enough to throw a party like this without batting an eye, then I might need to give you my two weeks notice.”

Tiana smirked, clearly taking that possibility with a Rolling Bayou-sized grain of salt. “To be fair,” she said, “he did pay in dubloons, so I don’t know if he’s making all that much as a deputy. So, I guess you’re stuck here for now.”

Naveen returned the gesture and added in an eyebrow wiggle that had Tiana blushing. “Hardly a bad place to be.” They stared into each other’s eyes a bit. There was so much light and life in Tiana’s eyes, even so early in the morning. He could never summarize them as hard or soft, but at the same time, they were so expressive. And that’s what made them such a fun challenge to follow around. Tiana wasn’t so much a mystery as much as someone who even if he had an idea of what she was going to do or say, he wanted to see it play out all the same.

The last six months had largely given him that. Now free of Dr. Facilier’s control, he and Tiana were free to get to know each other. And that they did. To say their livelihoods merged would be an understatement. Not only did they still work together, but Naveen, still not admittedly ready for leadership, merged his kingdom with Tiana’s, much to the warm reception of his parents. It turned out that the three of them had gotten close and protected each others kingdoms in the wake of his absence, and Naveen couldn’t be happier about that, especially when it was clear that their hopes for the two of them were more than just a political merger.

Naveen couldn’t blame them -- he had honestly hoped for it too, and he had a feeling Tiana might as well. But he knew regaining her throne and then adapting to life in the merged realms and adjusting herself to her role in the Council of Realms was a lot to deal with, so he held off on voicing those feelings since the curse broke. If he knew anything about his lovely friend for sure -- and he did -- it was that she didn’t like to be overwhelmed. And it was fine with him -- more than fine. They worked together most every day and throughout that time, they’d only gotten to know each other better.

Which is why it wasn’t too much of a surprise when he saw Tiana -- while still on the break she herself proclaimed -- reaching for a bag of flour and a carton of eggs she’d no doubt use for her next batch of beignets.

“Lady Tiana!” he said with mock scandalization. “Are you breaking your own decree for a break?”

Tiana looked at him, pointed, but clearly not too annoyed. If anything, she looked a bit embarrassed.

Clearly defensive in the wake of getting caught, she held up a finger and attempted to dismiss him. “There’s nothing wrong with doing a little bit of prepping.”

Naveen shot her his own pointed look, albeit more tired and amused than anything.

“Tiana,” he said, getting up. “You are going to work yourself to an early grave.” His tone wasn’t so much overly concerned as it was tongue-and-cheek nagging. When he reached her, he got behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “We’ll get this done on time,” he assured her, allowing himself to be serious. “It’s like you said, we’re way ahead of schedule. A little break never hurt anyone.”

Sighing, Tiana loosened up. Naveen could feel the tension leave her shoulders.

“I know you’re right,” Tiana said, turning to face him. “It’s just...you know me. You know I’m-”

“Demanding?” he inquired cheekily. Tiana’s eyes bulged. “Pedantic?” Then her jaw slackened. “An overachiever?” Then she looked like she was going to retort, but he beat her to it. “A stickler?” Obviously realizing his pattern, Tiana shot him an exasperated look.  “Have a tendency to nitpick?” he offered, barely holding back his own laughter as he shrugged.

Tiana seemed to be reaching for a rebuttal, but seemed just as unable to know where to start.

And once again, Naveen beat her to one.

“But hey,” he said, his hand reaching for her shoulder once more as she stood there still dumbstruck. “That’s why I love you.” And then he winked.

That seemed to snap Tiana out of her trance and with a wicked grin, she paid Naveen’s words in kind with a playful, yet still hard, slap to his chest.

“Ow!” Naveen howled in semi-fake pain. “Well, we’ll at least be done especially fast if you beat those eggs like you just beat my chest.”

“You got that right,” she teased. “And by the way, I was gonna say ‘a perfectionist.’ Now come on, let’s get back to cooking.” Despite the fact that they barely spent any of their break actually relaxing, Naveen smiled as he followed her lead without question.

Yes, Tiana was indeed a perfectionist.

And Naveen knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“So where is this party supposed to happen again?” Naveen said as he loaded some more powdered sugar into his shaker.

Tiana couldn’t help her smile as she gazed at the disaster before her. Not a pinch of sugar had made its way into the shaker yet, and you wouldn’t know that Naveen was even aiming for it by looking at his clothes. His shirt was positively caked in the stuff -- no pun intended...okay, maybe a little intended.

Naveen, either oblivious to his appearance or in spite of it -- both were equally likely knowing him -- gave her a seductive glance. “You like what you see?”

“Well,” Tiana pondered, still grinning. “You are pretty sweet looking, but that sugar’s not cheap, so don’t candy coat yourself just yet. Do you need some help over there?”

While Naveen looked like he was about to dismiss her held, suddenly, the bag in his hand missed the shaker once more and what Tiana approximated was at least another two cups fell all over him. When he stepped back from his workstation, his clothes looked as white as a Stormtrooper’s uniform.

“Yes, please,” Naveen answered, deadpan in his delivery. She could tell that while he asked guiltily, it wasn’t shamefully, and Tiana appreciated that about him. He knew she was the boss and while he wanted to get better, he also knew better than to deny himself her help when he was outmatched in favor of something as relatively useless as pride.

And that was something that she really liked about Naveen. Naveen was cocky, but never too prideful. He’d talk a big game but just as easily know when to fold for the sake of others. To do that required a unique kind of heart, one Tiana was happy to have in her life. It made the days less boring, but let her feel safe too -- again, a combination that was hard to pull off, but Naveen balanced flawlessly.

“Okay, let me show you how to do this so that my floors and your wardrobe can be spared any further drama.” She took the shaker off of the counter. “This shaker is only for the powdered sugar -- I even labeled it -- so you can just scoop it directly from the bag.” To prove it, she did just that before emptying it once more. “Wanna give it a try now?” It was a simple process, and one he probably should’ve been able to figure out himself, but given that they’d been working for about eleven hours, she could hardly blame the exhaustion from getting to him a bit.

Naveen smiled. “After such a good lesson, how could I not?” And then he did it without a single issue. Honestly, she had no idea how Naveen’s cursed counterpart could have flunked out of culinary school. Naveen took to lessons, even her more intricate ones, like a duck to water and internalized everything he was taught.

Or maybe, it was just a matter of how he was taught. Tiana’s cursed memories of culinary school did paint their professors as...lacking. Despite their prestige, their teaching styles were more in making students read as opposed to doing any direct kitchen work more of the time, and Naveen was someone who learned best by example. Even Tiana only remembered Sabine getting by because she took great care to do supplementary research, practice recipes and concepts regularly, and attend cooking seminars.

But over the past six months, every time Tiana walked through some new recipe or mistake he made step-by-step with Naveen, he grasped it immediately and never needed to be told it again. And that allowed him to make better cooking decisions and even help Tiana out with some ideas of her own every now and then.

Who could’ve guessed that he’d end up being so talented in a kitchen?

Naveen really did have an interesting brain -- one Tiana liked being around and learning about more and more with each passing day.

“Tiana, you didn’t answer my question from earlier -- where is Killian holding Emma’s surprise party?”

Now Tiana remembered.

“Oh yeah. He’s holding it on his ship -- the Jolly Roger.”

“That sounds like quite the party! A big party boat, some Cajun cooking -- sounds like Mardis Gras!”

“It really does. But don’t let Killian hear you call his ship a boat -- his counterpart doesn’t like that and I’m willing to bet that he likes it even less.”

Naveen raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. Getting arrested by one of them was more than enough of their bad sides for me. Still, it makes you think.”

Tiana raised an eyebrow, confused. “Really? I thought you guys were friends now.”

“Not about Killian -- about Mardis Gras. Don’t you remember how we -- Drew and Sabine -- used to talk about where they wanted to travel? Didn’t we say New Orleans was on that list and that we’d go around Mardis Gras?”

The feeling of recollection hit Tiana fast. “Yeah!” she said. “We said we’d get all dressed up for the parade, buy some masks from one of the local markets, and go on a food tour!” Tiana instinctually moaned at the idea of having some of the most authentic Cajun food in the world.

She might never want to leave.

“You know,” Drew said. “We can go wherever we want now. Once things calm down a bit more -- maybe we could take a vacation there.”

Tiana grinned. It definitely would be an amazing experience, and one of the good things about the merging of the realms was that there were plenty of rulers to have her back if she wanted to take Naveen up on his offer -- including her mom and his parents.

Maybe...it would certainly take a while before it could happen, but maybe in a year or two...they could actually go…

“I’d like that,” she said, content in the bit of finality that she gave her words. From less than five feet away, Naveen smiled at her. She could sense some surprise in his eyes. “What?” she asked, a mix of confusion and amusement that bordered far more on the latter clear in her voice.

Naveen put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m just surprised you agreed so easily.”

“You make me sound like a total buzzkill!”

“To be fair, before we met, you kind of came off as one.” Once again, Tiana retaliated with a smack to his stomach. But to his credit, he did have a point. Since that first chance encounter with Naveen, Tiana knew she’d mellowed out a lot. She’d grown more trusting and more willing to give herself a break from time to time. And while part of her wanted to claim that it wasn’t so true, as she thought on her life, she knew it was a change for the better. Relaxing a bit more had made her a better ruler and helped her to be both more realistic and more cautiously ambitious with her goals, especially since she put more faith in others now to help her achieve her goals.

“Careful, Lady Tiana!” Naveen said, his goofy smile so much wider now. “I can hardly go on that food tour with you if I’m internally bleeding from my stomach.”

Absentmindedly, Tiana shook her head before gesturing the two of them to get back to work. “No, I guess I’ll keep you in in shape for a while.”

And Tiana knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Naveen, whenever possible, cooked to music.

Music had its advantages. It attracted business, it made the work day feel shorter, and it allowed him to dance.

So when an upbeat party song came on, especially after the string of more lowkey numbers that made up most of their thirteen hours of work, Naveen wasted not time getting into his groove.

As he started to dance, Naveen rhythmically stepped back from his own workstation and towards Tiana’s, albeit with work being the very last thing on his mind.

“Dance with me, Tiana!”

He could already see Tiana’s hips swaying as he moved to hold her hand.

Tiana laughed and gravitated towards Naveen as he gently pulled her towards him.

“Well, I do love this song.” She winked. “And I guess my partner can probably keep up with me.”

“Oh I’ll do better than that!”

With that, Naveen spun her. He watched Tiana’s feet navigate their way through the spin. She was mostly on her toes and at one point, she even popped her foot. It reminded him a bit of a ballet dancer and made her moves all the more interesting to view.

“You are quite the dancer, Lady Tiana.”

Tiana giggled at the mention of Naveen’s nickname. It was a change that had happened quite gradually, but one Naven was happy to see. While Tiana initially snarked at her title being used as her nickname, she seemed fine accepting it as a running joke between them. But now, he could tell that when he said it, she liked it quite a lot.

Yes, Naveen took pleasure in his innate ability to endear himself -- and his nicknames -- to anyone with enough time.

When the spin was complete, she came back to him, their chests nearly touching while they held each other in their arms. “And you’re a pretty good partner, Lord Naveen.”

“Looks like someone’s got jokes. Nice nickname, my little rip off artist,” he commented, smirking.

“You know what they say: Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” Tiana winked as the song came to an end.

Naveen snorted. “Well, consider me flattered.”

Suddenly, a nice easy listening number started up. A piano track began to play out, accompanying a smooth ballad sung by a talented woman.

Naveen drifted a bit closer to Tiana and smiled. “What do you say? One more dance?”

Tiana smiled right back. “You got it.”

And so, arms cradling each other, the two of them started to gently sway to the music. Naveen stared at Tiana. All around her was evidence of their crazy amounts of work. Bits of batter clung to her apron and sleeves and bits of powdered sugar from their earlier debacle were splattered across her hair.

In Naveen’s opinion, she had never looked more beautiful.

More than anything, he wanted her to know that.

Taking a deep breath, Naveen dared to lower his face so that it was a bit closer to Tiana’s. If Tiana had any objections, she didn’t give them voice.

In fact, she brought her face a bit closer to his.

Naveen questioned what he should do. This was one hell of a moment to make a move, but he felt he was ready, and maybe, she was too.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

With a gust of caution thrown into the wind, Naveen moved that last bit closer and kissed Tiana.

There was an immediate surge of relief as Naveen felt the impression of Tiana’s lips pressing against his.

She was really kissing him back, and he could feel her lips tugging in the direction of a smile.

With breath as baited as the circumstances would allow, he dared to sift his hand through her hair and bring her closer to him. For his efforts, he was quickly rewarded with a similar action done to him.

They didn’t kiss for too long before they pulled back for air, but they were both smiling when they emerged from the embrace.

Naveen laughed. “Well, it’s nice to have that settled.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna do that.”

“I’ve got to keep my favorite Lady guessing, don’t I?”

Laughing her own intoxicating laugh, Tiana brought Naveen in for another kiss, and that and the series of kissed that followed lasted through this song and the next and the next.

And Naveen felt comfortable saying that neither of them particularly minded.

After all, they were ahead of schedule, right?

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Tiana chuckled as Killian looked at the fully stocked trunk of The Rolling Bayou. It always amused her just how much less familiar this Killian was with the culinary scene compared to the Killian she bonded with back in the Heights. He was so fascinated by the working of her food truck and took generously large breaths as he inhaled the smells of her food.

“So what do you think?” Naveen said, emerging from the driver’s seat of the truck. “Do you think Emma will like it?”

Killian beamed as his vision went up and down the truck’s stuffed trunk for what was likely the fourth time since they met up. “She’s going to love it! I can’t thank you enough, though I hope your payment and this extra tip is at least a start.”

Tiana eyed the new bag of dubloons perched in her hand, stifling her salivation at the bag’s weight. What did she and Naveen say about those Hooks again? “Our payment is perfect. You’re more than welcome, Killian,” Tiana said as the two of them eagerly shook hands.

“I hope this didn’t do too much to hinder your sleep schedules.”

“Oh, it did,” Naveen interjected. “Sixteen hours of work will do that to you.” As if on cue, both Tiana and Naveen yawned. “But,” he continued, looping an arm around Tiana, “it was well worth the trouble.”

“I see more than just my own romance is in the air,” Killian commented, smiling at the two of them while Tiana took Naveen’s looped around hand into her own. “Glad to see you two finally got together, though I do wish it was under less sleep deprived circumstances.”

“Don’t worry about it Killian,” Tiana waved off, looking up and smiling at Naveen. His expression informed what Tiana already had a strong feeling was true. “I promise you that we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[fantasyandromancelover]

The Tale of Tales Chapter 5

Minerva seemed to be a very good motherly figure to Juvia and a very devoted wife to Hector. She cared for her people and appeared to be a great queen. However sometimes Minerva would disappear into a secret room where no one was allowed to enter except her. When she came out she was always in a very good mood. One evening little Juvia was feeling extra curious so she decided to spy on her stepmother through the key hole of the door to her secret room.

Inside the room there were mirrors hanging everywhere on the wall and Minerva was dancing around in the middle of the room, gazing at her reflection in each mirror. She then approached one mirror in particular that looked older than all the others. In fact it looked as old as time itself and Juvia didn't know why but she had a bad feeling about that mirror.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall." Minerva spoke. "Who is the fairest of them all?"

And much to Juvia's shock the mirror replied.

"Thou, Queen art the fairest in all the land."

Minerva then smiled and laughed like a happy child. Juvia didn't know her stepmother was so vain. She remembered how her nursemaid had always told her that while it was important to look your best you must never be vain. Still that seemed to be the only flaw Minerva had so Juvia ignored it but she would soon discover that she had many other flaws. It all started when King Hector began getting called to do business in other kingdoms.

"Must you leave again?" Juvia asked Hector as he prepared his horse.

"I'm sorry Juvia, you know I hate leaving you and I would gladly stay but as a king I must do what is best for my people. A true ruler always puts their kingdom and their people before themselves. Never forget that Juvia because one day you will be queen."

"Yes Father. But every time you leave I am so very lonely."

"Minerva will look after and play with you. Won't you my dear?"

"Of course." Minerva smiling. "You needn't worry about us, we'll be fine."

After giving Minerva a kiss and Juvia a hug goodbye, King Hector rode away on his horse.

"I will miss him so." Juvia sighed.

"He'll be back in just a few short months. You'll see." Minerva assured her. "Now why don't you go play in the garden? The roses are in bloom."

"Really? Oh wonderful!"

Juvia excitedly ran downstairs and out the door leading to the royal gardens. From her window, Minerva watched her smell the pink roses, pick apples from the trees, feed the birds, and chase butterflies. Also watching her were some of the castle maids.

"What a pretty child." One of them said.

"And she'll be even more beautiful by the time she's ready to wed." Another said.

"Only seven years old and she already has Queen Dianne's beauty and sweetness."

"King Hector must be so proud."

"Do you suppose that someday she could be more beautiful than the queen?"

"Hush! You musn't say such things! You know how sensitive the queen is about her appearance."

But it was too late. Minerva had already heard them and it wasn't long before the fear that one day the child's beauty would surpass her own was sown into her heart. Minerva became cold and haughty around Juvia. If she ever spoke to her she would snap at her in a voice full of hatred much to Juvia's confusion. Of course whenever King Hector was in the castle she behaved as sweet and motherly as she did before but Hector was always away on royal business so most of the time Juvia was at Minerva's mercy.

"Have I done something wrong Stepmother?" Juvia asked her one day. "Why are you always so angry with me?"

"Juvia it has come to my attention that you're a rather spoiled child! And I think it's time that you learned to be humble. From now on there will be no more playing or going outside! You shall in remain in the palace always and focus on your lessons! And furthermore you won't be getting anymore special gifts like new gowns or jewelry." Her eyes went to Juvia's locket and she snatched it right off her neck. "This is too nice to be worn by a spoiled little brat!"

"Oh please give it back!" Juvia begged. "It was my mother's."

"Well I'm your mother now so this rightfully belongs to me and if you tell your father one word of this I'll deny it and tell him that it's just you being jealous."

"I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

"Because you may be a little princess in your father's eyes but you're not deserving of the title."

Minerva then left taking the locket. Poor Juvia began to cry. Unknown to the both of them Lucy was scrubbing the floors of the corridor where that room was and she had heard the conversation. As quiet as a mouse she followed Minerva, watching her go into her bedchamber and place the locket into her jewelry box before going to sleep. Once she was sure Minerva was asleep Lucy did something very risky.

She quietly and carefully crept into Minerva's bedchamber. She knew if she was caught by her aunt it would most likely be the end of her but Juvia had been so kind to her the other day by giving her bread and cake from the ball and she felt that this would be the perfect way to repay her. She opened the jewelry box, grabbed the locket, and got out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. She then went Juvia's room and knocked on the door which was soon opened by a tired Juvia.

"Pardon the intrusion Miss." Lucy said. "But I brought you something."

She then held up the locket.

"Oh thank you." She said hugging her. "Thank you so much."

Juvia then quickly realeased her when she felt how cold her body was.

"You feel like ice. Doesn't your bed have a blanket?"

"I don't have a bed. I sleep on the kitchen floor."

"Well no wonder you're so cold. Do you wanna sleep with me in my bed tonight?"

"Won't I get into trouble Miss?"

"No. My stepmother doesn't wake me in the morning and my nurse maids won't mind."

"But my clothes are dirty."

"You can borrow one of my night gowns."

She helped Lucy dress into one of her nightgowns and the two went to bed.

"My mother's dead too you know." Lucy said.

"Do you remember her?" Juvia asked.

"Yes I do."

"I wish I remembered my mother."

"At least you still have your father. Mine's dead like my mother."

"You know they're not really gone."

"What do you mean?"

"My father said that when my mother died she turned into an angel and she'll be watching over me forever."

"Do you think that happened to my parents?"

"Yes I do. My father says that's what happens when parents who love their children die."

"Can I ask you something Miss?"

"Sure."

"Are we friends?"

"Of course."

"Then you wanna know a secret?"

"What?"

"You're my first and only friend."

"You wanna know a secret?"

"What?"

"You're my first and only friend too."

They smiled at each other and fell asleep, happy that they had found a friend. Time passed and as Juvia grew so did her beauty. By the time she was seventeen years old she had grown so beautiful and fair that there was no one in the entire kingdom of Fiore more lovely than her but she wasn't blessed with beauty alone. She also possesed a heart of kindness and love, caring deeply for everyone she knew. Unfortunately her unsurpassed beauty would soon earn her Minerva's jealous wrath.

[donnaofasgard]

A Much Needed Stroll (Donna Ficclette #1)

She was about a month pregnant and showing quite a bit. Agamotto was spending the day setting up the baby’s nursery, so Donna figured she would go take a walk. 

“I’ll come with you!” The old god said, wiping some paint from his hands to his pants as he stood. 

“No, no, you stay here. I’ll be fine…. Just taking a stroll around the castle is all.” The councilwoman kissed her husband’s cheek before heading out. She didn’t exactly know where she wanted to go, only that the smell of fresh paint was making her nauseous.  

She strolled around aimlessly at first, and then decided on some places to go to. Donna ended up sitting on the edge of the glass fountain in Queen Frigga’s garden. She looked around aimlessly, flower to flower, before gazing at the life sized glass statue of the former queen sitting on top of the fountain. 

“I miss you…. So so much. You’d be so proud of the boys. They’re both married now, Thor fell for a Midgardian sorceress named Sarah. She’s brilliant.” The head councilwoman smirked as she felt a small pang in her stomach. Placing her hand on the source revealed that it was in fact her baby, already moving around at the sound of her voice. 

“Also…. Um…. I got married too. I’m pregnant.” Tears welled in Donna’s eyes as she continued. “I just wish you were here to see everything. I mean, I know you’re watching us all from Valhalla, but still…. I could use one of your hugs right now.” 

With a quick nod of her head, Donna stood slowly. Apparently too slowly because a guard came over and asked if she needed a hand, which she promptly slapped away. 

“For the love of… Bard, I swear to the gods I will punch you in the face.” This young guard, Bard, just so happened to be an old friend of Donna’s. He smiled, and she continued on her walk. 

Donna roamed around a bit more, going to the library, to the medical ward, to the royal kitchens. The pastry chef gave her one of her favorite cookies. It’s almost cake like and has a sweet vanilla icing on top tinted purple, her favorite color. She continued roaming and eating her treat and ended up going somewhere she never imagined herself going. 

The prison. 

There were a few unfamiliar faces in the first couple of cells, but then Donna came across two familiar faces right across from each other; former Councilman Grim… and Lupo. They each stared at her, one with hatred and one with regret. Grim was wearing a straight-jacket and a Hannibal Lector style muzzle over his mouth, but his glaring eyes could only be described as enraged. Donna ignored him and turned to the opposite cell, where a remorseful face gazed up at her. 

Lupo sat at one side of the cell on the floor, no jacket and no muzzle. Apparently those are only reserved for the truly criminal inmates. The young man had a notebook in his lap and was sketching something in pencil. 

“Hi, Lupo.” Donna said, kneeling down as close to the golden cell barrier as she could. She and Lupo had been friends growing up, and this whole ordeal made her feel numb whenever she thought about those memories. 

“Donna.” Lupo said in a low hoarse voice, as if he hadn’t spoken in months. “I’m so sorry, Donna…. Dag, he said that the sorcerer was a bad man… that he was going to destroy the castle. I thought…” He looked up at the councilwoman with tears in his eyes. “I thought he was going to kill you. I had no idea you were dating, truly.” 

One remarkable thing about Donna was that she could tell when the people she grew up with were lying to her. It worked brilliantly with Thor and Loki, and even with Dag and Lupo. 

Lupo wasn’t lying, not about anything. He cared about Donna, and it broke her heart. 

“Guard, let me in.” Donna called to a nearby soldier. “Ma’am, no one’s allowed to,” “Yeah, I know what the rules are, and I don’t care. Let me in.” The guard sighed, using his handprint on a scanner which opened a door sized gap in the golden barrier. Donna stood slowly and walked in, now revealing her baby bump. She walked inside and the guard closed the door behind her. Donna immediately made her way over to her friend, grabbing his hands and helping him to his feet. She pulled him into a tight hug, well, as tightly as she could without hurting her stomach. 

“I forgive you.” The councilwoman whispers into her friends ear and kisses his cheek before heading back out the opening. 

Donna continues down the hall and makes a turn to a darker hallway. There were fewer cells further apart. Most of them were empty, a few held some rather hard looking individuals. The councilwoman eventually found her destination; a cell covered in chalk drawings and graphs, occult images that would haunt her dreams, things she hadn’t seen in a long time. In the middle of the cell, sitting on the floor and facing the far wall was her brother, the man who tried and nearly succeeded in killing her husband… Dag. 

“Sister…” His voice felt like nails dragging across a chalkboard. Donna didn’t know what she was getting herself into, but she felt some maternal duty to at least tell him. 

“You’re going to be an uncle, Dag.” She was firm, her voice unwavering as she stood hands behind her back. Donna pictured this moment in her head a million times ever since she learned she was pregnant, but nothing could have prepared her for Dag’s reaction. 

She thought he would be distant and cold, with some fake congratulation turned into some sort of insult on her husband. She thought wrong. 

The man turned his head slowly till he was able to look at Donna. He first looked at her stomach and then her eyes. Tears welled in his eyes as he stood slowly and walked up to the barrier. 

“I… I’ll be an uncle?” He smiled for the first time since he was locked up. He knew there was no chance that the child would ever know him, speak to him. Dag looked up Donna again and asked one more question. 

“Tell him about me?” Donna nearly chuckled, but she stayed professional. Her lip twitched up in a smirk a bit before she strode out of the prison, never giving her brother the satisfaction of an answer. 

“Sweetheart, you alright?” Agamotto asked when Donna finally returned. He was in the kitchen fixing them dinner. Donna wrapped her arms tightly around her husbands neck and kissed his cheek. 

“Perfectly fine, love…. Perfectly fine.”