#rosie is a kind lady who has no doubt helped many a person in her life no matter their circumstances. im confident there's plenty who'd show

[rosieoctavius]

taking bets on how many people will show up to kill/cause serious bodily harm to (1) person who had the nerve to hurt rosie for whatever reason

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering… could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique “soul mark”, which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader gets a bit of a backstory here, with just enough concrete details to serve the plot in future chapters. Hopefully enough is kept vague for people to enjoy it. Now... Time to meet your new kids-in-law/the gremlins :) Previous Chapters: 1: In The Shadow Of Giants

2: Uncertain Destinations

“You already know my name, as well as my fate, and I have neither threats nor demands to make of you. I am at your mercy, regrettably, with nothing more to say. Shall we consider ourselves ‘introduced’? Or is there more you wish to ask of me?” You wonder, eying ‘Alcina’ with a bored expression. It felt odd to refer to her that way, even within the confines of your mind. She had been ‘Lady Dimitrescu’ for as long as you could remember; starting with your years in the village, and continuing through your months here at the castle. One day, perhaps, you would grow used to calling her by her first name. For now, you simply hoped to focus on other matters.

“Tell me of yourself, your past. Who were you before you came here?” Alcina asks, surprising you. What did it matter, now that you were stuck here? At first you shrug, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to open yourself up to her. But before long she’s placed a hand on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure to encourage you to speak. You win this round, you think.

“Somehow I doubt you’ll find it terribly interesting. I was born in the outskirts of the village, on a small farm, just like any other. I had a pet dog, went to ‘school’ with my neighbors, and spent my weekends volunteering with the church. The only thing you might not expect is that I lived outside the village for about a decade. Traveled for a while, never really staying anywhere for terribly long. Eventually, I got tired, and so I came back to help my parents with what little property they had left,” you explain, quietly. Being vague had been intentional, considering the nature of a few details. Did she need to know why you had left? Or that you had once revered Mother Miranda?... No, because if she learned that, it would not be long before she learned that you had changed your mind years ago. Something told you that she wouldn’t appreciate your lack of faith in her mistress. “That was six months ago, roughly. Barely got to spend time with my parents before I was ‘donated’ to the staff here.”

“Not many ever leave the village. Those that do rarely, if ever, return. How particular,” Alcina replies, giving a soft hum. There’s something in her expression that tells you she’ll eventually ask you to elaborate. For now, however, she seems content to move on. Internally you sigh in relief. “I suppose this is sufficient to sate my curiosity, for the time being. Now come with me, I’d like to introduce you to my daughters, to ensure that they understand you are… off limits.” With that said she stands, once more reminding you just how small and fragile you are in comparison, before heading towards the exit. You’re nearly forced to jog in order to keep up with her long strides. As she leads you through hallways, down a flight of stairs, and past several nervous looking maidens, she slows down the slightest bit, having eventually noticed your struggle. Admittedly, that’s more kindness than you would have anticipated. Perhaps she was used to adjusting her pace for her daughters?

Whatever the reason, you do appreciate it. Still, by the time you arrive at your destination, the castle’s library, your legs are feeling the smallest bit sore. Brushing off the ache, you follow Alcina inside. Then you’re taking in the sights, having not been here before, admiring the impressive collection. Glad I’m not responsible for cleaning this place, you think as you pass by dozens of filled shelves. Before long you encounter the three daughters. They’re sitting in a semi-circle, each with their own book, though they’re quick to sit up once they spy their mother. One by one they’re smiling up at her, not even sparing you a moment’s glance. Admittedly you’re glad for that. What good could come from their attention, especially when they don’t yet know who you ‘truly’ are?

“I’m glad to see you’re all in one place, my darlings. There has been a… development, of sorts,” Alcina says, speaking in the same tone one might use to address a faculty meeting. In a less intimidating household, it would have been much harder to hold in a laugh. Was this always how she spoke to her children? For their sake, you hoped not (though the concept was amusing). Regardless, it is at this point that the daughters notice you, with one of them looking intrigued enough to send a shiver down your spine. You’re pretty sure her name is Daniela, being the only one you haven’t met before today. A toothy grin spreads on her lips, and once you make eye contact you swear that she winks at you. This literally could not be any worse, you think, unable to stop yourself from frowning.

“Does it have to do with this little thing?” Daniela purrs, taking a step towards you. Instantly both Alcina and yourself are tensing up. While your soulmate shifts in front of you, an incredibly faint rosy tint to her cheeks, all you can do is pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers.

“This ‘little thing’ is not your newest playtoy, Daniela. Rather, they are my-” she hesitates, disliking the way the word feels in her mouth- “soulmate. I expect the three of you to behave, understood? At the very most, you are allowed to prevent them from leaving the premises, but even then I expect you to remain gentle. Have I made myself clear?” Alcina asks. Now she’s not the only one blushing, as Daniela looks so embarrassed that you wonder if she’ll pass out. Maybe now you’ll think twice about flirting with everyone you meet, you think, remembering the various rumors you’ve heard about her. For a moment, part of you imagines what your relationship with her would look like, were you to continue ‘courting’ her mother. Could this be a moment you could torment her with for life? Get some cheeky revenge for all the maidens who couldn’t risk it? A lovely thought, though one soon interrupted.

“Of course, mother. We will not lay a single finger on them, unless we have no other choice. Right, sisters?” Bela replies, turning to her siblings with an expectant look. Neither of them seem terribly pleased, but they nod, each giving their own verbal affirmations. All three spend a few moments glancing you over, reevaluating you now that they know who you are, appraising your worth. It’s not hard to imagine that they all find you lacking- at least in comparison to their mother. “Are introductions in order? We’ve met before, but I hardly know anything about them. It would be… nice to properly meet the newest edition to our family.” The way Bela says the words makes you nervous, and the way Cassandra grins only worsens the feeling.

“If you desire such, I see no reason to forgo such a thing. Perhaps the three of you could give them a tour? I must return to my duties, and I doubt they have seen much of the castle, given their… former occupation,” Alcina admits, softly. Was this a confirmation that you’d no longer have to spend every day working yourself to the bone? On one hand you were somewhat relieved, but you also regretted the possible loss of your preferred coping method. Worse, were you really going to spend who knows how long with the dreaded Dimitrescu daughters? They were going to rip you to shreds, at least verbally, you were sure of it. How could you ever meet their expectations? If they were anything like their mother, you would never be enough to satisfy them. Or at least that is what you assumed.

“I’ve seen a fair bit,” you interject, awkwardly, hating the way it brings everyone’s gaze back to you. Alcina’s lips twitch, as she fights back a frown. Evidently she didn’t appreciate you countering her suggestion.

“Please, we insist,” Bela fires back, a pleasant tone covering her thinly-veiled animosity. “I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time getting to know each other. You do want to learn more about your soulmate’s children, don’t you?” Something about the way she speaks makes you want to laugh. When you smile back at her, it’s without a hint of any placating intentions, rather a dewdrop of mischief. Bold of her to assume that you wanted to make her mother happy. After all, it was clear from her phrasing that this was a ‘test’, a ruse to ‘reveal your true colors’ to Alcina. But you were as uneasy about your part in this as Bela was, neither of you finding yourself a suitable match for Alcina. Despite the way she narrows her eyes at you, her mother is smiling again, glad that she had a way to keep you occupied for the time being.

“It’s settled then,” she says, moving to give each of her daughters a kiss on top of their heads. They giggle at the affection, looking rather proud of themselves. Then she turns to you, hesitating, clearly having the instinct to give you a kiss as well. Half of you wants to stand on your tippy-toes, expectantly, wondering if she’d do it (and how flustered it would make her). Instead, you pretend not to notice, accepting the awkward shoulder pat she ends up giving you. “I will see you this evening, for dinner. Do try to enjoy yourself. But don’t forget-” she leans in until her mouth is right next to your ear, breath tickling your neck- “behave yourself. I will not tolerate any tomfoolery, understood?” Alcina does not pull away until you’ve nodded, and you do not relax until the library door has shut behind her.

Except now you’re alone with her daughters. Wonderful.

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

Dealing with finances was not, to put it simply, Alcina’s ‘favorite’ activity. Although she employed someone to handle the majority of the paperwork, she made sure to go over it herself to ensure accuracy. There were many aspects to her business, being both legitimate and illegitimate, technically. One could never be too careful about their records. After all, failing to file tax returns had taken down Al Capone, of all people. Who was to say that such a mistake, or one in a similar vein, could not damage House Dimitrescu? Certainly it wouldn’t be enough to ruin them entirely, but it could lead to certain ‘nuisances’ bothering the village. At the end of the day, Alcina cared more about the impact it would have on Mother Miranda than anything else, even the possible decline of her household.

A nasty habit, really. Few knew the extent of her self-entitled devotion to the cult leader. The only bond that ran deeper was that she had with her daughters, who meant more to her than she could ever vocalize. Even then, she viewed them as a gift from Miranda, which in turn strengthened her love for the woman. Now that love leaked into everything she did. With a flourish of her pen, she signed away some of this month’s earnings. So what if she already ‘donated’ a large portion of her income to the village and its leader? Certainly this was a way to show the level of her devotion? Certainly Miranda would take notice, eventually? Praise her for it? Take Alcina’s hand in her own, thumb caressing her skin, eyes filled with a long-sought affection?...

The sound of passing footsteps brings her back into the moment, and Alcina stares down at the mountain of paperwork she’d yet to approve. With a deep sigh she readjusts her reading glasses, sets the finished document aside, then gets back to work. A part of her mind soon starts to drift to other subjects. To you, primarily. Would your affection be easier to gain? Steadier?... But could it, in any way, compare to Miranda’s? No matter how she tries to brush the thoughts away, they nip at her heels, circling her head like vultures. Only time would give her the relief she so desperately sought.

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

“So, don’t tell me you really think you’re my mother’s soulmate, right?” Cassandra says, somewhat grumbling, as you trail behind Bela. It’s less than five minutes into the tour, with the siblings having behaved so far, focused on actually showing you around. At her words, both her sisters started walking slower. Their gazes were still locked ahead of themselves. The way they positioned themselves, however, made it clear that they were listening. “Is it some elaborate scheme, hmm? Did you spend a dozen hours with the other servants, noting every last detail about her soul mark, before copying it? Do you really think that you’ll get away with this?” Well, ‘twas good to know who the most paranoid of the three were.

“Ah, yes, it’s all a great, horrible ruse. You’ve caught me red-handed, I’m afraid,” you chime, sarcastically. A hand goes to your forehead as you fake faintness. “I’m just so desperate to be scrutinized by yourself and your mother, to have my every movement watched, to somehow be less free than I already was. I simply… cannot… believe… that you saw through my bluff.” With that you give a dramatic sigh, pausing in the hallway to give Cassandra a judgemental look. If not for Alcina’s instructions to keep you safe, you’re certain she would have beheaded you on the spot. “I’m not claiming to understand the universe’s decision. But I’m also not giving up immediately, no matter how much the three of you scare me.” At that, Bela stops in her tracks, slowly turning to you. Instinctively you go to take a step backwards, only for Cassandra to catch you, holding you in place. Next thing you know, the oldest daughter is grabbing your head, staring you right in the eyes.

“Answer one question, and maybe I’ll make sure you don’t fall victim to some tragic, unfortunate accident. Can you see yourself loving my mother?” Bela asks, more intense than you’ve ever seen her before. Despite that, you don’t tremble, swallowing your fear long enough to reply.

“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s terrifying… and beautiful. Cruel to some of the maidens I’ve met… and loving to you three. I… I don’t know if I can love her,” you admit, gulping. “But isn’t that part of the point of trying? To find out? I am going to try, for both my sake and hers, to love her. To cherish her. What more would you ask of me? I cannot tell you how the days to come will go, whether or not your mother will enjoy them, or even whether she could love me. This is not a situation you can threaten into resolving the way you want it to. So let me go, finish the tour, and give me a chance. You owe your mother that much, do you not?” Soon enough the hands keeping you in place loosen their grip, and Bela turns away with a scoff. Honestly, you can hardly believe that your little speech worked. You aren’t given much time to celebrate, however, as the sisters quickly resume their walking. Before long, Daniela is speaking up between giggles.

“I like this one already.”

[oingo233]

You Are Beautiful (1)

Summary: Sirius Black was entranced since the moment he saw you. He had to have you but you are convinced his feelings are fleeting, and will only hurt you. People inside and outside of your relationship meddle in the makings of something that could be beautiful... or disastrous. Will love and confidence win? Or will doubt and uncertainty tear you both down?

Young Sirius Black x Pus SizedFemReader

Warning: one inappropriate joke lol, fluff I suppose and nothing else really. All the real stuff comes later :0

Authors note: I mostly write my xreader fics as neutral but as this is a request, I wrote this as fem. But if anyone would like a male version or neutral version let me know and I will copy this but obviously change readers gender (and it's no burden to me I'd love to make more readers feel included and represented). Also reader is plus sized and she is confident and strong throughout the fic -because plus sized characters aren't represented like that in film/books alot (but if looking for amazing and empowering plus sized female characters Nina Zenik from Six of Crows owns my entire heart and changed how I saw myself personally and I would recommend that book for anyone really)- but as any human she has her insecurities because beauty standards are unattainable and have a way excluding so many people and making us feel less than beautiful. As a plus sized/overweight person myself, I understand how we have to fight to feel beautiful and fight this internalized bias we have when we look in the mirror. But WE ARE BEAUTIFUL. WE ARE WORTHY OF MAGAZINGE COVERS AND COMPLIMENTS AND ABOVE ALL SELF LOVE!! The self insert character in this has fought for her confidence, but it will shake and stumble throughout the series and Sirius and friends are there for her to help her realize for herself how beautiful she truly is, once again. So I hope I didn't stray too far from the request :) Enjoy....

Word Count: 1.8

Authors Note: About halfway through I decided to make it a series oops-

****Blabbering Idiot****

Sirius Black is a man of many, many words. In fact, I'm sure if he was writing this he could quickly turn it into one of the most entertaining novels ever written. He'd describe the laughter of his friends for a whole page. Tell a hilarious joke on the next. Then he'd describe the wind blowing through the open halls and courtyard and the spring sun. He could write about a great many things in great detail. (But he wouldn't because he doesn't quite enjoy writing as much as he does anything else, but that's above the point.)

As I said, Sirius Black is a man of many words. So it was such a curious thing when he first saw you. It was an astounding thing really, because for the first time he found something that rendered him completely speechless.

The sun was peeking through the open corridor and pooled onto you, caressing your skin and hair in an ethereal glow. Highlighting curves that brought both sinful and sweet thoughts running through him. It was as if the universe was telling him, look at what we've created, look at this beautiful creature. But he could hardly believe that this world could create something so lovely and kind. You threw your head back in laughter at something your friend said and suddenly the world is back to normal and all he can hear is your laughter and the sound of his friends curiosity at what could have possibly kept him from the conversation about muggle rock compared to Wizard bands. In fact, James was so passionate about it half the hall turned to listen to his rendition of The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.

But he didn't care, he took a feeble step towards you and suddenly felt so nervous his hands began to sweat. He stuttered and coughed up his words just for a simple "hello" in your direction only for the wind blowing through the halls to carry it away. And his friends laughed at him as he watched you walk too far from where he wanted you. Because, oh did he want you.

Sirus POV:

"I'm telling you, I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I know who she is," Sirius says for not the first time that evening. James started to laugh.

"Why? Because you'll be too busy thinking of her?" James said, laughing as he made a very suggestive hand motion. Peter cackled and Remus rolled his eyes, trying to find the cleaner side of his humor but instead he couldn't help but snort. Sirius pushed James's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure Lily would love to know how familiar with that feeling you are," Sirius says and James stopped laughing immediately, his eyes narrowed.

"Please, you wouldn't dare. And I will deny all accusations, you'll be made out to be a liar. Then the mystery girl will never love you. Is that what you want, Pads?" James joked with a single arch of his brow. Sirius just rolled his eyes. He was only half paying attention, he has been scouring the hallways since he first saw that girl. He wanted to speak to her again, or maybe just stare for a bit. If things went well, he'd be able to do both those things on a date. But he hasn't seen her since that morning and his heart felt oddly shallow. He wanted those butterflies he had when looking at her to come back and overwhelm him again.

"What'll it matter if I don't even know who she is? Or- or if I can't talk to her? No one falls in love with a blabbering idiot," Sirius says. Remus shrugs.

"Lily fell in love with James," he says, Peter laughed again.

"Yeah, regardless of what he does at night," Peter added and now both James and Sirius were rolling their eyes. James and Lily just recently stopped denying their feelings for one another and gave into the sexual tension and mutual pining. Their relationship was still fairly new but they act as if they've been together for years. Sirius supposed that in a way, they have been.

Sirius would watch them giggling, hand and hand in the hall. He'd see them cuddling in the common room, or coming back after dates with rosy cheeks and beaming smiles. Sirius would never admit it out loud, but his heart cried out when he saw them like that. He rarely ever felt lonely. He could have any girl or boy he wanted if he really tried, but for what? One fun night? Only for one more morning where he wakes up alone? He wanted more than that whenever he saw Lily and James, their happiness was palpable. Their love was suffocating.

Sirius always thought he'd find the one after Hogwarts, if at all. But when he saw her... well that changed everything. In a flash he saw himself with her, their hands intertwined and her head thrown back in laughter. Rosy cheeks and bruised lips. Warm beds and making love... being in love. He nearly felt silly after and yet, he knew that even if he did sleep tonight, it would be her he'd dream of.

"Ello' guys!" Lily said, bouncing up to James who kissed her cheek. They walked with their arms looped and Sirius glared at the easy sign of affection. He thought of his parents, how they would be stiff with one another except for in quiet moments, when he'd pass through a hall and glance into their room. He'd spot a quick kiss on the cheek, and soft squeeze of the hand. It were those odd moments for him, that struck him so strongly with a sharp bitterness. They don't deserve softness and love, he'd think, how can such cruel creatures even feel such things? But even then, he'd walk away seeing them as still awful creatures born from the depths of hell, but more human.

"That's her," Sirius whispered so quietly Remus almost didn't hear it. In fact, Sirius didn’t think Remus heard it at all, but it was rather his look of longing towards the Great Hall entrance that gave him away. Because standing right there, was you.

Your hair was a little wind blown, messy around your face, bits of iit shaped your round cheeks and soft eyes. Sirius eyed you up and down and cursed clothes and cursed shyness and cursed his own head for thinking he could even talk to you. But most of all, he cursed a group of boys who walked past you.

Sirius was a confident boy, he knew how to spot someone who held their head up just as high as he did, and you were very much one of those people. You were giggling as you stole a biscuit from a friend and popped it into your mouth, you covered your mouth as you laughed when they complained with a little smile of their own.

"It's just so yummy, and I haven't eaten since breakfast." He heard you say, your friend just shook his head and handed you a plate as you sat down next to him. But right before you could get comfortable a sneering group of boys stole a piece of food from your hand and said something rather rude.

Sirius didn't even realize he had been walking towards you, this girl he has never even spoken too, yet thought of so endearingly, until he was standing right before the boys and had the pack leaders wrist firmly in his grip.

"Drop it boy, c'mon, drop it," he teased. It was humiliating for the boy and he knew it by the laughing and sneering others directed towards the group of boys, but Sirius did not care. The boy dropped the biscuit and looked as if his tail was tucked into his legs. "Good boy," he said, ruffling his hair until it was a knotted mess, the boy winced at just how hard Sirius dug his knuckles into his scalp, Sirius relented with a satisfied smirk.

Sirius’s voice took on a much harsher tone, "Now scram." The boys were out of their seats and in new ones within seconds.

Sirius felt his mood shift completely once they left, because now all eyes were on him, yours included. He looked up at you rather shyly, his hair falling in strands over his forehead. He tucked it behind his ear and found some confidence in the way your eyes followed the movement and how you blushed. He gave you his best smile, hoping his charm wasn't as weak as his legs felt at that moment.

"Hello, I'm Sirius... Sirius Black." Then, like an idiot he put his hand out for you to shake, what charmer just shakes the ladies hand? He stopped belittling himself the moment you softly placed your hand in his.

"It's nice to meet you, Sirius, and thanks for helping me. I know how to handle those filthy 'dogs'" you said, smiling as you remembered the way he spoke to them, he chuckled. "But I suppose it's nice not always having to," you finished with a bright smile on your face. He felt his own cheeks heat up and he nodded but could not think of anything better to say.

"Name," he said, you raised your brows. He cleared his throat, "your name?"

"Oh, how rude of me," you said and then you laughed, that same laugh that caught his attention and has yet to let go. "I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Nice to meet you," he said, it was as if he couldn't feel the appalled stares of your friends because all he could see was the blush on your cheeks and your head thrown back in laughter. He swallowed thickly before making his way back to his friends. They all wore raised brows and smirks, and he knew they were about to bite into him.

"Treating them like dogs, really? A bit ironic don't you think," Lily said, James shrugged

"That's why it was so good," he said, high fiving Sirius.

"But it admittedly went downhill from there," Peter was sure to add, just like Sirius knew one of them would. Sirius just laughed, too elated to finally know who you were.

"Don't start," he said, but it was too late.

All in union they sputtered out the lame word that will plague Sirius' memory of that moment forever, "Name?"

They cackled at him and ruffled his hair all the way to their seats, but Sirius knew they were pleased for him. And Sirius didn't mind, he could feel the pretty eyes of a pretty girl following him across the room. If only someone told him how important she would become to him, maybe he would have looked back at her and never looked away.

Taglist <3

@enchantedblackrose

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

love

Written for Day 7 of @aangweek! Read here on AO3.

~*~

7. love - don’t got nowhere to go / so we’ll go with the flow / yeah, we’re living the life / sippin’ on sunshine

“I can help clean,” Aang offered as Iroh began clearing their group’s cups and plates from the circular wooden table.

Iroh chuckled, shaking his head. “There’s no need -”

“I insist,” Aang interrupted, standing and collecting his own dishes. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for closing the shop early so we could be together without politicians and paparazzi peering over our shoulders.”

“There’s no use arguing with him,” Toph commented before Iroh could protest further. “Once Twinkle Toes decides to help someone, nothing will change his mind. Accept your fate, Iroh.”

Katara laughed along with the rest of their friends, and Aang gave them a guilty grin.

“Hey, I learned from my wife-to-be,” he teased, pressing a kiss to Katara’s forehead. “Never turn my back on people who need me!”

Katara rolled her eyes at his comment, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Aang and Iroh gathered the last of the group’s dishes before disappearing into the kitchen.

Zuko hummed in contentment, draping an arm around Mai’s shoulders. “I wish we could meet up like this more often. Be together without all the chaos.”

Today had involved an annual meeting of important representatives from all four nations, this year hosted by the Earth King. In other words, Katara knew, it was a very rare opportunity for their friend group to reunite in full. Only after the day’s politics had ended, of course.

Sokka snorted. “I agree, but you’ve gotta admit it’s pretty much impossible for this to be a regular event.”

“Ember Island is always open for an impromptu vacation,” Mai reminded them, earning more laughter from the group.

“I might take you up on that soon,” Suki mused, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and shaking her head. “A vacation is sounding more and more attractive with every second.”

Katara allowed herself a breathy sigh. “Spirits, if I could get Aang to take a vacation…” She snorted. “That would be the day.” Her fiancé was notoriously stubborn about working until he dropped. In fact, there was only one other person whose work ethic could compare.

Mai chuckled. “Zuko is exactly the same. Always working himself into the ground.”

Ah, yes. There it was.

Toph snickered. “Sounds like a match made in the Spirit World. Are you guys sure Zuko and Aang shouldn’t be the ones getting married next month?”

Zuko flushed a shade of scarlet as bright as his fire. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

Katara bit her tongue to hold back a snicker as Toph grinned at him. “Yes, I’m very aware.” Her grin narrowed into a sly smirk. “You’re sitting right here, and yet you deny nothing.”

Sokka burst out laughing, lightly elbowing Zuko in the ribs. “She’s got you there, hotman.”

Mai snorted at the nickname before giving Katara a play-sympathetic look. “Master Katara, how do you cope with the fact that my husband and yours-to-be are in love with each other?”

Katara sighed, leaning back in her chair and pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, it was incredibly difficult for me to come to terms with.” She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “After I learned they’d kissed, I thought I’d never -”

“Oh, Agni,” Zuko groaned, burying his face in his hands at the same time Toph exclaimed, “Sparky and Twinkle Toes have kissed?!”

Katara couldn’t feign her melodrama any longer, letting herself succumb to a fit of intense laughter that made her entire upper body shake.

“Yes, they have,” Mai confirmed with a smirk. “It was hilarious, and I will never let Zuko hear the end of it.”

Zuko stared dead into the distance, his empty expression screaming that he’d rather be anywhere but there. “You’re going to tell them the story, aren’t you.”

The melancholic certainty with which he spoke was enough to make Katara snicker once more as she gave Mai a knowing glance, but before the Fire Lady could respond, Sokka spoke.

“Of course they’re going to tell us the story,” he scoffed. “The Avatar and the Fire Lord kissing? That’s the kind of thing you pass on forever to future generations!”

Suki laughed. “You sound way too invested for someone who has also kissed the Avatar,” she teased, smirking at her boyfriend.

Katara raised an eyebrow in amusement. Now that was news to her. “You did what, Sokka?”

Blood rushed to her brother’s face. “Not on the lips!” he squawked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am just very comfortable in my feminine side around Aang.” He tapped his cheek. “So yes, we have technically kissed, but not like that.”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure we’ve all been on the receiving end of Aang’s affection in some way or another,” Suki conceded. “That’s just his way of expressing love.”

A smile flitted onto Katara’s lips at her friend’s words. She knew most of all, perhaps, how Aang inclined towards physical affection. He was especially fond of kissing the tip of her nose.

“Really?” Sokka said, bewildered. “What, does he have a ‘thing’ with each one of us?”

Suki shrugged. “I mean, I guess so?” She smirked at their group. “Aang and I have a special, top-secret handshake. That’s our thing.”

Katara laughed. “I remember when Aang was just beginning to figure out the motions he wanted to include in your handshake.” She held her own hands up in joking surrender. “I was never privy to the final product, of course. Only experimental aspects.”

Sokka pouted. “First of all, I am hurt that I was never told this handshake existed. And second” - wounded, he placed a hand over his heart - “how come I don’t have a handshake with him?”

Suki rolled her eyes. “Babe, you said yourself that your thing with Aang is cheek kisses.”

Sokka appeared unconvinced. “Yeah, but I’m not the only one who gets cheek kisses from him.” He jutted his thumb towards his sister. “Katara gets them all the time!”

“Katara is also going to marry him, Snoozles,” Toph said with a snort. “I don’t think it’s totally off-base to consider she might have a few additional privileges compared to the rest of us.”

“Katara might be the one who snagged the Avatar,” Mai drawled, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, “but I think it’s safe to assume that everyone in here had a crush on Aang at some point in their life.”

Katara burst out laughing both at Mai’s declaration and the different forms of denial that followed. She’d long since accepted the reality that Aang’s charm meant many people would fall for him. And if anything, it made her feel even luckier that she was the one preparing for a wedding.

Mai appeared to thrive on the chaos she’d incited. The Fire Lady had clearly been spending more - maybe too much - time with Aang. “I don’t know why you’re all so up in arms about this,” she commented, studying her nails. “When I saw him dressed up for Zuko and I’s wedding, I wondered if I was marrying the right man after all.”

Zuko choked at her words, and Mai laughed as she patted him on the back. “Kidding. But I did think Aang was the best-looking man at the reception.”

Everyone’s gaze turned to Zuko, who sighed, shoulders slumping. “No, I agree with her.” He flushed, his eyes dropping to the table. “Aang was definitely the most attractive person there.”

Katara remembered that outfit of her fiancé’s fondly. Saffron robes that danced the line between classy and casual, as fitting for an Air Nomad Avatar. And perhaps she recalled the attire begrudgingly, too, as it had attracted both wanted and unwanted attention towards her then-boyfriend at the reception.

“I’ll admit my heart fluttered the first time Aang returned to Kyoshi Island after the war,” Suki mused. “I hadn’t expected him to get so tall.”

Sokka gave his girlfriend an affronted look. “Wait a minute. Wasn’t I there -”

Suki silenced him with a finger over his lips. “Sokka. We both spent that weekend discussing how hot Aang had gotten. Don’t deny it.”

Katara raised an eyebrow at her brother. “You were planning to make some moves on Aang?”

Sokka’s face reddened. “You know what?” he finally said. “Maybe in another life. I’ll leave it at that.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Toph,” Mai commented, giving the earthbender a small smirk. “When did you realize you had a crush on ‘Twinkle Toes’?”

Toph crossed her arms over her chest, which Katara noted with amusement did nothing to hide the rosy blush coloring her friend’s cheeks. “Never. Because unlike all of you, I’m blind and therefore cannot be affected by Aang’s so-called ‘good looks.’”

“Aw, but Aang is so much more than his looks,” Katara teased, unable to remain out of the chaos Mai had incited any longer. “What got you, Toph? His voice? His jokes? His incessant kindness towards anyone and anything?”

Toph opened her mouth before slamming it shut. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll tell you. On one condition.” She pointed at Zuko. “I still want to know how Sparky and Aang locked lips.”

Mai snickered at her husband’s misfortune, and Katara herself couldn’t help but laugh as Zuko muttered a variety of curses under his breath.

“An easy deal,” Katara agreed. “Now tell us - what got you?”

Toph exhaled a resigned sigh. “His voice,” she grumbled, and the table burst into another round of laughter and cheers. Really, they were lucky that Iroh or even Aang himself hadn’t returned to investigate all the noise.

“Honestly, no one can blame you there,” Sokka remarked, shaking his head. “Who could have predicted Aang would grow up the way he did?”

Katara raised an eyebrow at her brother, though she doubted the expression was as intimidating as she intended it to be. “Really?”

“Okay, well, except for you -”

“Enough chatter!” Toph interrupted, slamming a fist on the table. A smirk pulled at her lips. “Sparky? Storytime?”

Zuko groaned. “Remember how I said I wished we could all meet up more often?” He shook his head. “I take it back.”

Suki laughed. “Stop whining and get on with the story, Zuko.”

“Or else I’ll tell it for you,” Mai added, slipping her hand into her husband’s. Katara couldn’t deny the story would be funnier if Mai told it, as she’d already heard it a dozen times from her friend.

Zuko sighed. “It’s not even an exciting story.” He rolled his eyes. “I was going over some paperwork with Aang and Mai. At one point, Aang was called away for - for Avatar business, or something.” He huffed. “Aang went to give me a ‘goodbye kiss’” - Zuko pointed to his forehead - “because that’s his ‘thing’ with me, I guess. But I didn’t realize what he was doing, so I looked up to ask him a question, and we -”

“- and you accidentally kissed?” Sokka finished flatly. “Aw, man! That is boring.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Such a letdown.”

“What Zuko conveniently forgets to mention every time he tells this story,” Mai said, amused, “is that he leaned into the kiss.”

Toph burst out laughing as Zuko adamantly protested that no, he had not, no matter what his wife said. “So,” the earthbender said amidst her snickers, “what I’m hearing is that Zuko never really got over his crush on Aang?”

“No, he did not,” Mai mused. “But it’s not like I can hold that against him. Having a crush on Aang is perfectly understandable.”

“If it’s any consolation, Zuko,” Katara said, resting her elbows on the table and placing her chin atop her hands as she gave the firebender a devilish grin, “Aang thinks you’re a pretty good kisser.”

Her comment set their group off for the umpteenth time, and Katara snickered at the rollercoaster of emotions roaring over Zuko’s face. There was nothing better than sparking a little chaos every now and then, was there?

Huh. Aang had rubbed off on her, too. She supposed being engaged to him would do that.

“Uh… I feel like I missed something here?”

Katara bit the inside of her cheek to contain her laughter as Aang dropped into his seat beside her. “Oh, no. You didn’t miss anything.”

Aang stared with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment at their friends, who were yet to collect themselves. “Are you sure? What did you guys talk about without me?”

Katara hummed noncommittally, shrugging. “Nothing special.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Just how much we love you.”

~*~

more of aang being adored by his friends in fanworks 2k21, please and thank you. i hope you enjoyed my collection of ficlets for the week, and as always - thank you for reading!

[amishfruit]

Lady Of The Lake, Chapter One: Wade

pairings: fakir/ahiru, background mytho/rue

word count: 7048

on ao3

A young woman comes out of the lake one day mid summer, walking into town completely nude, long ginger hair falling in waves over her petite frame. Her wide blue eyes blink naively back at the stunned people milling about. It doesn’t take long for someone to provide her with a blanket to cover herself with and later clothes once they’ve gotten somewhere safe to dress.

Once the initial shock wears off a bit, the woman observes the space she has been welcomed into. She sits on a bed dressed with a soft purple duvet and a pleasant assortment of pillows. It is simple but elegant, the walls were left mostly bare, but the sweet collection of knick knacks more than made up for it. The clothes she's wearing now were given to her off a rack by the bed, where a modest number of dresses hung. She finally turns to the friend who had invited her into their room and attempts to speak, at first nothing but a strangled call comes out but after clearing her throat she begins again. “Thank you.” she meets eyes with them earnestly, “for helping a stranger.”

The person across from her flushes lightly, seated on a stool in front of a small vanity.

Tucking a strand of their long black hair that had fallen out of a lovely ribbon behind their ear, they answer. “You’re very welcome, though I don't think we are truly strangers anymore.” Their voice is gentle and light, but there is a playful glint in their grey eyes and the woman of the lake realizes she is being teased.

Her cheeks heat, but she knows it is not malicious. “You're right, we aren't strangers.” She huffs a small laugh, “though i do not know your name, i am..” her face falls momentarily as she struggles to remember, but it comes to her in time. “Ahiru. my name is Ahiru.”

Her new friend smiles beautifully in response, rosy lips contrasting against their pale unmarred skin. “A lovely name, I am Raetsel.” A pause, “..forgive me if this is rude, but why, or, how did you walk out of the lake today? Where do you come from? Also, are you alright?” it all comes out in one breath and Raetsel gnaws on her lip anxiously once she finishes.

Ahiru smiles a small, sad smile, blue eyes seeming to dim. “I don't remember..I cannot answer even one of your questions, Raetsel. I only know my name.”

Raetsel leans forward delicately, concerned. “You don't need to answer me Ahiru, i'm sorry to have upset you.” She grasps ahirus hand in hers and gives an encouraging squeeze.

This seems to warm Ahiru who lifts their joined hands and leans forward to embrace her new friend. “I think I am alright.”

-----

The sun was just at its highest when she had risen from the lake and after a very eventful few hours of awareness, she finds herself quite hungry and tired. Raetsal hears her stomach growl and laughs, leading her to the kitchen and informing her that it is time for supper. Upon entering, Ahiru wakes up a bit in response to the wonderful smell coming from the stove. She follows and sits next to Raetsel at the table, there is an extra setting next to her. Before she can ask, the smell gets closer and stronger and she can't suppress a delighted sound as her nose chases the scent. Opening her eyes after a particularly deep sniff she is met with the sight of a tall, handsome stranger. Their skin is a deep olive shade and it compliments their dark green hair beautifully. Like Raetsel, a few locks of shorter hair fall out of a low ponytail that reaches down to the middle of their back, the ribbon tying their hair in place is simple and not as decorative as Raetsel’s, but it has its own charm. Their face is stoic, thick eyebrows resting low over their sharp green eyes. They turn to the side a bit and Ahiru admires their strong profile, a strong nose is the most noticeable feature from this angle, long and curved down with a high bridge that flows into sharp brow bones. Their jaw is square and defined, but their neck and shoulders are more lithe than she expects. There is clear strength in their arms but they maintain a lean figure that holds a surprising level of grace.

They turn to ahiru with a quizzical expression, lips twisting before they decide to speak. “I take it you are the lady from the lake?” Their voice is rich and low, quiet but stern.

She nods slowly, “yes, i am Ahiru. Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

The stranger sets a plate of food in front of Raetsel, and then another in front of her giving a noncommittal grunt. “Mm. I’m Fakir, am I correct in assuming Raetsel has already introduced herself?”

Ahiru smiles, “yes, she has been very kind to me.”

Fakir looks at Raetsel, searching for something in her face that he seems to find. He nods to himself, sitting down next to Ahiru. “I hope the food is acceptable to you.”

She grins, “it smells delightful, I have no doubts I will enjoy it.”

He flushes a bit at this, fidgeting with the rolled up sleeves of his white linen button up.

Raetsel laughs lightly, “Please excuse my brother dear Ahiru, he is not accustomed to company.” She leans closer to Ahiru and continues in a conspiratorial tone, “Especially not company as kind and lovely as yourself.” She ends it with a wink, laughing as fakir chokes slightly on his food and flushes red.

Ahiru, for her part, is just as embarrassed and is very sure her face has turned the same color as her hair. Rather than trying to respond, she stuffs a bite of the meal into her mouth, quickly forgetting her own embarrassment as she tastes things she has never tasted before. “Oh!’ She exclaims after swallowing, “this is so good!”

Raetsel hums her agreement, “Fakir is a talented cook, most of his ingredients come from the garden out back as many of them are not commonly used in this town.”

Fakir seems to be pointedly ignoring the conversation, focusing on his plate and pretending not to notice how his ears are burning.

Ahiru turns to him, “where did you learn to cook like this?” She asks earnestly.

He seems surprised at being directly addressed but he swallows and clears his throat, looking to Raetsel for help but eventually realizing he cannot avoid the question. “I taught myself.” he meets her eyes and looks away quickly.

Raetsel, satisfied that she has tortured him enough for one night, fills in the blanks. “Fakir came here as a very young boy from a place far away, there are spices and herbs from his home that aren’t commonly used here and when my mother took him in she provided him with many books about his culture, though the food is what turned out to be most important to him.” She smiles at her adoptive brother, who’s embarrassment seems to have faded if only slightly. “He has been cooking for our family ever since.”

Ahiru is very impressed, taking a moment to look at Fakir with appreciation. He pointedly ignores her stare and lets his bangs fall forward to shield his eyes.

They finish the rest of their meal with minimal conversation, both of the women respecting Fakirs clear desire for the topic to be dropped. When every plate has been cleared, Ahiru offers to clean them up. Raetsel quirks a brow at her and asks if she has ever actually washed a dish before.

Ahiru rubs the back of her neck, “well I.. don’t remember if I have.” Fakir seems surprised at her response and she avoids eye contact with both of them, “but it can’t be that hard! I remembered that they needed to be cleaned, right? I’m sure I can figure it out!” She is so passionate that Raetsel chooses not to question her further, but she does accompany the tiny woman into their kitchen and watches over her as she carefully cleans and dries each dish. Fakir joins them in the kitchen, quietly putting away ingredients and tools that he had used to cook their meal, when he is done he bids them both farewell and retreats to his room.

“I hope he hasn’t put you off.” Raetsel comments, showing Ahiru where she can hang the dish rag.

Ahiru shakes her head, “not at all! The food was so delicious, he is very skilled.”

Raetsel is amused, “you didn’t find him rude?”

Confused, Ahiru tilts her head to the side. “Why would i? He fed me.. that was very kind.”

Raetsel smiles, “you have a very open heart, many of the townspeople have issues with him. He's just a bit too blunt..” she puffs out a breath, “sometimes they misunderstand him, and he gets frustrated.”

Ahiru nods sadly, “I would too.”

Raetsel seems surprised at this answer at first, before settling into a very pleased disposition. “You are really something new Ahiru.”

The aforementioned lady blushes softly and straightens up. “T-thank you Raetsal.” She ducks her head in a miniature bow.

“Come dear, I’ll show you your room.”

————

Once she gets settled and bids goodnight to her host, Ahiru takes a moment to breathe. Slow, in and out. Feeling a bit overwhelmed with, well everything that had happened in the day, she wishes to braid her hair, dress down and sleep. In the room Raetsel provided to her there is a vanity, and on top ribbons and a wide tooth comb. Ahiru smiles at the thoughtful touch and carefully undresses, mindful of her steps so that she does not damage Raetsels’ lovely dress. She hangs it on a hook by the door, removing her socks and leaving her chemise on, remembering the earlier incident and cringing at herself. Next, she sits on the vanity stool and takes the comb carefully, starting at the ends of her long hair and working her way up slowly. Once all the tangles are gone she separates it into three sections and plaits in a simple pattern. She hums as she does this, a tune she knows and loves, something comforting. At the end of her hair, she ties a thick satin ribbon into a bow and tucks herself into the comfortable twin bed.

She is on the lake, dancing mournfully by herself. In the distance, she sees a royal couple performing a grand pas de deux. They only have eyes for each other, and she dearly loves them both. Her steps don’t falter with her sorrow, she only dances more freely, allowing her tears to fall as she lifts herself up into the air. The foggy air grows dark and eventually she realizes she’s alone, the prince and princess are gone and everything is quiet except for the sound of her own crying as she falls into the lake.

She wakes with a start, the grief in her chest real and heavy, cheeks wet. Deep breaths in, and out. Again, until she feels ready to open her eyes. The sun is rising, shining soft light on her face and the pain from her dream eases slightly. She sits up, donning her socks once more and making her way to the window and leans on the sill, observing the small flock of birds on a neighboring roof. Soon Ahiru is able to put the nightmare out of her mind, and the sun gets higher so she dresses once again, at first struggling to fasten things by herself but figuring it out through trial and error. Her braid is a mess from tossing and turning, so she sets to combing her hair out once more and choosing to do two braids today, parts it all down the middle. Her fingers are quick and nimble and she picks a set of wide gray ribbons to match her dress. Once she is ready, she makes her way back into the kitchen, hoping she hasn’t woken up too early.

At the stove once again, Fakir doesn’t notice her right away, continuing to add ingredients and muttering quietly to himself on occasion.

Ahiru chooses to sit down rather than interrupt, leaning on her palm and watching him as he works. His shoulders are wide but she can see how narrow his waist is, emphasized by the plain apron he wears. Fortunately, she catches herself as her gaze wanders lower and her eyes snap back up to his hands. They are large and clearly strong, but he handles everything he holds so gently. Ahiru wonders if she would ever want to see the strength in those hands used rather than controlled, and she cannot decide. Lost in thought, and busy staring a hole into fakir, she doesn’t see Raetsel come in.

“Oh ahiru! You look lovely this morning!”

She doesn’t react quick enough and is caught when fakir turns around quickly, eyes wide and mouth opened in a surprised little ‘o’. they both flush and break eye contact, electing to ignore Raetsel’s amused smirk.

“Smells good Fakir, something special for our visitor?” Raetsel continues teasingly.

He shoots her a sharp glare but it lacks it’s usual spark when his face is still bright red. “It’s just bread, Raetsel.” His tone is measured but it’s clear he’s irritated.

Ahiru finds the exchange remarkably cute and tilts her head to the side in wonder as she observes the siblings.

“We should get you your own clothes and shoes.” Raetsel says to her, looking at the ill-fitting dress she’d loaned ahiru. “I don't mind sharing, but they’re much more comfortable in the right size. When we are done eating I know someone who can help.”

Ahiru is hesitantly excited about this, swinging her feet a bit under the table.

Fakir comes with the food soon after, setting each plate on the table.

“Woah.” Ahiru states quietly, when Fakir had said bread earlier, she hadn’t expected french toast. Upon tasting, she notices something floral and a bit of spice and sweet honey. She can’t identify all the flavors but she loves it all and happily digs in.

Raetsel watches her in amusement for a moment and then turns to Fakir who also watches Ahiru eat with an unreadable expression. He is focusing more on their guest than he is his own breakfast and she stifles a laugh as he misses his own mouth.

Ahiru seems to realize she has all but ignored the two others at the table and slows down, swallowing and wiping her face with a napkin. “This is very good fakir.” She looks down as she says it, a bit embarrassed by her own actions.

Raetsel agrees, “delightful as usual.”

Fakir thanks them quietly, looking at his plate with the same unreadable expression and eating slowly. The two women finish eating before him, but Ahiru still insists on cleaning the dishes that he isn’t eating off of. He almost smiles at her, but the urge to confuses him and he is easily distracted.

“Are you coming with us?” Ahiru asks when he brings his own plate to the sink, wide eyes boring into his skull.

Fakir falters, looking at Raetsel who simply shrugs. “Uh.. I don't know if I would really be of any help.” He hopes his reasoning is enough to appease her.

Ahiru furrows her eyebrows, “why not?”

“He’s avoiding his fan club.” Raetsel chimes in, amused by the exchange and how easily their guest catches her brother off guard.

Ahiru does not know what this means, imagining a group of people gathering together to discuss fans or perhaps dance with them as she remembers doing many times. She notes the remembrance to herself before speaking, “was there a disagreement? If you’re in a club with them, you should be friends right?”

Fakir looks at her incredulously, “I'm not in the club.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?” She asks innocently.

Raetsal chooses not to help clarify, retrieving her boots from the front door and sitting at the table to lace them, leaving the two alone.

“It’s- well,” he shoots her a quizzical glare, “are you teasing me?”

Ahiru is thoroughly confused, “what?! No!! Why would you think that?”

Fakir can tell she’s being truthful, “it's not really a club Ahiru, Raetsel was joking.”

She sticks out her lip in a small pout, “why?”

He sighs in defeat, “you’ll understand once we get there.”

Raetsel returns to them, “so you’re coming?” She sounds surprised and more than a little impressed.

“Yay!” Ahiru claps her dainty hands together cheerfully.

Fakir nods, still unsure of how she had convinced him.

—

The summer weather allows them to leave the house quickly, not needing to don cloaks or extra layers, and they walk a short while to the stables.

Raetsel turns to Ahiru, noting the nervous glances she shoots towards the horses they pass. “Have you ever ridden?”

Ahiru’s face is pale and she wrings her hands in front of herself. “No.”

Fakir turns from where he is retrieving their steeds. “No? Or you don’t know?”

She laughs a bit at this. “Definite no. I think I would remember a creature of this size.”

Raetsel notes that Ahiru is a whole head shorter than herself, and Fakir towers over

her in a way that would intimidate anyone else, but it doesn’t seem to bother the bright little flame of a woman. “You should ride with Fakir then, he can keep you safe.”

Fakir looks at her, opening his mouth to argue but he snaps his jaw shut once he sees that Ahiru looks less afraid. He waits for Raetsel to mount her own horse before swinging himself up onto his. They both look at Ahiru who is once again starting to look a bit sickly.

“You’ll be fine.” Fakir reassures, “you were watching me and Raetsel right?”

She nods, spark returning to her eyes and mouth set in a hard line of determination. She steps into the stirrup that Fakir has left empty for her and attempts to swing herself up onto the horse's back like her two companions. At first she thinks she has succeeded, but her leg doesn’t go all the way up and she begins to slide backwards towards the ground. Fakir grabs her ankle, then uses his other hand to guide her by the waist until she is settled in front of him. Her head is still spinning from the near fall and it takes her a moment to find her words again.

“Thank you.” She breathes, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand still on her waist.

He moves his hand as if he’s been burned and thanks everything that she can’t see his face. “Dont mention it.” he responds gruffly, avoiding Raetsel and using the reins to steer their ride forward.

Raetsel follows them close behind, looking up at the bright sky and wondering what good deed she did for the universe to think her worthy of this newfound entertainment.

They ride mostly in silence, except for Ahiru’s occasional exclamations of delight or awe as they pass under trees and through town. She is constantly turning her head in an attempt to take everything in.

It isn’t a very long journey, and soon they come to a quaint little shop with mannequins dressed in a variety of fabrics displayed in the large front windows.

Raetsel is the first to dismount, smoothing her skirts down as Fakir follows her and offers a hand to Ahiru.

Once the three of them are safely on the ground, Fakir guides their horses to a small grazing area where they will wait obediently until the shopping is complete.

Raetsel leads them into the shop, Ahiru close behind her and Fakir bringing up the tail end. A bell rings as they open the door and a head of blonde hair pops up from behind a counter.

“Welcome in- oh! Raetsel! Let me grab Pike.” Before they can respond, the shopkeeper is running to the back, pigtails bouncing as she moves.

Fakir finds a bench in a corner and sits down, hoping the racks of fabric and garments are enough to hide him.

The shopkeeper returns with her coworker, “has Lilie helped you at all yet?” She asks, tying her shoulder length violet tinted hair into a high ponytail.

“Hmph.” Lilie pouts, “I thought you’d want to do the consultation together.” She lowers her voice so only the three women can hear her, “plus, the handsome Fakir has graced us with his presence.”

Pike rolls her eyes, “you are so dramatic.” She scolds, though it doesn’t have much bite when she is craning her neck to peek at the man hiding in the corner.

Raetsel clears her throat politely, “My new friend could use your expertise.”

The two shopkeepers turn to Ahiru at last, looking her up and down before turning to each other.

“Do we have enough yellow left?” Pike asks Lilie, ushering Ahiru to a section of the room where the floor is cleared and producing a measuring tape from thin air.

Lilie hums, moving towards a rack against the wall and sifting through the materials until she finds a sunny yellow linen. “Yes! And perhaps a blue?” She suggests, stacking a soft blue cotton atop the yellow draped over her arm.

“Oh yes, that will compliment her eyes nicely.” Pike addresses Ahiru directly for the first time, “how many dresses are you looking for today?”

Ahiru looks helplessly towards Raetsel, letting Pike move her arms as she takes her measurements.

“We are starting her wardrobe today, so however many items you both think she will need.” Raetsal answers, earning a surprised look from Lilie.

“What happened to the rest of your clothes?” The blonde asks, pausing in her search for fabrics.

“I don't have any.” Ahiru answers simply.

“Long story.” Raetsel adds.

The two accept this answer easily, “Well then, we should send you home with something today. Lilie?”

Lilie looks over, setting the chosen materials on a large cutting table. “A premade garment for now?”

Pike nods, “just try to find the smallest things you can and we can alter it to fit her properly.”

Raetsel interjects, “she will also need shoes, mine are too large for her. Do you think you have something that would work?”

“Oh i’m sure we do,” Lilie answers, returning with an armful of dresses and blouses. “Shoes are over by Fakir.”

He starts at the mention of his name, looking at his surroundings and finding the shelves stocked with shoeboxes.

Pike measures her feet and calls out the length, instructing Fakir on where to find the correct size of boots.

He carries them to Ahiru once he has found them, bringing a few different options and setting them down next to her before awkwardly standing off to the side.

“Alright, you can try those on Ahiru. We’ll be right back.” Pike says before disappearing into the back of the store with Lilie.

“Do you need help?” Raetsel asks, showing Ahiru where she can sit to unlace her borrowed boots.

“No, thank you, I think I'm alright.” She smiles gratefully at her and sets to work, slipping her feet into one of the pairs Fakir brought her. She carefully tries on each pair but ends up settling on the first, made of dark brown leather with a slight heel and strong black cord lacing them securely.

Lilie returns and writes down the price on a pad of paper tucked into her dress pocket, setting it aside and guiding Ahiru to a fitting room. She helps Ahiru undo the fastenings on her loaned dress, hanging it carefully and instructing her to keep the chemise on before darting out and returning with Pike, both women are carrying armfuls of clothing and Pike has a pincushion strapped to her wrist. They help her into a simple white blouse, pinning where it needs to be taken in. The remaining garments are tried on in the same fashion and Ahiru watches them work. Before she knows it, they are done, helping her back into Raetsel’s loaned dress once more and walking her back to her companions, assuring her that they will return momentarily and asking her to wait while they stitch the adjustments into place. Ahiru seats herself on a bench next to Fakir and Raetsel follows the two shopkeepers to assist them and discuss the items they will be making for pickup at a later date.

“So..that’s the fanclub?” Ahiru guesses.

Fakir looks uncomfortable, “that’s just what Raetsel calls them.”

She giggles, “did you hear what they called you when we walked in?”

He shakes his head, too afraid to ask.

“The handsome Fakir.” Ahiru tells him, stifling another giggle. “Is that your title?” She teases.

He shoots her an irritated glance, “you know that it’s not.”

She shrugs, an impish grin stuck on her face. “It could be.” she states it as if it is a fact and doesn’t seem to catch what she is implying.

Fakir stammers, embarrassed. “W-wha-“ clearing his throat and looking out the window to hide his blush, he scolds her. “You can’t just say things like that!”

She sticks her tongue out at him, “why not? They said it first!”

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “They shouldn’t be saying it either.” He groans, wishing he had stayed home.

“Hm. whatever, I still don’t get why it’s such a big deal.” Ahiru bumps her shoulder against his, “are they your friends?”

“I barely know them.” He answers honestly, “they’re the best seamstresses in town so I’ve been a customer but Raetsel is the one that comes here most often.” He looks at her for a second before continuing, “I usually avoid them.”

Ahiru hums, “I think I understand why.” She acknowledges, “they’re a bit like a whirlwind aren’t they?”

He snorts out a laugh, “don't tell them that, they’ll never let it go.”

She nods. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me.”

They fall into a comfortable silence and fakir studies her when she isn’t looking, trying to understand the mystery of this little lake lady.

It doesn't take long for Raetsal to return with a large package wrapped in brown paper and fastened with twine tied in a bow. “That’s it for today, we will return at the end of the week for the rest of it.”

Ahiru moves forward and takes the package despite Raetsel’s protests, “wow! That was so fast!”

Raetsal winks, “6 hands work faster than 2!”

Fakir takes the package from Ahiru while she’s distracted and holds it where she can’t reach when she tries to take it back. “You’ve paid already?” he nervously glances around the store as he says it.

Raetsal laughs. “Yes Fakir, don't worry. Those two are busy in the back, we’re done.”

He relaxes a bit and they make their way out again, Fakir holding the door for both of the women.

Ahiru skips forward, looking down at her new shoes and admiring how comfortable they are. When she looks up again Fakir and Raetsel have already mounted their horses, the package safely secured to the back of Fakir’s saddle.

“Do you need help? Or would you like to try again on your own?” He asks, looking down at her with his brow furrowed in concern.

Ahiru answers by sticking a boot in the stirrup and once again trying to lift herself up. This time she gets closer to her goal, but Fakir still has to catch her when her leg doesn’t properly hold her up.

“Good try!” Raetsal encourages from behind them, smiling as Fakir adjusts their friend with gentle hands before taking up the reins.

They ride home with minimal conversation, the two siblings focused on steering their horses in the right direction and Ahiru distracted by the people out on the streets, going about their days.

When they are home again, Fakir helps her down and retrieves her parcel, leaving no room for her to argue as he carries it inside.

She follows him, Raetsel not far behind. He stops outside the door of her room, waiting for Raetsel to open the door before carefully setting the package on her bed and excusing himself politely.

Raetsel helps her unpack and hang her new clothing, she picks out a new chemise for Ahiru and shows her to a room down the hall where she can bathe. After making sure she knows how to fill the tub, she too excuses herself with the promise that they will see one another at lunch.

—

Once she has dried herself and wrung most of the water from her hair, Ahiru dons the fresh chemise and pads up the hall to her room. The new clothes hang neatly and she has trouble choosing when given so many options but eventually she settles on a short sleeved, collared blouse made from a lovely cream colored cotton and a simple, tea length yellow linen skirt. Plain white socks cover her feet and the boots are left by the door for when she needs them. She sits at the vanity to comb her hair, leaving it down to dry but tying a yellow ribbon under her hair and around the top of her head to keep it from getting in her face. She smiles at her reflection, the clothes fit perfectly and she can finally see herself now that she isn’t drowning in fabric.

She retrieves Raetsel’s loaned dress and chemise and carries them out to the room she was first brought in to. She knocks gently, and when there is no response, she cracks the door open.

“What are you doing?”

She jumps, turning to find Fakir glowering at her. “I-well I was trying to find Raetsel!”

His face softens, “she’s the door at the end of the hall, moron, this is my room.”

Ahiru flushes, indignant, she bites back “I’m not a moron! How was I supposed to know that! I've only been to her room once and it was a really hectic day!”

Fakir puts a hand on her head, “I know, I was teasing. Could you move out of the way?”

She settles down, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry.” She shuffles off down the hall and he watches her go, shaking his head and entering his room.

Raetsel, having heard the exchange, opens her door before Ahiru can reach it and gives her a kind smile. “You can just set those in the laundry basket over here.”

Ahiru follows her instruction and smiles at her gratefully, “Thank you Raetsel.”

“Anything for you Ahiru, now, would you like to see what’s for lunch?”

Confused, Ahiru tilts her head, “didn't Fakir just go to his room?”

Raetsel nods, “He’s probably referring to one of his cookbooks.”

“He doesn’t keep them in the kitchen?” Ahiru asks, following Raetsel back out into the hall.

“It’s easier to keep them in good condition away from the steam and mess of food.” Fakir answers from his doorway, “Plus, I don't always need them.” He closes his door and leads the way to the kitchen, resuming his work.

Raetsel and Ahiru seat themselves in the same spots as always, chatting and watching Fakir cook. Raetsel asks how she likes her new clothing and Ahiru gushes her thanks and talks about her favorite things.

Fakir comes with plates of food soon after and seats himself next to her.

Ahiru claps in excitement, tucking her long hair towards her back before digging in.

Raetsel eats more politely, complimenting Fakirs choice of ingredients and asking him questions about the recipe.

Ahiru barely pays attention to them, so focused on enjoying her meal that she doesn't notice when the conversation turns to her.

“Ahiru?” Raetsel prods gently.

she starts slightly in response, looking up and finding them both turned to her. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Raetsel smiles, “Do you know what you want to do here? I work at Ebine’s bakery for part of the week and Fakir writes for our local paper. Pike and Lilie offered to teach you how to cut fabric but you are free to choose what you like.”

Ahiru blinks, “I’m...staying?”

Fakir answers this time, rolling his eyes. “Of course you are, where else would you go stupid?”

Raetsel swats his shoulder, “Oh be nice to her Fakir.” Turning back to Ahiru, “Yes, you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish dear.”

Ahiru grins, “Thank you! I like it so much here, I’m so happy!” She looks down at her hands, “As for what i want to do.. I’m not really sure yet. Pike and Lilie are very nice but I don’t know if I could really be of any help to them.”

Fakir nods, “You don’t have to decide yet. You haven’t even seen your other options so take your time and don’t feel bad about it.”

Raetsel agrees with him, “I'm sure you will be good at whatever you choose, with passion like yours you can do anything.”

Ahiru flushes and curls into herself, hair falling forward to hide her face.

Fakir watches in horror as a lock of her hair begins to flop into her plate, instinctively he tucks the hair back into place. Once he realizes what he’s done he can feel the steam coming out of his ears, “Y-you should probably tie your hair up when you eat.”

Raetsal barely stifles her laugh, shoving a bite of food into her mouth to keep herself quiet.

Ahiru stares at Fakir, mouth open and cheeks pink. It takes a few more blinks before she twists her knee length hair up and up and up, using the yellow ribbon to loosely tie it into place, it’s the best imitation of a bun she can do with the current materials.

Clearing his throat and drinking water in an effort to cool the flush on his skin, Fakir continues eating as if nothing happened and the two women soon follow his lead.

Ahiru is grateful for the diversion, feeling more shy than usual and needing the silence. She is also easily distracted by how much she loves this food and each bite brings her farther away from the embarrassment.

Soon, the meal is over and they separate, Ahiru washing the dishes without supervision as Raetsel has deemed her able. Fakir puts away anything left over in the kitchen and excuses himself to his room.

When the dishes are cleaned, dried and put away, Ahiru wonders what she’s meant to do, yesterday and this morning there was no time for boredom. Now she feels like she should be doing something and without noticing she has begun to dance, the kitchen floor not ideal for ballet but accommodating her nonetheless. There is no music, but the early afternoon sun shining through the windows above the sink highlights her more beautifully than any spotlight. When she finally realizes what she’s doing, she is in the middle of simple barre exercises. Her muscles ache in relief, as if they have been waiting for her to use them. She smiles, closing her eyes and tilting her head up towards the sun, letting muscle memory take over.

Fakir carries his notebook under one arm and holds his inkwell and quill in his hands. He is headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, but stops when he sees her. Not wanting to interrupt, he sits at the table, partially hidden by the open doorway that connects the two rooms. His things are set down carefully and quietly, and then he turns his attention back to the ballerina in his kitchen.

She moves through her relevés with the ease and joy of someone who lives to dance.

Chin in palm, Fakir watches her. The light flickering over her face moves with her and he is entranced. Warm ups finished, Ahiru moves into a choreography as if it’s second nature. His heart aches in his chest when he realizes it is meant to be a pas de deux, her body struggles to support itself and he longs to take the weight for her.

She continues, oblivious of her audience, dancing to the song only she can hear and baring her emotions with every movement.

When the steps come to a close and her head is bowed in an ending curtsy, Fakir panics, realizing that soon she will open her eyes and he will have to explain why he’s been creepily watching without saying a word. Cringing, he braces himself and opens his notebook, hoping to at least look busy when she catches him.

She lets out a small startled noise when she opens her eyes, coming back into her mind after letting her body take over. She sees Fakir sitting at the table and despite the open notebook, she knows that he has not written a word for she would have heard the scratch of his quill. She flushes prettily, sneaking out of the kitchen while he’s still looking down and all but running to her room.

She leans against the inside of her closed door, putting her head in her hands and trying to calm herself down. She hadn’t planned on dancing and she definitely did not expect an audience, no matter how politely he pretended not to be watching she knew he had seen at least some of her dance and she hopes that she danced well. Most of the remaining afternoon is spent like this, trying to distract herself by thinking over the job offer from Pike and Lilie, but mind wandering back to the kitchen and her dream from the night before. There is a mix of confusing emotions swirling in her chest and she unties the ribbon holding her makeshift bun in place, running her hands through her own hair in a calming fashion. The dream had felt so real and coupled with some of the memories that had come back to her, she has a feeling it was something that had really happened. Brows furrowing as she thinks, she tries desperately to recall the events of her dream but most of what she can remember is emotions and steps of a dance. There is a flash of black curls and red lips kissing a pale figure with hair like the feathers of a swan, but this imagery brings a panging sorrow and the tears rising in her eyes warn her not to push this memory back into her conscious mind. Wiping her cheeks where they have gotten wet, she takes Fakir’s advice and sets to braiding her hair into a crown. It doesn't take her very long, and soon Raetsel is knocking on her door to alert her that supper will be ready soon. Ahiru thanks her and says she will be there in a moment, needing some time to collect herself and finish tying the braids in place around her head.

When she finally comes to the dining table, Fakir and Raetsel are already seated and a plate is waiting in her usual spot. She squeezes by Fakir, who avoids her eyes and looks at his plate with pink dusting the bridge of his nose. Once she is settled, the three begin to eat, they are all tired from the eventful day and conversation is light.

It is a quick meal and Raetsel is the first to bid them goodnight, letting Ahiru know that she will be gone for work by the time they wake and making sure Ahiru does not need anything before she excuses herself.

Ahiru pokes at her remaining food listlessly, wishing she could enjoy it the way she wants to but emotions ruining her appetite. Sighing, she carries the dishes to the sink and begins scrubbing, not even noticing when Fakir follows behind her.

“Ahiru?” Fakir asks quietly, “I hope I didn’t upset you earlier.”

This breaks her reverie and she looks at him, confused. “What? No! Why would I be upset?”

Fakir seems doubtful. “Well you’re obviously upset about something.”

She puffs her cheeks out. “No, i just…” brows furrowed she admits defeat, “Okay yeah you’re right I am. But I promise it has nothing to do with you!” She says the last part earnestly and Fakir is momentarily stunned by the shine of her eyes.

“Do you.. want to talk about it?” He says it awkwardly, as if the idea is foreign to him.

Her eyes dim, “I don’t think I was very happy before I came here.”

He seems surprised at her answer, “Was the lake not good to you?”

This makes her puff a tiny, sad laugh, “The lake may be where I came from, but it wasn’t where I lived before.”

Fakir looks at her concerned, “You don't remember very much, do you?”

She shakes her head, “Most of it is just feelings, there’s something there definitely but trying to recall more than just blurs hurts.”

He feels deeply sorry for her, “It sounds like.. well sometimes our brains try to protect us by blocking some things out.”

She tilts her head to the side, “You think it could be that?”

He nods slowly “There are many written accounts of this experience, if you’d like, I can help you research more about it tomorrow?” He says the last bit as a question, unsure if she really wants to open herself up to possible pain.

She smiles gratefully, it is smaller than her usual grin but still makes his heart skip, “Thank you Fakir, I would like that very much.”

Flushing at her sincerity, he looks away. “D-dont mention it.” He dries the dishes that she is finished washing and together they finish the chore faster than either could on their own. When the dishes are put away and the kitchen is clean, Fakir walks her to her room and bids her goodnight with the promise of a library trip the next day. Ahiru is so exhausted she barely manages to take her hair down and remove her blouse and skirt before crawling into bed and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[solastia]

Love And Lies | 1

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!Reader

Summary: You are a simple maid. When your lady and dearest friend need help escaping an arranged marriage with King Seokjin so they might be together, you do the only thing you can - take her place. 

A/N: It was my intention to not post this story until it was totally completed, but I got too excited. There are about three chapters already in my drafts and I just really like how it’s turning out. Don’t worry, I’m still totally working on everything else too. I’m just going through a list of popular tropes that I’ve never gotten around to writing for, and this one covers both historical and arranged marriage. I’ll be posting the last chapter of Tuqburni as soon as I get it back from my beta and finish any corrections. Make sure to leave lots of comments on this one! 

“I will not do this. He cannot force me to marry some strange man for his own selfish grab for power.”

“He can. You know he does this with your best interests in mind, my lady. And everything is already arranged. You leave in the morning.”

You listen to the now familiar argument as you fold your mistress’s garments into the opulently decorated trunks. A door slams, followed by a crash like something delicate hit the wall and a high-pitched scream resonated throughout the massive bedroom.

You sigh tiredly, knowing that the woman’s ire was going to be filling your own ears next.

“What are you doing, ___? I just said I wasn’t going.”

Lady Eleanor Rose D’Aily flounced back into her bed chambers, her rosy lips turned down in a petulant pout and her wilting golden curls bouncing around as she flung herself across her bed.

“I’m afraid Master Steward already spoke with me while you were on your afternoon ride. He ordered me to pack your belongings and warned that guards would be here to escort us at first light. And,” you add, flashing a warning glance at your impulsive charge, “He informed me that guards are being placed outside of your doors and windows should you attempt to escape your fate.”

“Ugg, this is torturous. Why is Papa doing this? I always thought he’d want to keep me close. Why send me to some old man that I’ve never met and will never love?”

“I dare say he believes he secured his beloved child a bridegroom most could only dream of. After all, you’ve been selected by the King of Verinthia himself - who is not yet thirty, mind you. You’re to be Queen Eleanor of Verinthia. Think of all the wondrous things you can do for your people.”

At that her lady sighed, pondering that point. For though your mistress was unarguably spoiled, she still had a good heart. You had no doubt that if she were to be Queen, a great deal of good would be done under her reign.

“But...Jungkook. I don’t want to marry anyone but Jungkook.”

And that was the core of this rebellion. As cliché as it was, Lady Eleanor - the only child of the Duke Of Nevers - was in love with a mere Knight.  

Sir Jungkook Jeon had basically been raised right alongside Eleanor after being sent by his Baron father to foster under the Duke. The lad was the youngest of eight and there was nothing left for him to inherit, so he was sent out to make his own way in the world.

He had started as a pageboy at the age of nearly eight, became the Duke’s squire at fourteen, and had been knighted and declared Captain of Lady Eleanor’s guard at eighteen. All of his formative years had been spent here at Nevers and all of them included his tiny blonde shadow begging for some scrap of his attention. The fact that somewhere along the line that childhood friendship morphed into love did not surprise you overly much.

Especially since you had been their third wheel for just as many years, and they were your dearest friends - as much as one can be friends between nobles and servants.

You had been assigned to the six-year-old Eleanor when you had been eleven, and she had always treated you more as a big sister than simply her personal maid. Therefore, you had been dragged through every mischievous plot the two had come up with, listened to them wax poetic about each other until you wished your ears would fall off, and helped transport letters between the two like their own personal pigeon.

However, no one cheered for their love more than you, either. Your lady was pampered and naïve but possessed a kind heart and a fun-loving personality that made her hard to dislike. Add to that Sir Jungkook’s honor and legendary ambition - tempered by his mischievous tendencies - and you had a match blessed by the heavens.

As far as you were aware, he’d been the very picture of Knightly chivalry and had not given in to your lady’s more impulsive urges for…taking liberties. Though you could often catch him staring longingly at Eleanor, she often bemoaned his refusal to so much as kiss his lord’s daughter beyond a chivalrous one on the back of her hand.

And now - now the poor Sir Jungkook was going to have to watch the love of his life being sent to the King. Your heart aches for the pair.

You watch as a single glistening tear rolls down your lady’s flawless cheeks.

“Do you think Papa and His Majesty will at least let me keep Jungkook as my Captain?”

You sigh and sit next to her, reaching over to run your fingers through her hair soothingly.

“He’s going to be part of our escort, but that’s it. Once we reach the palace, the Duke has stated that he’ll be granting Jungkook leave from the remaining year of service he owed - along with a keep of his own for his many years faithfully served. I heard him say it was about time Sir Jungkook started a family of his own.”

“And that’s not going to happen with anyone but my Ellie.”

The two of you whirled when the words reached you from her balcony, where a disheveled Sir Jungkook heaved himself from the massive oak he had climbed to get there.

“Jungkook!” Eleanor exclaimed happily, throwing herself at the beaming Knight.

How beautiful they looked together, even with Eleanor’s eyes reddened from tears and the leaves and twigs adorning Jungkook’s long ebony hair which had long been released from it’s usual leather tie.

“Greetings, Sis,” Jungkook grins cheekily over Eleanor’s shoulder at you.

“Evening greetings to you, Sir J…” Jungkook clears his throat at you in warning. You sigh wearily, “Fine. Greetings, Jungkook. What brings you to a chamber where you’re likely to get all our heads lopped off?”

His grin transforms into a smile of triumph as he holds Eleanor to his side tightly. “I had an idea!”

“Ooh, yes. That is news,” you nod, letting humor color your tone in the privacy of this room.

Eleanor giggles while Jungkook merely rolls his eyes. “I’m deadly serious. I have a solution that will be wonderful for us all.”

“Ohhh, My handsome Knight is so wise,” Eleanor sighs and leans her head into the preening man’s shoulder.

“You haven’t even heard the plan yet. It could be absurd,” you snort, rolling your eyes.

“It’s...a little absurd,” Jungkook muses aloud, and you grunt at Eleanor as if to say ‘Told you so.’

“Out with it, my love. I’m willing to consider anything to get us out of this madness,” She implores him with an impatient tug on his sapphire tunic - the one that Eleanor had hand-embroidered herself for nearly two years, you noticed.

“I will indeed escort you to the palace. However, once there…” Jungkook begins nervously, while you glare at him in suspicion. He refuses to meet your eyes straight on. This was never a good sign.

“Yes? Once there…” you prompt with a quirked eyebrow.

“Once there...you’ll switch with Ellie,” he says with an audible gulp. “She’ll pretend to be your maid in public and you’ll be the King’s betrothed. I’ll tell the Duke that I will stay on as Captain of the guard until I receive several copies of the deed to the keep he promised me. Once I have that in hand, Ellie and I will wed and it will be too late for him to stop us. You can simply tell the King that you don’t think you’ll suit and then I’ll spirit you both away to my keep!”

You were appalled. “So many sins in that one little plan. So many lies and…” you angrily huffed, folding your arms. “Jungkook, no one is going to believe that I’m a Duke’s daughter, nor a candidate to be Queen. My mother is a seamstress and my father is a tanner. I don’t have a single drop of noble blood in my veins. I’ll be found out and beheaded in a day.”

“Oh, but you’ve essentially been raised in a Duke’s household,” Eleanor added helpfully, obviously on board with Jungkook’s foolish plan for the simple reason that it came out of his mouth. “You were right at my side through every lesson and know everything as well as I,” she cocked her head as she stared at you thoughtfully. “And not that it will come to that, but I think you would make a wonderful Queen.”

Jungkook smiles fondly at his love, bringing her hand up to his lips to place a chaste kiss on the back of it before he strides purposely towards you. The Knight falls to one knee before you and grasps both of your hands into his, looking up at you with warm brown eyes.

“You have always been our dearest friend and the sister of our hearts, no matter our stations. I know what I’m asking of you is more than a simple favor - it’s a risk to our lives, though mainly yours. Know that I do not ask lightly, for your life is as precious to me as my Ellie’s. This is the only way I can think of to save myself and her from a life of misery. I have tried everything, Sis. I...I even dropped to my knees and begged the Duke for permission to court her.”

“You did what? When was this?” Eleanor exclaimed, and even you leaned forward in shocked wonder.

“A fortnight ago. That’s when he offered me the keep. He simply laughed at my request and said that I have been too isolated here and must have forgotten that other women exist beyond these walls. That I only offered for Ellie out of familiarity. He said perhaps if he hadn’t had better offers for her he would have considered it since I am a fine man, but he’d already talked up the King and no one could ask for better than that,” he finishes with a mocking scoff.

You sigh heavily and glance out the balcony window at the darkening sky. It was true that all seemed rather hopeless for the two of them. No doubt if you ignored this plan and simply went forward with the way it was supposed to, Eleanor would despise you. You would be instrumental in denying her from being with her love and shuffled off to an affectionless arranged marriage. Jungkook would either go off to his keep and live alone forever or demand a position in the palace to keep watch over her from afar, breaking his own heart day after day.

But...there was also your own self to consider. Say you did this thing...you would have to pretend for however long it took for Jungkook to get his affairs in order that you were the daughter of one of the most powerful nobles in the land. That there was something about you worth placing on the throne next to the young King and ruling over the lives of thousands. And if you were to slip up even once, you could spend the rest of your life in the dungeon or beheaded in the royal courtyard.

If you were wiser, perhaps less sentimental, you would say them nay. You would continue packing and close your ears to their pleas. However, when Eleanor drops to her knees next to Jungkook and stares at you imploringly with tears in her pretty blue eyes, twining her hand into her love’s like it might be the last time, you knew you were going to relent. No two people deserved to be with each other more than they. And besides, if this plot were successful, you would tag along to the new keep with them and happily stand at their side as they built a new life together, full of love and hope, and possibly children. You certainly had doubts about the two of them as parents without you around anyway. Jungkook would give their child a real sword at two years and wonder why people were missing ears. Eleanor would cry when it came time to change a nappie.

“Get up, you two,” you grunt wearily. What had you done to deserve being stuck with these two for life? “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” Eleanor squealed, throwing herself onto you with a whirl of costly silk and rose oil.

You nod. “I will do my best. Just know that if I die, I will haunt both of you.”

Jungkook grins, “We’d deserve it.”

He grabs your hand and places a brisk kiss on the back of it, then does the same for Eleanor before striding back towards the balcony.

“Get some rest, ladies. We leave at first light and it will take us several days to reach the palace by carriage.”

He vaults over the balcony onto the oak tree and disappears from sight. Eleanor sighs and sits next to you on the bed, lacing an arm in yours and placing her head on your shoulder.

“Think you this scheme will work?” She asks softly.

“It has to,” you whisper.

And it does. The consequences if it did not were far too dire.

[megastarstriker]

~{Unfortunate Events}~𝑨𝒛𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓  𝒙 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒚 ---------------------------------------------- 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔 •·················•·················•

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“Faithful Encounters”

   Part Two

< previous

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𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Aziraphale x reader x Crowley

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢: Good Omens

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩:??

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: She was just the new angel that day, only to be casted out on the spot, like a baby bird being thrown out of its nest to learn how to fly on its own against its will. She was an outcast and had no place or purpose there or even in the pits of fire. Now she finds herself reliving her traumatizing nightmare when she was child, as she counts the final days of the world’s demise as she plans ruining ‘The Lady Above’s Great Plan’.( I do not own Good Omens or its characters only the ones I create.)

𝑲𝒆𝒚𝒔 :

(Y/N) = Your Name

(S/C) = Skin Color

(B/T) = Body Type

(H/C) = Hair Color

(H/L) = Hair Length

(H/S) = Hair Style

(Y/A) = Your Accent

(F/C) = Favorite Clothing

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TOM HIDDLESTON  as 𝘼𝙯𝙖𝙯𝙚𝙡

I walked down briskly as I looked at my watch.

“No way in hell that was Crowley”, I whispered to myself harshly hoping no one could hear me, as I walked through the crowded streets.

‘But then again he was literally from hell’ I thought with quite the reasoning but shook my head from those silly thoughts, and kept walking until I saw the Ritz.

‘Seriously what are the chances I was gonna meet Aziraphale as well’, I thought with a nervous chuckle,’ I’m pretty sure its very low and if it were to happen it will be from complete coincidence. Besides as far as I know, does not leave his bookshop on busy days and this day is no exception from that.’

I then opened the door to the Ritz and looked around to see if a spotted a certain friend of mine and surely enough from all of the people that were either talking, chattering , simply sitting in a calm fashion there was only one of the rest that had there arm raising as they waved excitedly at me in a likely childish way.

Almighty, I thought with a sigh as I walked towards the smiling lady at her table.

“Hey, (Y/N)”, she said in a cheery voice as she welcomed me.

“Hello, Elizabeth how are you doing?”, I asked a bit bored yet happy tone to see her.

“Good, well don’t just stand there have a seat!”, She said as she gestured to the seat across from her as I gladly made myself comfortable,” I’m so glad to see you didn’t keep me waiting like the last time.”

“Well, I was planning on doing it again, but I rather prefer this side of yours than the other as much as I hate to admit it.”, I replied with smirk as 

“You are such a meanie you know that”, She replied with playful expression as she slapped my hand lightly.

“Only when I want to, of course.”, I replied with a small chuckle as I fixed my seat,” So what was this ’Oh So important gossiping thing’ you had to tell me anyways, that you apparently dragged me here for.”

“Well, if you’re insisting then I guess I should tell you”, She replies,” Anyways..”

After we ordered our food and waited ,a whole 20 minutes passed of her telling me how her day was, she then started to ask me how was my day.

“Oh nothing really”, I said trying to keep my face neutral but failed as I lied.

“Oh Big Bullocks, tell me because from the looks of that face you’re making it seems you saw something interesting all right and I wanna know.”, She replied clearly not buying my lie for a minute.

“I sort of ran into a guy ,an old friend of mine, who I was very close friends with-”, I responded midsentence but was cut off by her to continue.

“You what?!”, She said her eyes wide as saucers with a excited grin as she misinterpreted what I just said,”(Y/N) do you know what this means, what you just said?”

“Um, sort of... I”, I responded in confusion as my eyes squinted at her slightly.

“You are in love!”, She said as she smiled widely and squealed like nails on a chalkboard.

Catching on to what she was saying I immediately declined.

“Oh no no its nothing like that, believe me your getting way ahead of yourself,” I responded in a bland expression as I tried to hide meekly blush appearing on my cheeks.

“Of course it is, you’re only making it more obvious by denying it you know”, She replied trying to pry out the information out of me.

“No there isn’t any love indication with him and I’m sure of it. I’m serious”, I replied trying to think of a way to change the subject.

I then spotted the food tray on our table.

“Oh wow would you look at that the food has arrived!”, I said in a cheerful tone as I thanked the waiter for bringing our food.

“Mark my words, (Y/N) (L/N) I will find out your secret, you so cravingly hide.”, She said as she pointed the spoon at me as she squinted her eyes at me.

“Speaking of cravings. Let’s eat.” I said suddenly successfully changing the subject.

After we finished eating and payed for our delicious food, we headed outside for a walk.

“So were would you like to go?”, I asked her as I walked beside her.

“Well there is this bookshop, I’ve been wanting to go to, maybe look at some books.”, She said thinking out loud as she paced through her mind,” It’s a few blocks away I believe if I’m correct.”

“Well, I’ll go if you go. Lead the way”, I said as I followed her 

It took us a few moments to get there but when we did reach the bookshop I couldn’t help but have the feeling I’ve seen this before.

“A.Z. Fell & Co. Bookshop”, I read as I looked at the sign, the store’s outward appearance was a bright red and had two signs one that said ‘OPEN’ and other had an Opening hours that was surprisingly and oddly long. It read:

Bookshop Opening Hours

"I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 AM. perhaps 10AM. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1. Except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30 PM, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some night reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank Mondays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays.

(For Sundays see Tuesdays)

A. Z. Fell, Bookseller"

“Well from the looks of it it’s opened,” I said as I ignored the long opening hour sign in front of me as it was far too tiring to read,” After you.”

I opened the door for my friend while I followed behind her as the door closed causing a ‘ding’ of a bell to sound on the shop, alerting that someone had entered.

I awed in amazement as I saw the bountiful of books in the shelves, 

‘This place looked stunning, even more than my library at home’ I thought as I scanned the bookshelves that held many marvelous and classical books.

“Oh no! I have to leave”, I heard Elizabeth say in panic,  As she looked at her watch with wide eyes,” I’ll get fired if I don’t hurry, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for long.”

“It’s Okay, besides we’ll meet some other time”, I said giving her a small smile.

“Thank You for understanding”, She said giving me a small smile of her own,” Well, I’m off. Bring me a book as well!”

Just like that, she left the shop leaving me and the peaceful silence to myself. I went back to scanning the room in the shop and the books.

I came across a bookshelf and started dragging my fingers across the books embroidered and well- defined spines. I came across one that read “To Kill a Mockingbird A Novel by Harper Lee.”

As I was about to take the precious book from the shelf I heard a clear cough from someone behind, causing me to flinch and startling me as I backed away causing my back to hit something as I felt it touch my shoulder very delicately but the. As I was about to take the precious book from the shelf  

“U-Umm Excuse me, sorry to inter-”, I heard a voice say behind me, after it cleared its throat awkwardly.

Startling me, I jumped and backed away causing my back to hit something as I felt it touch my shoulders very delicately but then disappear as I heard footsteps back away from behind me. 

“Oh Dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” The masculine voice said in a soft tone.

I then turned around quickly locking eyes with two bright and beautiful ocean ones. The man—I had now confirmed—seemed to fit right in with the rest of the shop. His clothes had a very vintage feel to them, and although it was highly unlikely, something in myself told me that they were all original. He was not terribly tall, but he wasn’t short, either. He had such a kind face, that was currently frowning in embarrassment. All of this was topped off by some extremely blond curls—so blond in fact that they may as well have been white. Although he would not be considered particularly handsome by most estimates, something about him was drawing me to him like bread to butter.  the person did had some gained weight on him that had stood out very adorably with his nifty pastel suit and brown shoes that perfectly matched his cute little white bow tie on his neck. There was this sense of peaceful aura circulating around in a radiating way when I was near him. There was no denying in my mind that this person looked oh so gorgeous and undoubtedly out of a masterpiece painting. Purity and dainty was marked and sculptured in his beauty like an angel with perfection. Exactly like an angel. No, He was an angel. It was Aziraphale without a doubt in mind.

“You just looked so happy and so focused, I just thought it would be rude and no good manner of mine to interrupt your concentration.”, He said as he looked down in a meek and shy manner a nervous smile planted on his plump rosy lips.

“U-Um no worries...its Okay”, I started to say in a stammer, as I felt my cheeks burn in embarrassment as I stared at him. ’Why am I stammering’ I thought in my head as I have never had occurred to have done this before.

“Oh really, well that’s good to hear, Crowley said that I had a tendency of sneaking up on people.”, Aziraphale said a hint of relief in his voice and with heart-warming smile along with chuckle.

I laughed as well feeling my heart skipped a beat and beating out of my chest repeatedly as if the sound I just heard was the most perfect sound ever created. ’Seriously what’s going on with me’ I thought in my mind thinking I was probably sick or coming down with something

“Good Heaven’s, where are my manners? I’m Aziraphale and the current owner of this shop. And you are miss...?”, He said as he held out his hand in a welcome fashion

“Mrs. (L/N), but my friends call me (Y/N) and its an honor to be standing in your bookshop”, I replied as I shook his warm hand gently in mine. 

“Oh, Thank You and its great to meet your acquaintance...”, He said with a happy grin on his face as he shook my hand happily.

“Have you come to purchase a book here by any chance.”, He asked as he let go of my hand and put both of them behind his back, his face changing in a neutral expression,” Because if you were so happened to be here for that matter, I’m afraid it’s closed.”

“Well, I- Um, had a friend who so happened that wanted to come here, but she left moments ago and I’m afraid she won’t come later,” I explained in a nice manner,” We were planning on looking about around your shop and see what books you had in here, and maybe buy one not completely sure. You see this is our first time at your bookshop. The sign outside said it was “OPEN” if I remembered.”

“Oh I must of forgotten to turn the sign at the door! I can be really so forgetful at times,” Aziraphale said in realization with a hint of horror, then his face was wearing a small smile that was adorned prettily with his rosy cheeks as he rambled with excitement, ”Well then, my dearest of welcome to you and U-Um you are free to look around the shelves in the shop and pick your book, you can also come to me if you have any trouble if you’d like or need any assistance in picking one, of course there’s that one-- Oh goodness me ”

“Well now that you mention it, I actually don’t even know what book to look for, I hope it wouldn’t be a bother if I could ask for some help from you, Aziraphale?”, I replied as I smiled slightly at him saying his name in a soft tone.

He looked at me with those captivating eyes of his and hastily replied, ”N-no it wouldn’t be at all, on the contrary I actually enjoy helping people and its my job, especially with finding a good book to read. I like reading myself, you see and in terms of working here I pretty much know all of these books from top to bottom. You never know when someone needs a good night reading or any literature for that matter. ”

“Wow you mean, you work here all by yourself and do everything around here.” I said in complete amazement as I looked at this person with utter most respect as I followed him at his side.

“Y-yes I do in fact, but its never a bother for me ,really. It keeps me more motivated to do things around and it keeps me busy, despite how hard it is. It does get quite lonely here, but the silence hear is lovely and perfect for reading-- I’m rambling again aren’t I? ”

“Oh its okay ramble away if you have to, its quite entertaining. You weren’t joking about the shop being quiet though,” I said as I let out a joyful chuckle, trailing behind him.

“You are too nice and yes it is quiet indeed”, He agreed as he laughed along, he then went and carried a big stack of books towards, ”I’ll be back, once I’m done organizing these over on that shelf”

The books looked pretty heavy and there where piled no more higher than him and it worried me that it was going to fall as it wiggled and the carrier holding the mount of books was having a lot of trouble.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help with that?”, I asked with concern as I watched him trying to look were he was going by peeking slightly at the front of the pile of assorted books.

“Uh No no need, Dear. Just having a bit of trouble carrying them that’s all, they are quite heavy.”, He said with a bashful chuckle as he kept walking towards a hallway his lips forming sounds of struggle.

Not buying a bit of his excuse, I decided to take it upon myself to follow him and as I stood in front of his view, grabbed half of the stacks that were above the pile as many as I could until I had the same amount of books in Aziraphale’s hands. Startled and now being able to see clearly as there were no more little than 7 or 6 books in his hands, he looked at me shocked and with softness in his eyes.

“You do know it’s okay, to ask for help, Right?”, I said with a smile, as I carried the pile of books in my hands.

“O-of course ....Thank You”, He said as he looked at me with slightly wide eyes in pure shock, a hint of shyness in his voice.

“Your welcome”, I replied with a small grin.

A few hours passed as I helped Aziraphale with sorting his books on the shelves, and he talked about many things and books as well as I did, the only sound in the shop was the clock ticking by. But as we did there was something that has been bothering me since we first talked. ‘Why didn’t he remember’, I thought with worry.

‘It has been many years since I’ve seen him so maybe it wouldn’t have really jogged his memory for me to appear, but then again I did kind of expected him to at least remember me’ I thought quite angrily yet understanding as I thought of  the angel,’ Couldn’t really blame him though with upstairs and all of that involved it wouldn’t surprise me for him to forget me, too many years of paperwork I guess. Shouldn’t that be a good thing though? I mean for all I know as much as an angel of a principality he is and may seem he could be working with heaven to execute me and he is danger to me if it does seem that way.

 “Well, now that the books are in there proper places”, Aziraphale said as he looked at the books he had just stocked with glee,” I’m ready to help you with finding the perfect book for you. So what do you like to read in your spare time?”

“Mostly about Paris or anything really that captures my attention, but to save your time after sorting all those books with me...,” I said as I paused for a moment to look at the bookshelf and analyzing each book, then later spotting one that caught my curious eye,” Aha! This one.”

I took it out and the embellished cover read, “Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.” 

“Hmm its seems like a good read and exactly what I’m looking for”, I said as I pondered, looking at it for a moment,” Is it okay if I just borrow it?”

“I can tell and know how much these books mean to you, and besides I already have a library of my own at home. I do keep promises, when I say that I will return it as soon as I have finished it.”, I added knowing fully well why he seemed hesitant to reply to my question on borrowing the book.

“Well you did help and I appreciate it a bunch. As a matter a fact you can keep it,” He said almost a bit hesitant, but nonetheless very kindly and with a small smile, ”As a gift for helping me and all.”

“I couldn’t, I only helped because I wanted to not for something in return. I really can’t accept this”, I replied as I stubbornly declined his generous and absolutely kind offering.

“It’s a gift between friends”, He said softly as he looked at me,” I enjoyed your company very much, and It would make me very happy if you would accept it. I have an extra copy of that same book anyways”

Geez he really is an angel. He really lives the name up to its potential and meaning.

“Okay, but I’ll only accept it if you agree to let me help you around if you need any.”, I said as I held the book tightly in my hand,” and to let me come to your shop every once in a while. If you’ll let me that is?.”

“Since you insist, Of course and you are welcome to my shop whenever you can.”, He said in a friendly manner as he kept that smile on his face.

“Is it okay if I can read it in here for a while?”, I asked him half-wishing and half-hoping he would say yes,” That’s if you are fine with it.”

“There isn’t that many customers coming in today and I was about to sit down and catch up on my daily reading as well. Of course you can stay”, He responded with a glowing and beaming grin as he went to put on his reading glasses that looked very good on him.

“Thank You,” I said as my heart beat in excitement and with happiness mixed together.

“No need for that, I actually enjoy your company very much,” He responded waving off my “thanks”,” I’m afraid, its not every day you get to enjoy a nice book with someone else who likes them as much as I do. Glad to see, that I could share it with you.”

 “Would you like some tea?”, He asked me as he carried a tray with two cups.

“Oh yes. Thank you very much,” I replied as I took the cup he had placed in the small table in front of me.

I then remembered something important that I had to do today and quickly declined as I made up an excuse.

“Um, now that you mention it I can’t stay...”, I replied in a hurry as I rambled in explanation with embarrassment,” I had this thing going on  that I left at home and should be waiting for me ...”

“Oh really?”, He said in a surprised tone at my sudden outburst.

“Yes and I better get going, so have a nice and wonderful day.”, I said as I hurried for the door outside, before the man outside could open it. As I heard Aziraphale say ‘Come Again!’ behind me. I replied with a “Will do!” as the door to the shop closed swiftly behind me. Feeling blue and guilt for the angel I so much adored for not staying, as I thought of a way to repay him. I  sat down on a abandoned bench with no people walking in plain sight. I then grabbed my “Divine Comedy” book I had in my coat and looking sideways I mentally miracled some sticky note out of thin air with a pen and with my best calligraphy writing, I wrote:

“𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓐𝔃𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓮,

𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎. 𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒷𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌  𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓈𝑒, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑒

𝐿𝑒𝓉'𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝐵𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈,

               (𝒴/𝒩) (𝐿/𝒩)

𝓟.𝓢. 𝐼 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓅. 𝐻𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔!”

I then put the cap on the pen and laid it down beside me. Taking out the written sticky note, I paste it on the front of the book’s cover and  miracled it to the shop with a snap of my fingers. I then grabbed the pen and sticky note box as I placed them neatly in the pockets of my coats. Whistling a tune, I couldn’t ignore the growing happy grin on my face, as my heart grew wings and did a happy dance as I would if I was alone and not in the public streets.

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

{Nighttime}

I walked in a brisk pace as my feet hit the pavement on the ground as I made my long walk, As I approached my home and opened it. I then closed it and just when I did, I saw a silhouette of a man sitting in my chair in the moonlight as everything surrounding him was painted dark and pitch black.

“Home sweet Home”, The demon, Azazel said in a bored and mysterious tone as he looked at me with his piercing eyes, with a glint of curiosity behind it,”(Y/N)”

“What are you doing in my home?!” I asked startled and angry as I grabbed the vase next to me,” How many more times do I have to tell you to leave me alone before I resort to violence.”

“No hello? How nice of you. Well then, all greetings aside,” The demon said as it  approached quietly with each footstep, only to see  clearly as it stood in the light’s view, the demon looked and dressed decently in his black coat that he wore with his tie, hands clasped together behind his back and long black hair slicked back as he looked at me with a bored face,” I’m here to talk about business. I believe you know what I’m talking about.”

As I heard a thunder clap from outside, the pitter-pattering of rain resounding outside as it fell, covering the windows like a cascade or waterfall, I looked at the man in front of me with fury and disgust.

“Yes quite frankly, and no I’m not joining your side if that’s what you are offering. Neither you or them for that matter”, I said in irritation as I looked at the demon with a glare as I tried my best to be polite in the most hateful way as I pointed up and down to signify ‘Heaven and Hell’, I then pointed towards the door that leads to the outside,” There is the door, so you can show yourself off now.”

“Yes I know and I’m afraid, I won’t be doing that.”, He said with a dead and irritated tone obviously not bothered by my way of speaking,” I didn’t came here for that, I came because my Highness has sent a message for you.”

He then took something from his pocket and there was a letter with the name “Lucifer” burnt and imprinted on the front of the envelope with seal symbol of a pentagram.

“I don’t want his bribing or anything from him. I’m not some product or weapon to be bought with or to mess around ”, I said in a stern strict voice not wanting anything to with the demon or his poor excuse of his so called Highness, Lucifer, as I kept a confident posture, and not taking the envelope or so as to touch it whatsoever from his hands.

“It is not my place to say this, but the sooner you cut this weak and rubbish act of bravery and join our side, the easier it is for the both of us and this war,” He responded as he put the letter on the table,” In the end you don’t really have much of a choice, anyways.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”, I asked in anger and irritation in my voice as I stood still in my spot in front of him somehow confused with what he said.

He then walked past me towards the door rudely, and not answering my question as he turn the doorknob and left not caring for the rain that pouring down from the star covered night sky, I followed after him in frustration as I yelled at him,” Answer me!”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise of the ‘Great Plan’, you’ll soon see yourself,” He responded as he stopped dead in his tracks, his back turned and facing me as drops of rain covered his body. He then turned his head towards me and said the sentence that I feared the most with a devilish-eating grin,” After All,......”

“𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽”

=======================================================

{So what did you guys think?

I made Tom Hiddleston as my character Azazel because he fit the characteristics pretty well as he did for Loki. 

I hope you liked it 

and stay tuned for the next chapter}

[anneshirleycuffbert]

the space between the letters: the Avonlea girls take on Queen’s

[if you’ve been following me, you know I’ve posted shirbert letters; this is a awae short/fic of what happens between their letters. since I can’t wait for season four and wanted to know how the girls fare at Queen’s, I decided to write my own personal snippet-of-their lives shortly after the events of the season three finale. I hope you enjoy it as I’ve enjoyed writing it!]

click here to access an index to my awae shorts/letters

The Space Between the Letters: The Avonlea Girls Take on Queen’s aka Cuffing Season

The Avonlea girls were having tea in the parlor on a crisp autumn afternoon. The sound of hushed conversation following a rush of laughter chimed through the Blackmore house, and fortunately the volume was not improper as to warrant the mistress of the house herself to leave the confines of her study to reprimand them. 

Jane Andrews was the center of attention, for just an hour before tea, two of Queen’s fine students had unfortunately come knocking at the same time. It was rather mortifying for Jane to have to entertain two suitors in the parlor with Mrs Blackmore in the study situated right next to it and the girls spying at the top of the staircase, hands clutching at the rails. She knew she was being watched on account that she had done the very same with her friends when Moody Spurgeon visited Ruby Gillis just the day before to play her a song he composed and planned to present at the Winter Ball in a few months. Now being on the other side of the staircase and in the parlor herself, Jane felt rather sorry for invading the couple’s privacy. 

The moment the boys stepped out of the elegant house and Jane clicked the door closed, the girls descended the staircase like a stampede of farm animals. They were promptly scolded by Mrs Blackmore then, and they all shuffled as quietly as they could manage to the parlor. 

The girls sat at the table in silence as Jane poured tea for each of her friends. Once everyone had stirred in their preferred amount of sugar and milk, and gently placed their spoons delicately on their saucers as Mrs Blackmore instructed a lady should, their eyes turned to Jane Andrews expectantly. 

“Oh, I’m so embarrassed!” she exclaimed, pulling her hands up to cover her reddened cheeks. Immediately, the questions flooded out of their lips and soaked the room. 

“What did they say to each other?” said Tilly Boulter. 

“What did they say to you?” inquired Diana Barry. 

“Did they ask to court you, at the same time?” demanded Ruby Gillis. 

Josie Pye laughed. “Their faces were almost as red as Anne’s hair!”

The room erupted into fits of laughter, and even Anne Shirley-Cuthbert found amusement in her former enemy’s words. 

Diana, however, had not yet warmed up to Josie and her humor, and faithfully defended the honor of her bosom friend. “We can all see Anne’s hair has darkened into a handsome auburn, Josie. And besides, many of the boys at Queen’s have taken notice of Anne because of her hair.”

“Oh, never mind about me,” Anne laughed, colouring, but she would later thank her dear Diana for defending her. “Jane, tell us everything!”

Jane recovered her usual straight face, with a ghost of a smile on her lips and a telling blush spread on her complexion. “There’s nothing very interesting to tell, really.”

After much prodding, Jane revealed the suitors to be Richard Cordell and Leroy Murphy. Both were in Jane’s mathematics class and admired her for her wit and intellect. She was one of the few students who could finish the math problem sets in record time, and one of the even fewer girls in class who would speak up to answer the professor’s questions. 

Ruby was not satisfied. “But what did they say to you? How did they compliment you?”

Jane, remembering she had spied on Ruby and Moody, felt compelled to make up for it despite the fact that Ruby had just done the same. “Richard said he has yet to see anyone who has eyes as gold or as handsome as mine,” she reluctantly revealed. The girls stayed impressively calm, waiting for her to continue. “And Leroy said that I give off the same air as a sunflower and his day brightens when he sees me.”

The girls burst into squeals of delight and Jane’s indifferent expression cracked, revealing a pleased and bashful grin, but not before harshly whispering: “Quiet, or Mistress Mang will come and finish us off for sure and certain!”

-

Now in the back garden of the Blackmore property, the girls had laid out blankets on the grass. Anne and Diana were lying side by side gazing at the cloud formations in the gorgeous blue sky that was slowly turning a purplish-pink, hinting of a beautiful sunset to come. The breeze was getting cooler as the days passed, so Anne was determined to cherish these evenings where they could lounge outside without fear of catching colds and potentially their deaths. She reveled at the sound of rustling leaves and chirping birds, missing the ones she friended at Avonlea.

“Dearest Diana, thank you for defending my honor and my hair earlier,” Anne smiled, turning to her bosom friend and squeezing her hand. 

“I meant what I said,” said Diana, squeezing back. “It’s a very handsome auburn now but even before it was a pleasant shade of red. That Josie Pye–“

“–is our friend now,” Anne interjected. “And since we are her friends, we need to make allowances for her. Sometimes.”

“Not even Aunt Josephine would be able to afford all the allowances we will have to make for her,” Diana sighed. “But I suppose you’re right.”

A comfortable silence enveloped them until Anne remembered Gilbert, and because Diana was kindred to Anne’s spirit, she knew when the silence whispered of worry. 

“I’m sure he’s sent a letter to you, Anne. It’s probably just been delayed in reaching you.”

“What if he changed his mind?” Anne groaned, unable to bear the thought of losing Gilbert again. Certainly there were girls more beautiful and brilliant than she at U of T, she thought. “Diana, be honest. Do you think he’s changed his mind? About me?”

Diana turned to look at her friend with a knowing, mischievous smile. “After the way he kissed you that day when all was revealed? Not a chance.”

Anne’s natural rosy complexion darkened. “I– we– you– Ah!” Anne bolted upright, discovering that it was possible to feel immense joy and painful embarrassment at the same time.

Diana laughed, sitting up as well. “I’m serious! And from your description of the kisses the two of you shared before I arrived, I would be astonished if he would dare change his mind. And don’t think I hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you before he jumped off the carriage to kiss you. Twice, if you happen to recall.”

The problem was Anne did recall. When all was quiet in her mind, she’d find her thoughts drifting to a brilliant, wonderful boy whose lips have stained her memory forever. She missed him. And, okay, she missed kissing him, too. But what she missed the most was the way he looked at her, made her feel when he looked at her. The way he smiled at her. His smile. His brilliance. Him. Gilbert. She missed him. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert sorely missed Gilbert Blythe. 

“I can’t believe it finally happened,” sighed Diana. “You and Gilbert Blythe were destined from the start to be together. He better have a good reason for his delayed response, or I’d have a good mind to scold him. Again.”

“I’ve no doubt you would,” Anne mused, so grateful for Diana’s part in bringing them together. 

Jane Andrews and Josie Pye bounded out the backdoor each holding a basket of fruit and joined them on their blanket spread. 

“Girls, I need your advice,” Jane moaned. “How do you choose between two boys?” She sat beside Josie, both girls crossing their legs. “Ruby said to go for the most handsome and Josie said to go for the most kind.”

Anne glanced at Josie, who was laughing at Jane’s distress. She couldn’t help but feel pride bloom in her chest for Josie Pye, who had come out of the worst of the scandal with Billy. Josie had a quieter demeanor, now, and had grown to be more thoughtful. Choosing a beau for their kindness over their looks was something Josie would never have considered a few months earlier. But Anne was as hurt as she was proud for her, for the sad happenstance that Josie Pye learned this beautiful lesson of love over a tragedy that she’d carry for the rest of her life. Much like she carried the despairing events of her orphan life, although they seldom came to her mind these days. Anne was hopeful that one day Josie would not be overcome by the painful memory of Billy and the shame he brought on her.

Ruby, however, had a ways to go in the way she viewed love and suitors. But Moody and her were courting now, and they were good for each other. Anne prayed with all her heart that it would turn out well. 

“If you could find it in yourself to think the most kind boy is the most handsome, then I think that would be ideal,” Josie said. 

“I agree,” Diana smiled at Josie sincerely. “When someone is good in heart, they become more beautiful than the one who is devilishly handsome with no virtue to their merit.” 

“Well, as of right now, who do you like more?” inquired Anne. 

“I don’t know,” Jane shrugged. “I’ve only talked to them briefly a few times before they came calling. I never would’ve thought they’d ask to court me!”

“So that’s your next move,” Anne nodded, brows furrowed in thought. “Get to know them both before deciding. And if one of them quits their pursuit of your worthy heart before you make your decision, then you know he’s not worthy of your love.”

Tilly Boulter, Ruby Gillis, and Lily arrived with a platter of chicken salad sandwiches cut up into delicate triangles, joining the rest of the group sitting in a circle. A gust of wind threatened to blow away their hats that were pinned to their hair.

Lily, deaf and mute and gentle and kind, actions speaking louder than words could scream, was happily adopted into the friend group. Mrs Blackmore considered Lily their chaperone when necessary, not trusting half the girls to be proper in public, while the Avonlea girls considered Lily their older sister. The moment she caught them staying up late the second night at Queen’s to practice sign language in the living area was the moment Lily knew she loved them. Her eyes now followed them with curiosity and wonder.

“Can you believe the number of boys that have been visiting lately?” giggled Ruby, nibbling on her triangle of sandwich. “We have all been called to the parlor by Mang because of a suitor. So many of them have come and it’s not even the third week of class!”

“Yes, and I wish they would stop visiting so frequently,” Anne laughed, half meaning it. She hadn’t minded when boys came calling for her friends, but it was an awkward situation when they came to visit her. The first time was flattering, but the last few times were excruciating because it would always remind her of Gilbert and how he could not come calling like the Queen’s boys. The girls, however, found it ever so exciting that quite a number of Queen’s students took notice of them, especially Anne, and it made them feel a sense of pride and camaraderie as they all represented Avonlea. Since their arrival at Queen’s, Avonlea had earned a reputation for raising some of the most charming, handsome, and bright girls the Island would encounter– the latter attribute an influence of Miss Stacey, who missed them dearly. 

“Anne, have you heard from Gilbert?” Tilly inquired, and the girls curiously looked at the girl in question. 

They were shocked to hear the news that Gilbert had sacrificed a sensational life in Paris with beautiful Winifred in order to study at the University of Toronto. Since they had reacted so severely, Anne was wise to wait two days before revealing that Gilbert was now courting her. She had worried of Ruby’s reaction, whether she would be angry or upset given her past infatuation of him, but her eyes were now fixated on a sweet, charismatic banjo-playing scholar. In fact, next to Diana, Ruby was the most excited for the new couple. But then again, Ruby was always enraptured in all things pertaining to love and romance. Nevertheless, Anne was grateful that the girls found her and Gilbert a solid pair. 

As for Charlie Sloane, who took notice of Anne a few months ago, he had quickly adapted to the prospects of Queen’s and rumor had it that he had taken notice of a student who was from Carmody.

“No,” Anne replied curtly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Not yet, but I will.”

Lily reached over to hold Anne’s hand. She had been so touched by the girls’ retelling of Anne and Gilbert’s history as they walked to the postal office two weeks prior, and she looked forward to meeting the legendary Gilbert Blythe.

“Don’t worry, Anne,” Josie offered. “If things don’t work out between the two of you, there are a handful of boys here that have expressed interest in you. They were sorely disappointed to find out you were not available to court.”

Josie spoke with good intention, but it rubbed Anne the wrong way and rubbed in the fact that Gilbert was so far away. She refrained from saying anything, only replied with a tight smile.

Just then, the familiar whistling of the postal worker drifted from the front of the house to their ears. Anne’s eyes met Diana’s, and within five seconds, all of the girls were sprinting around the side of the house to the front door, laughing excitedly. Lily calmly walked as she knew Mrs Blackmore would not be pleased if she witnessed the scene. 

“Ah, ladies!” old Mr Sanderson smiled upon seeing the youthful girls, tipping his hat as a greeting. “I have mail to deliver here. Now let’s see…” he trailed off as he rifled through his satchel, pulling out three envelopes, one a brown manila envelope, and two standard sized cream-coloured ones. 

“One for Mrs Blackmore–“

“I can take it to her,” Anne impatiently grabbed one of the standard envelopes from the old man. He didn’t notice her desperation. “Anything else?”

“Well, we have a letter… oh! From the University of Toronto– for a Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne froze, nerves tingling up and down her spine as her breath caught. Somehow, she lifted her hand to receive the manila envelope with a strange bump protruding inside it. “That’s for me, sir. Thank you.” 

The girls squealed in excitement, but Anne did not dare look at the sender’s name written on the top left corner of the envelope, although she knew it must say “Gilbert Blythe” because who else could it be from?

Anne faintly heard the last recipient, Tilly Boulter, but could not remember anything else after. 

Lily gracefully delivered Mrs Blackmore’s letter to her private study knowing Anne was too preoccupied at current, and Anne had not heard Diana shepherding the girls back to the backyard to give Anne privacy to read Gilbert’s letter to her. 

When she finally held it up and found that the letter was, indeed, from Gilbert Blythe, she felt her heart race. 

Anne hurried to sit on her favorite bench placed under the willow tree to the right of the house, trying to ignore the fact that she passed the spot where Gilbert and her had kissed weeks ago. She inhaled a deep breath of cooling air before opening the envelope, remembering the personal things of her heart and the feelings she expressed in her letter to Gilbert, and Anne prepared herself for his response to her follow-up question.  (Click here to read Letter 1: Anne’s letter to Gilbert) 

Exhaling, she unfolded the letter. 

-  

(Click here to read Letter 2: Gilbert’s letter to Anne)

-

Anne had read Gilbert’s letter five more times and pinched herself five times more before she rejoined the jolly group in the backyard, now packing up their picnic and heading inside. 

The girls couldn’t help but notice that Anne was in the same mysterious mood she was in the day they moved in to the Blackmore house. They knew it had everything to do with an old classmate who was now a medical student in Toronto but they said and asked nothing of Anne, allowing her to process and feel what needed to be processed and felt. 

She was unusually quieter than usual, for a longer period than usual, and Diana would have been more worried if not for the sparkle in Anne’s eyes and the slightly higher lift of her chin as she moved about in her silence. 

The two young scholars were finishing their homework in the bedroom they shared, sitting at their respective desks. Diana had been conjugating a set of French verbs when Anne spoke up. 

“He loves me,” she said, voice trembling. Diana left her desk to stand beside Anne who was sitting at her own, staring at the letter spread atop it. Anne looked up to meet her friend’s tender brown eyes with her own teary gray ones. “Gilbert loves me.”

“Of course he does,” Diana asserted, putting her hand on Anne’s shoulder. She remembered how Anne had cried when she told her she loved her the first time, and felt a pull at her heart that her bosom friend had now been blessed with romantic love, too. Diana felt that Anne deserved all the love in the world and was grateful that Gilbert was one of the few people who could and would supply it justly to her. 

“He loves me,” repeated Anne, beginning to cry. A tsunami of emotion spilled from her eyes and waves of shock, relief, elation, disbelief, joy, longing, and love broke Anne’s proper demeanor, reminding the both of them they were still girls. Their arms captured each other in a tight iron grip, and Anne cried into her bosom friend for a few minutes, the sound summoning the group of friends who were now fearful they misunderstood Anne’s mood and were afraid that something dreadful had happened. Diana smiled at them and nodded her head, assuring them silently that everything was alright. 

Tilly shut the door quietly and the sound of footsteps receded into the hall. The sharp tapping of Mrs Blackmore’s feet came bounding up the stairs. Within a few seconds, she knocked on the door and entered. 

“Girls, are you alright, I heard– oh goodness me, what’s happened here? Anne, why are you crying?”

“These are happy tears, Mrs Blackmore,” she sniffled. “I’m quite alright, thank you. I received the best news.”

The mistress Mang sighed a breath of relief. “Be mindful now of your tears. It isn’t ladylike to cry so, but you are at liberty to cry as much as you like here. Be sure to wash your face or you’ll be puffy in the morning.”

“Yes, Mrs Blackmore.”

“Good evening, ladies.”

The door shut again and Anne and Diana sat on the nearest bed. 

“Oh Anne, I’m so glad for you.”

“I can hardly believe it- Gilbert loves me– is in love with me! But I suppose he must love me to kiss me and to have kissed me in the manner and amount that he did,” Anne said, laughing in reference to their earlier conversation.  

“All is well then?” asked Diana, looking fondly at her friend. 

Anne nodded, smiling at the thought of Gilbert and his heartfelt letter.  “All is well and good in the world.”

“Let me know if you ever need to speak with me, about anything,” Diana squeezed Anne’s hand. 

“Thank you, dearest of Dianas. I will.”

Anne leaned back on her bed and watched Diana return to her desk and flip her French dictionary open. An idea bloomed in her mind, and she sat upright. 

“Say, Diana, would you happen to have a book containing foreign languages vocabulary? I’ve decided to engage in a long-distance duel with Gilbert Blythe and I am determined to beat him, fair and square.”

[orbitariums]

What, You Didn’t Miss me?

for venusbarnes 5k challenge!! i'm gonna be doing a bunch of these but i just decided i wanted to write something different than what i usually lean towards for this :)

i also wrote a loki imagine called idoru! very angsty but cute :)

#6:  “what, you didn’t miss me? i’m hurt.”

reader is thor's rival/fling thing. you've fought & battled each other hundreds of times, but nothing can compare to the energy you two have. but you've gone a while without seeing him, and he's honestly relieved he doesn't have to put up with it anymore - until he sees you again. *reader's bi cuz she's that bitch, and kind of like valkyrie*

warning: toxic! (but it's really not that deep, considering they do b fighting a lot), fight scene!

also: i would listen to THIS playlist while reading this!!! i was listening while writing, made it so enjoyable.

    You were what they called a "wild child." Graceless, rebellious, brave to the point of stupidity. You were full of rage, a warmonger with no remorse. In your kingdom you were admired for your bravery and physical ability and looked down upon for your "unwomanly" tendencies and your recklessness. You weren't alone in this though - you had a group of women with you who operated as a team, all of them ostracized because of their resistance to submitting. Together, you were unstoppable.

     There was also Thor. He admired you for your brutal honesty, your unabashedly flirty demeanor, and for your fighting abilities. To him, you were like the lady version of him, only not so lady like, and much less cautious, if that was even possible. You were chaotic and wild in combat, and he knew this first-hand. Thor had been at the mercy of your rage many times, and you had seen the force of Mjolnir much too close for comfort. Sometimes you fought for a reason, other times you fought just because you felt like it. For as long as you could remember, Thor had always been your otherworldly enemy... rival was a better word for it.

     But perhaps the best part of your rivalry, besides the satisfaction of beating down the god of Thunder on the times you did win your battles (because, really, you did beat him sometimes, and it felt good), was the flirtatious nature that lay within it. You couldn't doubt that sparks flew when you and the god were together, even when fighting you found yourselves closer to each other than necessary. And outside of a fight, your titillating banter was enough to make heads turn-- tongues soaked with whiskey, hot breath against the other's neck, narrowed eyes matched with rosy lipped smirks that said: "you really wanna do this right now?", sarcastic and degrading humor. It was all a part of the program. Thor rotated women on a weekly basis, as did you with the women and men back on your kingdom, but the relationship he had with you was different.

    No one challenged him like you did, no one was snarky like you were - women joked about Thor submitting to them, but none of them had the power to actually manifest that, other than yourself. He liked that he wasn't exactly intimidated by you, but that you made your worth and your ability rather clear. He knew you weren't "easy" in a fight, and you wouldn't back down. For a while, you steered clear of Thor while you got your own life together. And for that while, it was quiet... too quiet. You were glad to be given a reason to stir things up again. And boy, was Thor in for a surprise.

    You smeared black liner on your waterline (stolen from a Walgreens on Midgard - you liked their makeup more, it was low quality and gave you a cheap, uncouth look that you cherished - not like makeup on your planet, which made you look exactly like what you were... a warrior goddess), and looked in the mirror. Well, what remained of the mirror after you had smashed it. You held a piece of broken glass in your hands and leaned in towards it, your reflection wonky and distorted. You were sitting in your dim-lit, unfurnished (purposefully) bedroom with your friends - the warrior women who you considered your sisters.

    "Thor's in for a lovely surprise today," you sang in monotone, applying more dark pencil liner below your waterline. You quickly rubbed a dark purple lip on and puckered up, raising your eyebrows at yourself in the mirror.

     Mira shook her head playfully and sighed,

    "Honestly, YN, I've known you for years and it still strikes me how crazy you are."

    "Thor's a player, anyway. We know how he is with women... do you really need to fight him?" another one of your sisters, Amina questioned.

     You turned around, huffing defiantly and gripping your sword at your side,

    "Look, it isn't about that. I don't care if Thor wants to bang a fucking dwarf, and with his streak, he probably has. It's about respect. I don't go around flirting with Loki. How dare he invade our honor and try to pick up one of my sisters! It's nothing personal, Lydia, honestly. I think Odinson just forgotten the boundaries."

     Lydia, one of your sisters, the "victim" of Thor's heavy flirting, who had resisted because there was an unspoken but obviously clear rule that Thor was not to ever try to play with one of your sisters, for the purpose of respect. You didn't want him to see your sisters as easy targets or see them as the various women he went through every day of the week. You had all agreed on such a rule, so it wasn't like you were just bossing everyone around. And as for your flirtationship with Thor, that was different. Thor knew better - he knew you could handle him just as well as he could handle you. And for the most part, you were in control.

   Lydia shrugged, continuing her crotchet pattern - she helped make outfits for all of you. You all vowed to be self sufficient. She didn't seem to mind the situation much,

    "Listen. I say go for it. It's been a while. Shake things up again."

You smiled, glad someone understood you,

    "Thank you, Lydia. Right then, I'm off. See you after I ravage him."

| | |

    Back at Asgard, Thor was living his best life. He was breezing through the days, lounging on his throne with multiple women around him daily, feeding on grapes they hung above his lips, getting drunk every night, all while performing his kingly duties. He had let go of the tension you caused him- while he enjoyed his encounters with you, it gave him a lot of unconscious stress to be constantly thinking of when you might next attack. But it had been a while since you last arrived to stress him out, and so he relaxed, and he forgot about you, just a bit.

    But that was before you decided to pop back in again, stomping into the golden room where you saw Thor sitting with one leg up on the throne, women chattering to him and leaning on him, fawning over him. The sight would've made you sick if you weren't already so preoccupied with your rage. You paused in front of the stairway to the throne.

    "ODINSON!!!" you let out a roar that let him know you were here, because he was so distracted by the presence of the women. He almost jumped, and his heart sank when he saw you - weeks of tension returned to his body.

    "Oh shit," he said under his breath, and you smirked, folding your arms and cocking your head at him.

     "What, you didn't miss me? I'm hurt," you gave him a faux pout and then you were back to teasing, your eyes squinted and your lips turned up into a devious smile.

Thor groaned loudly, banging his fists on the arms of his throne. The women surrounding him began to scatter.

    "Why are you here!" he roared.

    "No," you raised your voice at him, "the question is, why are you trying to seduce my sisters? Hm?"

Thor's face went taut and you could see the guilt all over his face. He understood your agreement, and he knew there would be consequences for breaking this agreement. He just didn't think about it until now. You folded his arms, leaning forward,

    "You thought I wouldn't hear about that, did you?"

    "YN, I-" he began stuttering, and nothing coming out of his mouth was making any sense.

     "Yeah, go head and shut the fuck up for me," you cut him off, your tone final - you'd had enough of his bullshit. Thor's lips shut closed immediately. "Gods, you asshole. We had an agreement! Did we not?"

    Thor found this the perfect time to take a dig at you, a knowing smirk playing at his lips as he straightened up in the throne,

    "Sounds awful personal, YN, I mean, it really seems like you took this to heart." You folded your arms annoyedly, already anticipating what he was insinuating. He licked his lips and pulled his lips underneath his teeth. "Jealous much? Are you jealous, YN?"

You didn't answer, just gave him that death stare that told him you weren't here to chit chat right now. He sighed deeply and held his arm out, reaching his hand out into the air,

     "Yup, I got it."

Mjolnir came flashing by and into his hands, and immediately you lunged forth, jumping all the way to the top of the stairs and in front of him on the throne, the two of you clashing. You held your spear out, but Thor blocked it with his hand and knocked it down with his hammer. You scoffed, looking down at your damaged spear on the ground and laughing,

    "That the best you got, king?"

That lit a fire in Thor like no other - not only was it a major turn on for you to call him king, even if it was within an act of defiance, but the mockery was enough to make him black out. He swung his hammer at you and you ducked, bouncing back up just in time to kick him in the face and send him flying backwards, knocking his hammer out of his hand and on the floor away from him.

     "Oh, I do love this!" Loki quipped excitedly as he walked past, and you greeted him joyously - where you and Thor were rivals, you and Loki were twin flames. Thor found your relationship annoying. Every once in a while you'd come to Asgard just to hang out with Loki, scrapbooking and being unusually domestic. He almost wished for a fight when he saw you and Loki hanging out and wreaking havoc.

     "Hey, Loki!" you turned to wave at him, and then got right back to business, pouncing forward like a cat and landing on top of Thor - specifically on top of his lap. You chuckled viciously and held his chin in your hand, lifting it up and wrapping your hand gently around his throat. Neither of you could ignore the erotic nature of your violence. You licked your upper lip like a hungry wolf. "Where's your hammer now, casanova?"

    Thor reached out and Mjolnir was right at his service again.

    "Right here, darling."

A spark of lightning flew out and struck you, sending you flying and laying feet ahead of him on your back, coughing from the impact of the fall. Now Thor stood above you, his height both menacing and alluring, towering over you. Cockily, he blew the tip of his hammer.

    "Anything else?"

    "Yeah," you mumbled, a bit dazed from your fall. "Stop trying to slobber on my sisters!" you kicked your legs up directly at his crotch, and he stumbled back, falling onto the floor in a sitting position, his knees bent towards himself. 

       You grinned victoriously, and picked yourself right up, walking towards him and assuming the same position you had been in before, lowering yourself slowly down onto his lap, one leg on either side of him, the same narrowed, cheeky look in your eyes as before. Thor gazed up at you, in a daze only you could pull out of him, raised eyebrows and glazed over amazement in his eyes and all.      

    "Tap out," you demanded, folding your arms over your chest in such a way that diverted Thor's attention to your body.

    "You know I can't pay attention when you're on top of me like that," Thor sighed, his voice low and husky. You fought a grin off your face, but couldn't hide it completely, your voice steady and methodical,

    "I know."

Thor tapped the ground beside him to insinuate he was done, forfeiting - it happened often that you or Thor tapped out, considering your fights weren't all that serious and were sort of like a game you liked to play. You made a move to get off of him, but he pulled you down by your waist, making you stay.

     "No, stay here," he whined, and you laughed, throwing your head back.

     "You'll stop hitting on my sisters, then?" you inquired, raising a suspicious brow.

     "Not if it means this is what will happen," Thor shrugged. "Really though, you never answered my question." You raised your brow, waiting. "Are you jealous?"

You snorted, though you didn't feel the need to lie,

    "Perhaps a little bit of me wants you all to myself," you batted your lashes at him and ran your hand along his chest. He gripped your waist harder, a determined look settling on his face,

    "I as well."

You shook your head playfully.

     "Oh, Odinson." You leaned forward to place your lips upon his, and he craned his head up so your lips could meet. But you pulled away, just enough so your lips were barely brushing against each others, then gently pushed his chest down, making him lower his head onto the floor again, your lips still hovering above his. You granted him a teasing smile, a knowing look in your eyes as you stared him down. "One day," you said, and vanished, teleporting away from him and back to your own kingdom.

One day!

[the-jade-cross]

Knight of the Forest - Chapter IV

“Absolutely not!” Lillia objected. “I will not be wearing a cinch or a corset of any kind!”

“But my lady,” the poor maid tried pleading with the 16-year-old girl who had not work a cinch or corset in her life. “King Joffrey has announced his new betrothal and his marriage coming up in a few months and people from all over Westeros will be attending the wedding. You know your parents would want you to look your best.”

Lillia’s shoulders slumped in sadness and the cherry color of her cheeks faded. “Father has been dead for almost five years Mary…and Mother… let’s just say she never held love for me… and I doubt she held love for Robin. She just fawned over him because he was a son… let’s just say she was disappointed that her son was girly, and her daughter was like a boy.”

Mary nodded sadly, knowing full well that it had only been a few weeks since Lillia had received word of her mother’s act of suicide and while it had inflicted pain and misery in the young girl, the pain was not as much as some would deem since the only motherly love Lillia ever felt in her life was from Mayaka Tyrell.

“My lady… it will be a good 5 months before the wedding. The houses of Marbrand, Rowan, Stokeworth, Martell, Redwyne and the Prince of the Red Flower Vale will be attending the wedding. If you do not wish to wear anything appropriate for the time being, please consider it for the wedding.” Mary pleaded. “Not for me but for yourself. If Cersei Lannister does not like what you are wearing, your stay here could be painful.”

“The only reason I haven’t been assaulted, attacked, thrown out or poisoned is because Tommen is my friend and Ser Jaime has taken on responsibilities of my guardian now that my parents are dead,” Lillia pointed out as she finally selected a simple cream dress with a silver ribbon around the waist with long sleeves and a white underdress to hide her lower arms and her ankles. “Did you hear anything about who Joffrey will be wed to?”

Mary shook her head, “I thought he was to be married to Lady Sansa Stark.”

Lillia shrugged, “That was how it was for a while, but Sansa wouldn’t be sitting in the garden grinning from ear to ear if that was the truth. I have a feeling Joffrey’s lustful, evil eye has landed upon another poor soul and he has discarded Sansa. Personally, I am glad because he would have destroyed what little life is left in Sansa… but now I feel bad for whoever will be occupying the other side of his bed.”

Mary giggled slightly as she helped Lillia slip into her dress and then proceeded to gather a few strands of Lillia’s long golden curls and pull them back to the back of her head. Lillia, despite the fact that she was still the type to climb trees and joust with Ser Jaime and Tommen, had decided to not cut her hair and now the long golden curls fell to her round backside and not only drew the attention of many of the men in the castle but also the annoyance of Cersei Lannister who already hated the fact that Sansa was a lovely girl in her own home and now with a second lovely girl (not to mention that previously Evelyn Stark walked the halls of Kings Landing).

“Well,” Lillia chirped, taking up the valerian necklace that Jaime had procured for her, she placed it around her neck so that it rested against her slightly tanned, freckled skin and decided to lose any other jewelry, “I am going on a walk and hopefully Sansa will be able to tell me who the lucky bastard is.”

When Lillia finally located Sansa, who had departed from the gardens and had climbed to stand upon the battlements, the girl was looking down upon the cavalry that was arriving but sadly, due to Sansa’s slightly taller height and Lillia’s lack thereof, Lillia was unable to tell whose calvary it was.

“So… I heard about Joffrey’s marriage,” Lillia said as she tried to stand on her tiptoes to see over the battlements but failed miserably. “But by the smile on your face and the color returning to your cheeks, I am guessing it is not to you.”

Sansa turned and beamed at the girl. She had not gotten to know Lillia incredibly well like Evelyn had when they visited Highgarden but in the past months that the two have been in Kings Landing, the two had found each other’s silent company very enjoyable.

“Renly Baratheon has died, and his wife is left a widow. They aided Joffrey in the War of Blackwater and as thanks for their involvement, Joffrey agreed to marry her,” Sansa replied, her shoulders relaxing in relief.

“And who are the poor souls?” Lillia inquired, grabbing at the battlement railing in the hopes of heaving herself high enough to make out a flag.

Sansa chuckled at the petite girl’s struggles. “Margaery Tyrell.”

Lillia had just succeeded in lifting herself almost all the way onto the top of the battlement when she dropped down, almost twisting her ankle but luckily saved herself before staring at Sansa with a gaping mouth, “Say that again?”

“Margaery Tyrell,” Sansa replied, confused. “She is the one to wed Joffrey. Why?”

When Sansa saw Lillia’s face go slightly pale and then a bright crimson, hope and excitement in her eyes, she caught on slightly, “Lillia? Do you know them?”

Lillia grinned widely and grabbed Sansa’s hands, “I grew up with them at Highgarden! I cannot believe it! I haven’t seen Margaery in years! And Willas and Garlan and….Loras…”

“I do not believe Willas and Garlan are here,” Sansa replied. “It was just Mace Tyrell, Margaery and Loras. Loras helped in the fight and when Joffrey asked him what he desired in payment, Loras requested Margaery wed Joffrey. I owe them everything! If they had not suggested it to Joffrey, I would be the one wedding him!”

Lillia’s face paled, “So…. Loras…. Is here…”

Sansa nodded before frowning, “Lillia… are you alright?”

The girl hastily reached down and grabbed the bottom of her skirt before heading off, “I’ll tell you later!”

Sansa had a hard time keeping up with the fast footed girl as they rushed to the Great Hall. When she finally caught up with Lillia, the girl was peeking around one of the large pillars, looking at the crowd of Tyrell men who were feasting and drinking after their long journey.

“Why are you hiding?” the red head inquired.

“I want to see Margaery but not Loras…. Let’s just say we parted on not so good terms a few years back.”

Sansa smiled in understanding before pointing out the youngest Tyrell girl, “There she is, with Joffrey.”

Lillia spied the girl and quickly made her way through the crowd, leaving Sansa to remain hidden behind the pillar, the red head not wanting to encounter the king.

When Lillia came upon Joffrey and Margaery, she had to stare in wonder at Margaery. There was a time with the girl had been the same height as Margaery who had a few years on her but now, Margaery was a good few inches taller with slightly shorter auburn hair than Lillia but had grown with matured features and a beautiful face and elegant posture.

“Margie?” Lillia said softly, not wanting to interrupt since Joffrey was boasting loudly to the girl who pretended to be listening.

Margaery turned her head and immediately her eyes widened in joy at the sight of the girl before she rushed over to her, drawing Lillia into a tight hug.

“LILS! I cannot believe it! It is you!” She cried, pulling away to get a good look at the girl. “I never forgave father for sending you and Maya away. Oh, it is so good to see you! You have grown up! And Maya, have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”

Lillia giggled at Margaery’s many questions, “I’m so happy to see you too! Out of the two of us you definitely grew up right. And yes, I have spoken with Maya. I have not been able to see her personally, but she promised she would visit soon and with you here and your marriage to King Joffrey, I am sure you will see her.”

As the two girls chatted like two hens, a pair of blue eyes watched them from afar. Loras had been drinking and laughing with some of the men when he had spied his sister having a joyful heart attack and almost run over a petite, blond haired girl before the two had entered that state of girl chatter that Loras often deemed dangerous and scary.

However, he found his eyes drawn to the girl. She was a petite thing and standing next to Margaery who was almost the same height as Loras, the girl only reached Margaery’s shoulder. Her long golden hair was curly and fell to her hips that swayed just right. Loras was never interested in girls and had found himself drawn to men but this girl… made him forget all of that in an instant.

From what he could see from his side view of her face was that she was rosy with a little more plumpness than Margaery who was perfectly slender and elegant. The blond girl wore a simple cream dress that accented her curvy hips and perfectly rounded chest and the paleness of the dress brought out the rose of her cheeks and the freckles upon her skin that was slightly darker than Margaery’s pale complexion.

Loras found himself striding over to the two and greeting his sister, only for the strange girl to freeze before slowly turning around, green eyes wide and Loras didn’t have to ask to know exactly who the girl was.

“Loras…” The girl whispered, almost shocked with her green eyes reflecting a feeling Loras couldn’t distinguish.

“Lillia!”

(The past couple of chapters have been set roughly in season 1-3. However, for the rest of Part 1, it will be set in season 4:))

***************

Lillia’s eyes widened as round as the giant water lilacs that grew in the garden of Kings Landing when her eyes locked with the all too familiar and yet unfamiliar Loras Tyrell. It had been a good couple of years since she saw him and the last time she did, they had been nothing but children but now… the Loras standing before her was a man… a grown man with curly dirty blond locks that fell almost to his shoulders, thin quirked lips, straight nose, stormy grey eyes framed by dark, thick lashes and the just slightly cleft chin.

He wore a simple dark grey doublet over a dark green shirt, the high collar of the doublet accenting his sharp cheekbones. His eyes were trained on her and Lillia fought the deep urge to fidget with her blond curls so instead she gripped a pinch of her skirt in her hands discreetly and began to knead it between her thumb and pointer finger to keep from blushing or practically breaking down in tears.

“Loras…” the girl managed to choke out, not surprised at how soft and almost shy her voice sounded.

Lillia saw Loras’s deep, calculating orbs scan her up and down before observing each corner of her face as if trying to memorize every detail though she wondered why it took him so long since due to her “couple of goats too thick” figure according to Cersei Lannister, her face and figure did not require that much attention since she lacked the sharp features someone like Cersei would possess.

“It…” Loras said, smile still evident on his face and his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “its really great to see you again.”

Lillia beamed at him and Loras felt his heart flutter at the rosy way her cheeks flushed as she smiled.

“You too,” she said, voice still gentle but with a slight bubbly excitement edge.

Margaery smirked knowingly at her brother and best friend before speaking, “I was just telling Lillia that I hope we see Maya while we are here.”

Loras tore his eyes from the blond, “Oh, I almost forgot! You haven’t seen Maya since you’ve been here?” he immediately asked of Lillia, turning his attention back to her.

Lillia shook her head, gold curls bouncing, “No. I have not seen her since I left Highgarden.”

This wasn’t a lie since she had only been communicating with Maya via the pinnacle which was just their spirits talking, not actually seeing each other face to face and she was not about to reveal to Loras who, she knew for a fact was protective of his sisters and an avid swordsman, that his big sister was living in a brothel and Lillia could talk to her because of her strange ability to control earth and plants. It was crazy enough explaining it to Evelyn, Maya and Nanteza without showing them. She couldn’t even tell Jaime because she would then have to tell him everything including the fact that his wife was alive, in the wild and some dragon mother with fire powers.

“There you are Lills,” a familiar voice said and Lillia sighed at having been rescued before her heart exploded.

“Ser Jaime!” Lillia chirped joyfully, turning her eyes from Loras and over to Jaime who had a wickedly smug look on his face.

“Ser Jaime,” Margaery greeted, “lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Jaime bowed to the Tyrell, “My Lady. Ser Loras.” he greeted.

Loras bit back a growl when he saw Lillia inch closer to Jaime as if seeking out protection.

“You are wed to Evelyn stark is that correct?” Margaery inquired.

Jaime nodded, “That is so. I have not seen her in almost two years.”

Margaery gave him a sad smile, “I am sure Evelyn is well. I remember meeting her at my sister’s name day and if Eve is anything like she was then, she is safe and well.”

Jaime smiled gratefully at the kind and encouraging words from his soon to be in-law but Loras ground his teeth. He watched as Jaime lent down and whispered to Lillia just loud enough for the Tyrells to hear.

“Tommen wanted to know if you would dance with him tonight.”

Lillia chuckled and snorted in the process, making Margaery giggle and Loras and Jaime smile at her unladylike action.

“It seems I am doomed to be Tommen’s dance partner until he learns the steps. Fear not though, I coated my shoes with iron.”

Jaime chuckled and planted a fond kiss in the girl’s blond hair. Anyone could see that the love between the two was like father and daughter but to Loras, it was not like that but much more extreme.

“It must be difficult,” Loras said to Jaime, trying to keep his voice calm, “To have lived two years without the comforts of a wife.”

Jaime saw the way Loras’s eyes practically burned green with jealousy as they drifted back to Lilli and he caught on to the root of the boy’s comment. Pretending he hadn’t heard, Jaime spoke back.

“I heard that you remained in your sister’s cap while she was married to Stannis. I suppose you and your brother in law were close?”

Lillia’s jaw dropped, having heard the rumors that Stannis Baratheon’s wife had been left a virgin due to the king’s lust for a certain knight but she hadn’t realized it was…. Oh gosh, that explained many things!

Margaery pretended to be vastly intrigued by her wine and Loras’s jaw tensed as he and Jaime stared each other down. When Lillia touched Jaime’s arm to snap him out of it, Loras’s eyes turned to the girl and was shocked to find the light and color in her face gone, replaced by misery and pain.

“Will you excuse us?” Jaime asked, sensing Lillia’s desire to depart and when Loras made to speak to Lillia, a single scowl from Jaime shut him up.

Once Jaime had escorted Lillia to one side of the hall and fetched her a glass of water, Lillia collected herself.

“Why did you say those things to him?” She asked Jaime, “He has done nothing to you and yet you treated him like he was your childhood bully.”

Jaime sighed, “You love him Lills. I can see it as plainly as you have a nose upon your face. But he doesn’t see it because he is a foot, an idiot and most definitely interested in men. I will not have him treat you all friendly and sweet and lead you to believe he is in love with you, only for him to break your heart. You are too good to have to experience a broken heart.”

“I know!” Lillia snapped before her voice became soft, “I know he doesn’t love me and never will. That was made clear to me long ago.”

Jaime let out a breath before gathering the girl into a hug, well aware that Loras was glaring at him from across the room. If only the young fool knew that five months prior, Jaime had named Lillia his ward. Mostly to keep Cersei from forcing the girl into an evil marriage since if a girl is claimed as a ward, whoever her guardian is cannot lay sexual hands on her and is the only who can determine the ward’s husband.

“Lillia Arryn?” a girl’s voice squealed.

Lillia pulled away from Jaime and almost fainted when she recognized the tanned skin, big dark eyes, plump smooth lips, petite slender figure and brown hair immediately.

“Nanteza!?” The Dornish girl rushed into Lillia’s arms and began to ramble as a smiling Jaime left to give the two some privacy.

“I cannot believe I’m seeing you right now!” Nanteza squealed. “When uncle Oberyn told me we were coming to Kings Landing, I never thought I would actually get to see you!”

Lillia beamed, “You are definitely a sight for sore eyes!” the blond exclaimed. “Where is your uncle?”

Nanteza smirked mischievously, “He dropped by the brothel right when we landed, and you’ll never believe who he met!”

Lillia frowned before she realized the truth and her eyes rounded, “Maya!?”

Nanteza nodded, “OF course the dim wit didn’t recognize her, but I went with the guards to bring his trunks to the brothel and I saw her! She wears a mask and surprisingly modest brothel clothes. She keeps her hair covered but there is no mistaking those eyes.”

“Oh this is just getting better,” Lillia squealed before her face went serious, “But Nan… you do realize that this is the opportunity we have been hoping for. We need to get Maya out of that brothel as soon as we can and make up a reliable story to hide the truth about you know what.”

Nanteza nodded. This was going to be interesting.

[anarchy-lives-eternal]

First of all, I’d like to apologize if you don’t like OOC fanfics or Charlastor fics, please ignore this one if that’s the case! So basically, this is about if Charlie and Alastor had been human and grew up together. This is entirely based on if Alastor was Demiromantic (which actually falls under the Aromantic umbrella) and had fallen in love with Charlie towards the end of their schooling/early adulthood. It is set so that they were born around 1904/1905. But anyways! I’m giving away the whole entire plot! Don’t mind me! Some warnings do include: References to violence/murder, OOC-ness of main characters, and there is some r-rated language. There are almost zero references towards, ahem, adult activities, or even really any kissing. Mostly references cuddles and hugs. Also, if anyone wants to suggest a name for this, please do so. Again, wasting your time! Sorry! Let’s get this show on the road!

A Charlastor AU

Alastor was angry. He was sad. He was grieving. He stood at his wife’s funeral, his smile was in place, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. Her friends and family had come, as well as his.

“She left this world far too early.”

“Taken away before her time.”

“She was far too kind for this world.”

Alastor couldn’t agree more. Charlotte, or Charlie as she preferred, his wife, his confidant, his world, was gone. They had grown up together, even though they came from wildly different backgrounds. His mother had been the Magne family’s head chef, and they had allowed her to bring Alastor along, saying that they had a daughter of the same age, and they could even play together.

Alastor had been a shy child, though, so when he first met Charlie at the tender age of 5, and she had immediately declared him her “bestest friend”, well... he had hid behind his mothers skirts. She had pushed him back out though and urged him to get to know the little heiress, telling him that he couldn’t spend all his time with his mother, and he knew well enough he wasn’t allowed in the kitchens anyways, “Too many knives, dear.”

So, he had been pulled out of the house and into the lavish gardens by the little girl wearing a frilly pink dress, that apparently she hated.

They had spent the entire day and the days to follow together, and when the time came for them to go to school, they both thought that they would be separated, only for Alastor to be invited to attend the school Charlie was going to go to. When he asked his mother, she said that Charlie’s parents had offered the scholarship as a “perk” of working for them. (Later on, Alastor would find out that Charlie’s mother, Lily, had seen the school Alastor would be attending and immediately denied it, saying there was no way any friend of Charlie’s was going to go to such a run down school)

And so the trend continued through their adolescence, until it was time to graduate. By this time, the two were nigh inseparable, and Alastor, despite his best efforts, had fallen in love. It wasn’t until his first broadcast a year and a half later that he finally got the courage to ask her out for a date. And only because he had found out the hard way that Charlie had a jealous streak a mile wide.

Alastor had laughed at his own idiocy, “Darling, why don’t we go out dancing tomorrow night?”

Charlie peeked up at him, her cheeks a rosy hue from her embarrassment, “Like a date?”

Alastor grinned, his chest warm, ��Yes, Doll. A real date.”

And the rest was history. At least to the rest of the world.

You see, Charlie was the only person in the world who knew the identity of the New Orleans killer. And not only did she know who he was, but she literally helped him get away with murder. After all, she loved him.

She also created his cause: only ever kill the ones who were dirty. Abusers, rapists, dirty cops and dirtier officials.

She had helped him bury bodies or clean up blood on multiple occasions. She had even acted as a lure for others. She had been the one to come up with the template for his victims when he had admitted to her his desires to hurt others those years ago, “We can’t control your urges, Al, but we can aim them in a more... proactive direction.”

The 1930’s were rife with crime, if the FBI were to be believed. Just last year they had come out with a Bulletin, trying to get the public to speak up. They also had a fancy new lab for solving crime. ‘Oh well’ Alastor thought, ‘37 victims in and they’ve yet to even come close to me. Then again, I had Charlie before.’

Another wave of grief washed over him. He felt actual tears roll down his cheeks. Finally he was asked to speak.

Alastor cleared his throat, speaking was his specialty, but now it seemed so hard, “Charlie... she was my entire world, my confidant, my only love, and my.. partner-in-crime. She never deserved this. She was always so happy! Her smiles even outshone mine! I just want her back, if I’m entirely honest. I’d give anything to hold her again.” He turned, a blood red rose and a fist full of dirt clutched in either hand as they finished lowering her, he kissed the rose and tossed it down, then threw the handful of dirt as well. At that moment, something about Alastor seemed to fracture. After that day, no one ever saw him without a smile again.

Charlie

She awoke in a strange, gray room. Surrounding her were 3 forms, their faces indistinguishable, “Charlotte Rose Magne, you have been brought before us for judgement. Do you repent for your sins? Do you accept Lord Jesus Christ as your savior?”

“Repent? Repent for what?”

“For aiding in the murder of 37 individuals.”

“You mean taking horrible people off the street? For loving my husband?”

“If you shall not repent, to Hell you shall be sent.”

Before anything else could be said, three gavels slammed down, and Charlie could feel fire burning her soul. As she fell, she changed. Horns grew from her forehead, curling backwards, her sclera turned blood red, and her iris poison yellow. She lost all color, turning porcelain white. Her canines sharpened and she could taste blood in her mouth. She landed on a strange ground, everything around her was red, and there was a set of wrought iron gates in front of her. She picked herself up, walking forward.

So this was Hell. It was nothing like what she expected. Demons walked the streets, from all the eras thus far. She looked to her left and saw her reflection, ‘Well this just won’t do.’ She felt a strange tug as she concentrated on changing her appearance to that without the horns and eyes. There. Once her eyes had changed to black with yellow sclera and her horns were gone, she looked like an actual doll. She grinned.

Looking around some more, she noticed there were demons selling drugs and murdering others out in the open. It was obvious to her that everything goes in this place. There is one thing she is certain of, though. She needs some kind of protection.

There was a commotion to her right, a building that looked like a jazz lounge stood, and in front of it she could hear two demonesses arguing, “you can’t just up and quit! You’re our only Canary!”

Mimzy, I do believe I just did! Now enough with this jive, I’m off to bigger and better things!”

Charlie decided this was her chance. She knew she had a great voice, Alastor and others had always told her so. She felt a pang of grief and pain. Alastor...

She pushed it aside. She needed a job to survive now. She would just wait for her husband. They wouldn’t be apart forever.

“Excuse me! You’re Ms. Mimzy? You own this lounge?”

The demoness turned to her, “Yes, that’s me. What do you need?”

Charlie grinned, using the charm that her husband had taught her when she wanted something, “Why! I’ve heard quite a bit about this place and I would just love the chance to audition for a singing position. I’m told I have quite the pipes, and you seem to have found yourself in need of a canary!”

Mimzy looked Charlie up and down before hefting a heavy sigh, “Fine, at least you’re a looker. Let’s go. Hopefully you aren’t a trip for biscuits.”

Charlie just kept her smile at full blast. She was taken into the clip joint and straight to Mimzy’s office, where she was given a list of songs to pick from. She chose Blue Skies by Irving Berlin, as it was one of her favorites.

As she sang the song, she watched Mimzy’s face go from doubtful, to elated, to downright giddy. When she was done, Mimzy jumped up, “Why I never! What a talent! You can count yourself hired. What is your name anyway? You never told it.”

“My name, Ms. Mimzy, is Charlie.” She said, adding a flourishing curtsy.

“And what kind of demoness are you? I was a Lady in White until they finally got a hold of me and sent me down here.”

Charlie didn’t know how, but she knew the immediate answer, and her grin widened, “I am a siren. If I wanted, I could entrance all those around me. Make them do what I wish. But no worries, Ms. Mimzy, you’ll not have to deal with that unless you ask it of me. I prefer to just let things lie.”

Mimzy laughed, “Oh, but I wouldn’t mind at all if it brought more patrons in. What with that new lounge down the street, patronage has been on the fritz lately.”

“Well then, Ms. Mimzy, I do believe you have yourself a new Canary!”

And thus, for the next year, Charlie would sing at The Black Silhouette, and business was booming. Charlie would use a siren song once or twice in a night in order to draw in patrons, and Mimzy paid her extremely well. By the end of a year, Charlie had more money than a couple overlords with how much she made the lounge. Mimzy ended up having to buy a bigger building just to keep up with the intake of patrons.

There was one incident that became the reason Mimzy knew why Charlie was in Hell in the first place.

One of the men her husband had murdered, a serial rapist if she remembered right, had come to The Black Silhouette with a pally or two and recognized Charlie right away. After all, she’d actually lured him into the trap, and considering his pastime, had wanted a personal hand in bumping him.

He’d made a huge scene, of course, so Charlie had to deal with it personally. Killing him again in front of all her patrons had admittedly been a tad bit thrilling. Unfortunately that nagging guilt had nipped at her heals again. She pushed it down. He was the real monster. Still, she wished her husband was here. He’d enjoy doing the dirty work so she could keep her hands clean.

When Mimzy had asked what that was all about, Charlie had a simple reply, “Why, I used to help my husband murder people of course! He was one of them. Even had a hand in it myself, though I usually prefer not to do the real dirty work.”

She had grinned the entire time. As her husband used to say: smiles are power. If you can smile through anything, then people will always move out of your way.

Charlie missed her husband dearly. Her heart ached every day. She hated the pain, but she also hoped that he didn’t join her too soon.

“Charlie! You’re on in 1 minute!” She grinned.

Alastor

Hell. He was in Hell. The crown of his head still ached where his horns had come in, his smile still ever present, only now his teeth were sharper. There was a constant pain in his stomach, and he knew it would never be relieved. Wendigo. That word crossed his head and he knew it to be true. He stepped through the gates and into Hell’s streets. He didn’t expect to find his wife. She was probably sent up top. The grief struck again.

Truthfully, Alastor had only gotten angrier and messier once his beloved departed.

He would have kept going though, if not for the hunter. That fucking hunter. Those fucking dogs.

As he passed by a Jazz lounge called The Black Silhouette, the door opened and a voice he knew all too well came lilting out, curling around him and soothing something inside him that he didn’t realize until that moment needed soothing.

His head whipped to the side, and he immediately made for the doors to the lounge. He passed the Bouncer and as he caught sight of her, his lungs stopped working.

Up on stage was his Charlie. His doll. His partner-in-crime. She was beautiful in a sparkling red floor length dress, her blonde hair longer now than he remembered, but still gorgeous as ever. She looked like a porcelain doll.

He stood for minutes as she finished, heading backstage. He rushed to go find her. He had to.

Charlie Charlie Charlie.

He was stopped by a small woman, “You may be a fan, but no one is allowed back stage to go see her.”

Alastor felt rage at being held back from his beloved. Red sigils started dancing around his being, smile becoming sharper, “You will not stand between my wife and myself. Move.”

The woman looked shocked, but not by his power, but by his words, “Wait. You’re her husband?” She narrowed her eyes, “What is your name. I’m the only one she’s ever told her husbands name to, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Ah. So Charlie trusted this woman enough to tell her his name? He supposed he could play along then. Wouldn’t want to upset Charlie, after so long apart, “Alastor.”

The woman looked at him closely, “Very well. Her dressing room is the third door on the left. There are no names on the doors so people can’t just see who’s in where.”

Without another thought or word, Alastor rushed forward. He got to the door before bursting through it, forgetting for the moment all the manners his mother taught him.

He watched Charlie whip around, her eyes red and yellow, and a vicious smile on her face. Until she caught sight of him, “A-Alastor? Is... that really you?”

“Why hello Darlin! Wasn’t expecting to see you down here!” His heart wouldn’t stop beating.

Charlie let out a watery laugh as Alastor stepped through the door, shutting it firmly, “I refused to repent when they offered, and I knew you wouldn’t, so I got sent here. I managed to run into Mimzy right as I arrived. Her Canary had just flew the coop and she needed a new one so I offered right then and there. After all, I had a lavish lifestyle I was quite used to.”

Alastor chuckled, “Darling, you hated that lifestyle.”

Finally neither could take it and Charlie was in his arms, and he finally felt whole again.

[r0m4ncetrash]

Broken promises

Summary: The bank robbery goes terribly wrong. Arthur breaks a promise, he never thought he’d be able to keep. 

Words: ~1.5k

TW: light smut?, young reader (about 20 y/o), angst, chapter 4 spoilers

Author’s note: Okay so this is my first ever fanfiction. English isn’t my first language, so I’m sorry for any mistakes that you might find. If you have any criticism- let me know! I appreciate it!!

The tinted glass of the bank separated the gang from the rest of the world. Heavy sighs of the men filled the building and counted off the passing time. Arthur clutched the metallic revolver in his hand as he heard another shout from the outside.

-- Dutch get out of there!-- Milton's voice echoed from the walls.-- Now!

Morgan peeked at the called out man. He knew, that Dutch was about to start his game of persuasion and looking for an agreement between two parties- trying to get as much time out of the situation as possible. Arthur found it quite funny. They have just robbed a safe out of many thick dollar clips and Dutch still had the balls to toy with the group on the street. Morgan nervously stomped from one foot to another and let out another tired sigh. Every second was worth a bar of gold, especially now, when Hosea had a gun barrel pressed to his temple.

-- I'm sure we can sort this out after all!--called Dutch while peeking from around the corner to evaluate the situation. His dark eyes scanned the rather big group of Pinkertons.

Arthur saw the moment in which Van Der Linde saw something horrific. It made such an impact on him, that his brows reached as high as never before and his mouth stayed open for a good few seconds. The hand of the gang leader slid down the wall and hung at his side.

-- Yes, I'm also sure. This little bird will surely help you with making your decision.

Morgan decided to look out on the sunny street of Saint Denis. Maybe if he wouldn't have done that, his breath wouldn't get caught in his throat. Maybe his shoulders wouldn't drop so sadly, just like his strong arm holding his favourite gun.

Because she was standing there.

Milton's hand was tightly wrapped around her thin throat. He never thought he could hate a man more that he did in that second. Bottom of her face was covered in blood coming out of her nose, which took the colour of ripe cherries. Every muscle in her body tensed. A reaction to the massive stress she was going through. Arthur couldn't imagine how much of it was inside of her young head. The blood loss made her dizzy- that's the observation he made after seeing the unreachable look in her eyes as she glanced over the windows of the National Bank of Lemoyne.

Until she found him.

Her face gleamed for a split second. Even though no one noticed the small change, it didn't get away from Arthur, who completly shut out the chaos happening around him.

The next few moments felt like an eternity.The bubble of the gang's inviolability burst with the shot fired from Pinkerton's gun which found it's place in Hosea's chest. That, and the scream of the girl who meant so much to him, brought him back to reality.

--Goddamn it!-- spat out Morgan as his blue eyes followed the Pinkerton dragging away the struggling woman.

"Kill those bastards!'' rung through the air with the sound of shattered glass.

The night before the heist was like the calm before the storm. Hot air filled the surroundings and snuck into every little corner of the villa. Arthur often thought about how awful the warmth was, but then it came to mind, that sweating was better than freezing in Ambarino. The voices of the camp died down to a minimum, so Morgan concentrated on finishing one of the sketches in his journal. The dimmed light coming from a lamp standing nearby casted shadows on the cold walls of Arthur's room.

Suddenly, there was a creek of the wooden floor to be heard in the hall.

He knew that sooner or later she would end up in front of his door. That's why he left them opened. With a little smile curling on his lips, he closed the book laying in his hands and looked up.

In the doorframe stood a girl, that hasn't left his mind for the last couple of months. She was dressed in a long skirt and a loose shirt. The woman leaned against the door made out of dark wood. Arthur nodded his head and she came closer. So close that he could count the freckles on her nose.

--I thought you'd never come-- said Morgan in a low tone. His fingers caressed her delicate skin. If he was ever to touch a magnolia’s petals, thats what it would feel like- he imagined. Many thoughts were racing through his head. The main one was, howcome a lady as beautiful and wise as her was willingly sharing some kind of a romantic relationship with him. After all, he was almost twice as old as she was. Still, the girl managed to drive him crazy and fill him with feelings he hasn't felt in a long time.

--Arthur Morgan, letting his head fool him again...-- she shook her head in fake disapproval and touched a little stain on his shirt. Her fingers fumbled with the blue material before one button close to his collar popped open.

Arthur's hand landed on the hem of her yellow skirt. The girl's breath hitched in her throat, even though this all happened so many times before. After the sunflower-coloured fabric pooled around her feet, the same happened to Morgan's worn jeans. Finally, the man pressed his chapped lips to her plump ones. How bizzare was it, that the same spark appeared every time he kissed her. A feeling that never got old to both of them.

Without even noticing, the back of Arthur's knees touched the old, wooden bed frame. He gave in and landed on the mattress. Not able to last without the person in front of him, he pulled her back into his embrace. She let out a squeal after losing her balance. Morgan pulled back and slightly opened his eyes.

--Shh...-- he placed a single finger on his lips-- Ain't want nobody to hear us.

They both knew the late hour wasn't the main reason. Their quiet whispers and loving gazes were meant to stay hidden.

Because no one knew about them.

The couple agreed to keep the relationship hidden from the eyes of the strangers and even the gang itself. The risk of being judged for the age gap between them was something they would rather not deal with. Getting away to spend time with each other wasn't even hard. Days of absence excused with hunting or shopping trips.

Lanky fingers unbuttoning the rest of Arthur's shirt brought him back to the place he found himself in. The rest of their everyday clothes landed on the floor. The man changed his position slightly and placed the fragile woman onto his lap. She propped herself up on her knees and then sunk onto him, slowly but surely.

How divine she looked to him in that moment. Sighing loudly with her eyes closed and brows furrowed. A sight for sore eyes.

Arthur caught her lips in his once again. Their bodies started to move slowly in unison, covered with the light of the tiny flame burning next to them. Quiet sighs and praises hung in the dultry air. The girl's forehead touched his shoulder as he placed a kiss on her left wrist. A fair scar adorned her damp skin. A shooting incident probably. She stopped remembering them after joining the gang- aware of many more to come.

Morgan tangled his fingers into her long hair and pulled back a bit. The look in her glossy eyes made him freeze. Never before seen questioning in her pupils awoke a strange feeling in his gut, but she spoke before he could've even opened his mouth.

--I'm scared Arthur.

If he wasn't watching carefully, he would've thought it was the wind. The statement came and went, leaving the man startled. After all the robberies, murders and shoot outs, now was her breaking point.

--I'm scared of tomorrow. What if something goes wrong? Lately everything goes wrong...-- the girl whimpered. She turned her head away from him and looked at the rifles laying on the table. The man probably cleaned them not long ago, always caring about their condition.--What if someone gets killed?

Rosy colour flushed her cheeks after it came in touch with the man's palm. He understood her very well. Every doubt, every apprehension was something Arthur felt too. In that moment, all he could do, was to reassure and clear her mind of the anxiety that found it's way into her brave way of thinking.

-- No one will get hurt, okay? It's a quick job, Dutch has everything sorted out. In and out-- Morgan moved slightly which caused a soft moan to escape the woman's lips.-- We are only gonna get richer. And with all that money, I will take you somewhere real fancy. Gonna buy you a nice dress, alright.

-- Y' promise?-- the corner of her mouth moved upwards, the smile almost reaching her eyes.

I promise.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

for your 300 follower prompt-a-thon (congratulations!): mitsuyuki romance fluff and kiss? ;)

Prompts are currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

A/N: I tried really hard to figure out which pairing to tag for this and decided I could only tag it as Shirayuki’s Harem. Also, nonny, I’m sorry. I guess. You shouldn’t trust me. No one should, really. XD

The road was long. The obstacles to overcome,hard. And the negotiations leading to this day even more so, but finally, finally-

The wedding is set for autumn.

Among the crisp breeze and the falling leaves,the bride and groom still flower like the first petals of spring. As much Zenhad pined for a spring wedding, as much as he wished for their wedding to be asymbol of the country blooming anew, the reds and oranges of a Wilant fallshower them with their blessings. Shethinks it looks nice, and is befitting; the foliage of Clarines mixed with thecloudless sky of Wisteria blue.

Earlier in the day, vows had echoed off of thechapel walls, weaving between bars of stained sunlight; sighs and laughter andtears, too. And they came together, newly wed, beneath the brides veil to sealtheir union with a kiss that brought the nation to its knees.

Now, here in the candlelight, everythingaflame with color and the music swelling and receding like the waves on theshore, Mitsuhide can’t help rub his watering eyes. Can’t help but smile. Afterso many years watching Zen’s tender heart hide and reveal itself, only to breakapart before mending again, Zen has his storybook ending. Only-

A small arm brushes his, followed by amurmured apology, and Mitsuhide’s smile falters.

-Only it’s not the Princess anyone hadenvisioned.

The lady from Viande is certainly lovelyenough. In the center of the ballroom, her long skirts dragging behind her in awave of opulence, she’s the very picture of a Princess. And, well-

Maybe Izana. Maybe Izana had envisioned this ending.

Dark curls flecked with jewels fall down herback, framing a well-made face with an even finer smile. The two of themare beaming, wrapped up in the moment where they are both the promiseat the center of two Kingdom’s hearts.

“They’re so beautiful…”

Mitsuhide glances back down at the woman athis side, and Shirayuki’s eyes are glassy, a rosy flare fanning across hercheeks as the music dies down and the spectators politely applaud. Zen sweepshis bride from the dance floor and, absently, Shirayuki’s hands come togetherto join them.

He had thought he had witnessed strength,endurance, fortitude. Thought thatperhaps even he had those skills himself. But here, now, he is gutted at justhow much a coward he has become. He wasn’t even able to attend Kiki’sengagement party, let alone her wedding. And yet, here she is-

“Shirayuki,” he says, her name coming suddenlyand without his permission. She starts, nearly tipping into him, and- she’s hadtoo much to drink. Righting her, he smooths his hands down her arm. “Ah, wouldyou like to dance?”

“Oh!” she smiles at him, some of the haze clearing from her eyes. “That would be lovely.Just as long as, ah- Well, you know-”

Mitsuhide laughs,taking her hand and resting it on his bicep to lead her to the floor. “Don’t worry. With allyour practice this past year, I’d bet you’re better at it than me now.”

Lashes fanning across her cheeks, her dimplesstanding out stark when she fails to hide her smile. “I don’t know if Obi wouldtake that wager. He said I almost broke his toes at least three times at our last ball.”

“Obi’s more delicate than me,” he protests,moving them among the other dancers.

When she doesn’t laugh, he glances back downat her and her gaze is wondering the room. Flitting from the band to theguests before finally landing on the bride and groom seated at the highestpoint.

He executes a quick turn as the chords begin andshe- she chirps in alarm when he turns his back to them so shecannot see.

“Are you having fun?” he grins. Hopefully hissmile comes across as charming and not the grit teeth that it wants to be.

“Mm!” she nods, her blush a little deeper. “Theparty is lovely.”

Theparty… She can’t even bring herself to call it whatit is.

“You look lovely tonight,” he offers, pained, nearlycarrying her as a waltz begins. He wasn’t lying – he doesn’t dance often, but heknows more than a country two-step and Obi had warned him how his Mistress wasmore prone to turning an ankle than executing a perfect turn. But still, she’ssmall and easy to distract once a conversation has begun, so leading her iseasy as breathing. He just has to… put a little muscle into it. “Is that dress new?”

“Oh!” she flushes, glancing down, and he turnsthem sharp enough that she snaps her eyes back to his instead of lingering toat her feet. “Yes! Akaibara had it made for me!”

Mitsuhide just barely swallows his grimace.“Oh?” It’s a lovely thing, made of a soft green silk and Viandese lace. Itcomplements her complexion and makes her look… softer. More touchable. Nodoubt it cost a King’s ransom and some harried seamstresses several sleeplessnights to make in time for the wedding.

Yet still, it is a poor recompense for lovelost.

Shirayuki hums, smile broadening and his heart achesfor her more. “She said she wanted to have more made – for our continuedfriendship! – but I insisted on just the one. It’s not like I get invited to royal weddings every day.”

Mitsuhide is not what one would call a cynicalman. Or even a particularly suspicious one. But after so many years walking thehallways of Royal households, one becomes… sensitive to certain turns of phrase. And now bells are soundingan alarm in his head, clanging so loud that his ears ring.

“That’s… very thoughtful of her,” he sayshaltingly. “You’re a good person, Shirayuki.”

Her eyes go round, head tilting in confusion.

“I mean this whole situation,” he elaborates,flushing. “I’m glad there’s no… bad feelings. Between you all.”

“Oh, Mitsuhide,” she smiles, squeezing his arm.“Don’t worry. Zen and I discussed this all a long time ago.”

His stomach drops out. “Really?” he says, throatsuddenly dry. “You were- anticipating this?”

She nods, and beaming up at him. “So don’tworry! We’ll be fine.”

The sick feeling in the pit of his stomachonly grows, his eyes flitting to the happy couple seated upon the dais. They’resmiling, hands tentatively entwined at the pinky. He thought- he thought hetaught Zen better. And he had hoped, with Shirayuki remaining in Lyrias, thathis worse inclinations were banished. But-

Mitsuhide shakes himself, firming his resolve.That’s a talk for another day. Tonight-

Tonight is for putting a stop to this beforeit even begins.

“Shirayuki,” he says, taking a cleansingbreath. “What would you think about going for a walk around the gardens afterthis? Get some fresh air.”

“That would be lovely!” she says, and he’sstruck by how easily she’s dancing now. He doesn’t understand why Obi has suchproblems leading his Mistress. “It’s a full moon and Ryuu told me that if I get a chance, I should visit the night flower exhibit tonight!”

“How…nice.”

Shirayuki tilts her head and is opening her mouth to speak more when she trips over his foot. Whenshe lands, front flush to his and hands gripping his arms tight, Mitsuhide’slips thin.

Suddenly, everything makes so much sense.

“Thank you, Mitsuhide,” she laughs, lettinghim right her again. The flush on her cheeks looks painful, but thankfully the musichas stopped, the couples departing the floor.

“Well,” he laughs, scratching the back of hishead. “Shall we?”

She beams up at him and takes his arm at the elbow. “Weshall.”

~ ~ ~

The moment they step out the door, Mitsuhide has immediate regrets. There’s a chill in the air that promises afrost in the morning and Shirayuki’s so small that she’s bound to catch cold. Fresh air is one thing, buthe knows how thin silk is. Has handled enough of it when his family traded their textiles for something finer. 

She doesn’t seem to be touched by it, though,years in colder weather making her less delicate than the woman who shivered onthe back of his horse as they left Laxdo. She’s on a mission now, besides, herskirts sweeping through the first autumn leaves as she leads the way.

“I think-” She points one way, then the other.“Hmm-”

“Lost?”

Forehead creased with concentration, sheshakes her head. “No, I just- Ah! There!”

She tugs him forward with the strength of asmall dog yanking on its lead and Mitsuhide lurches to keep up with her. She’sstrong… for someone so tiny. And not for the first time, it strikes him howsmall she is. Smaller than Kiki, and without the honed muscle and training thatmakes his partner solid earth.

Shirayuki looks… delicate. Almost birdlike.Her bones fine and easily broken. Mitsuhide looks down at his own hands, and-

“Oh, you were right!” she chirps suddenly, wideeyes glancing over her shoulder. Pressing her free hand to her cheek, she says,“It’s much nicer out here.”

-What is he doing? He’ll break her.

“Where are these flowers you were telling meabout?” he prompts, strained.

“Oh!” Laughing, Shirayuki tugs him forwardonce again, and it’s so easy to follow her. There’s so much of her that’s like Zen. What she lacks in stature, she makesup for by being a gravitational pull that centers everyone to her. “Yes, it’sjust up along the way! I think.”

Casting a furtive glance back at the Palace, hispulse jumps. The windows are getting smaller, getting further away with eachstep, and yet he sees a few eyes watching them. Guilt stabs him momentarily,but- But it’s good. Fine, even. Word will get out fast and put an end to..anything else. That may have happened. Between her and Zen.

Shirayuki pushes them deeper still into thegardens, where firelight no longer leads their way but instead they must travelby feel. “Ryuu told me that these specimen displays are one of a kind,” she hums,head turning this way and that as she tries to reorient them by starlight. “Butthey have to be a little far from the Palace because the ambient light damagesthem.”

“Oh?” His breath has gone short, heartpounding a little harder than necessary, and- and Shirayuki trusts him. She’s his friend, and if this doesn’t work-

“Yes. They only completely open under a full moon. It’s very unique and, oh! Here is it!” she says, suddenly breathless. “Oh- Oh wow.”

Mitsuhide starts, and- and they’re no longermoving. They’ve stopped. Somehow, they’ve reached the center of the exhibit without noticing, the faint light reflecting white and purple and soft bluesoff speckled flowers and plants. The longer they remain still, the less they look at the skies and the more they look into the dark, the more they see, and-

“Wow is right,” he breathes.

Shirayuki giggles, squeezing his arm. “We haveto tell the others.”

Spellbound by the colors, the shapes, the light fragrance in the night air, he says, completely thoughtless, “Zen wouldlove-”

Too late, he catches himself. Too late, heremembers why he’s here.

“You’re right,” Shirayuki says, and it soundslike she’s pleased with the ideawhich is really- the last thing he wanted to happen.

“Ah.” Hecoughs to clear his throat. “Let’s sit. You must be tired.”

“Not real-” Her words cut off with a yelp, her seat planting where he backsher easily into a bench. “Okay?”

He sits down next to her quickly, sweaty palms spread out over the legs of his pants. Keeping asclose to his end of the bench as possible, he frets when he still takes up twice thespace she does. Gods - gods - she’sso tiny. The thought makes him break out into a cold sweat.

“Mitsuhide?” His vision clears, and Shirayuki’sface is pinched in concern. “Are you okay?”

No. “Yes.” He clears his throat, moreconfidently repeating, “Yes. Yes. I just- I wanted to talk to you. Aboutsomething. Something important.”

A frown kisses her forehead.

“You are… very brave,” he manages, voice justthis side of strangled.

Her eyes pulse, frown deepening. “Thank… you?”

Mitsuhide shakes his head like a wet dog,trying to clear it. “What I am meaning to say is- I meant it. Earlier. You are really such a goodperson for standing aside.”

Her lips tremble at the edges. “I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter,” shelaughs. “It’s not like I could insist on-”

“No.” He shakes his head again. “You did andyou chose to make this easier on Zen. And I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Smiling, mostly to herself, Shirayuki sighs. “I-I’ve always wanted to be his ally, Mitsuhide. It was our goal to be together for so long,but-” She shakes her head, shoulders arching in a shrug before falling. “It doesn’t matter. I’m happy for him. And the woman he’s married to.”

Heart swelling, Mitsuhide pushes, “But- Idon’t- It’s not right that you be left alone. Or be kept as a secret.” He takesher hand and he’s such a horrible person, it’s like it weighs nothing. 

Shirayuki’s eyes pull wide.

“I’m not alone!” she laughs. “I still have Zen!And then Obi and Kiki-”

“No,” he shakes his head. As much as he lovesZen, Shirayuki was not made to be the other woman. No matter how fatedtheir love for one another may be.

“No?”

“No, I mean- Shirayuki,” he takes that smallhand between both of his, earnest, getting up just enough to come to one kneebefore her. “Shirayuki. Marry me.”

“Eh?!”

“Don’t become his Mistress. Marry me. Just-” He’s sloppy, unpracticed inthis really, but she’s used to Zen and wouldn’t Zen accompany a proposal with akiss? He dips his head, awkwardly pressing his mouth to hers and-

“Mmph!” She stiffens for a second, one hand comingto his shoulder, but he still has her other in his and she doesn’t pull back.So he tilts his head, opening his mouth a little, and- and all the fight goes out of her. She melts, asoft hum purring across his lips as the hand that was on his shoulder finds hishair.

It’s- Pleasant is a word. Warm is another. Alittle slippery, too. And he really likes the feeling of her nails dragging up his scalp. 

He’s never done this before, not really, but she’s theone deepening the kiss now so he thinks he’s doing a good job. Pulling backjust a breath to change the angle, he reaches one hand to her cheek, and, mindfulof the careful coils of her hair, presses just a little firmer.

Her small hand escapes his, touching his chestjust briefly and sending such a jolt through him that he rears back. Heartpounding, they stare at each other for several panting breaths. Finally, lickinghis lips, he catches the taste of her lingering on his mouth and laughs alittle when he sees that she’s flushed, too. Maybe the marriage won’t be as muchof a burden on her as he thought.

“Um.” Shirayuki says, so soft, touching hermouth.

He takes her hand again, squeezing it. “I takethat as a yes?”

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Uhm,no!” she laughs, a little loud. His surprise must show on his face, and shemust misinterpret it, because she grits her teeth. Tenderly laying her handatop of his, Shirayuki says more gently, “Thank you. I’m honored that you wouldask, but no.”

“But Shirayuki-”

“Mitsuhide,” she huffs. “I’m fine. And I’m not going to be Zen’s mistress.”

Oh.

“I don’t want you to be single forever,” he presses. “I know you and Zen never- But not everyone else knows that, and-”

She’s laughing again, this time harder. “I’m still not interested in marrying you.”

He gapes a little. “But- but why?”

“It’s just!” She blushes again, and then laughs,embarrassed. “Obi and Kiki both already asked me!”

“What?!”

~ ~ ~

“What happened to Hisame?!” he does not yell, arms firmly clasped at hisside as he does not pace the carpet.

“Riding accident first day of our honeymoon,” Kiki says, so mild.

“Tragic,” Obi adds, not looking the leastamount sorry. “Might never have children.”

Shirayuki sits between them, her hands twisting around a kerchief, face burning. Strange, but she doesn’t look sorry to hear the news.

“Naturally I had the marriage annulled.”

He should have never gone on that trip with Zen to Viande. Never. Not if itinvolved leaving these... troublemakers to their own devices.

“Surprised, big guy?” Obi drawls.

That would be an understatement. “I’m just-”Disappointed? Surprised? Angry? It’s anyone’s guess.

Relieved, maybe? He could still stay at Zen’sside now.

Guilty?

He flinches a little. He thought solittle of his Master- Really, he’s no better than Obi sometimes.

“Close your mouth, you’re drawing flies,” Kikiquips, bringing a champaign flute to her lips.

Mitsuhide straightens, mouth snapping shut.

“It’s just-” Obi’s not watching him anymore.He’s plucking the ruined kerchief from Shirayuki’s hands, and Mitsuhide staresin disbelief. “You?!”

Obi’s mouth drops open, ignoring Shirayuki’ssquawk when she tries to take it back and instead presses it to his chest in offense.“What do you mean, me?”

“Well.” Mitsuhide flushes, gesturing vaguelyat Kiki. “Kiki is just a really good person like that. So I would expect thatshe would- would step in.”

“She has gardens, too!” Shirayuki chirps, sosupportive. It’s one of the many reasons he had hoped her story with Zen wouldhave a happier ending. “Have you seen them, Mitsuhide? I think there’s morespecies than we have even in Lyrias! And Kiki’s already promised to expand them!”

The betrayal on Obi’s face deepens. “Miss,” hegasps. “What are you saying?”

Shirayuki’s eyes widen in momentary panic. “I-I mean-!”

“Well,” Kiki cuts in before she can respond,so smug, and laces her fingers through Shirayuki’s. “That ends that debate.”

“But Miss,” Obi whines, tugging at her sleeve.“You said we were going to live someplace warm next time!”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: A Streak of Luck (4/?)

Summary: Lady Belle of the Marchlands sets out to break the curse that has doomed all the women of her family line for centuries, seeking out the legendary sorcerer Rumpelstiltskin to aid her in her quest. Even if she finds him, will he be able to help her break her curse?

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [AO3]

====

A Streak of Luck

Four

Now that they had established Rumpelstiltskin’s actual identity after the Bill farce, he was no longer taking any pains to conceal his face, and as such, Belle had the opportunity to observe him properly.

They had been riding together in silence for the most part of the afternoon, with Rumpelstiltskin lost in thought, no doubt trying to work out how to break Belle’s curse once they arrived at the Dark Castle, and whether it was even possible. Belle for her part amused herself by trying to piece together a true picture of the man riding beside her from the person she could actually see, the things she had read in her book, and all the tall tales that she had been told over the years.

That he was under some kind of curse was clear from his strange appearance. Now that the light was shining on him, Belle could see that his mottled skin had a strange little sheen to it, as if he had been covered in gold dust. Well, that would make sense if all the tales of him being able to turn straw into gold were true. Some of it must have rubbed off on him.

She wondered what kind of curse it was. Whatever it was had definitely made him immortal; if all the stories were to be believed then he had been around for several centuries. She fell to pondering, letting Philippe fall out of step with the other horse so that she could daydream in peace. Perhaps he was not the original Rumpelstiltskin of the legends, still alive today. Perhaps it was just a title, passed on to several successors of the original dealmaker.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said presently.

He turned to glance over his shoulder at her.

“Yes, dearie? What is it? You know, if we’re going to hold a conversation, it might be easier if you come up here again, I can’t be talking to you over my shoulder all the time. I’ll get the most terrible crick in my neck and if the wind changes then I might be stuck like that forever.”

Belle trotted up alongside him again.

“That’s much better. So, what was it that you wanted to know, my dear? I can see that you’re practically bursting at the seams with questions, no matter how proper and polite and ladylike you’re trying to be.”

He was right. There were so many things that Belle wanted to know about him, but she didn’t know if her questions would be too personal this soon into their acquaintance. She had read so much about him and she was desperate to know how much of the legend was rooted in reality, and how much had been made up by storytellers over the years. If he really was as old as people claimed, then it would be unlikely that there was anyone else alive today who could substantiate the tales.

“Why are we still riding?” she asked, picking her most innocuous question to start with.

Rumpelstiltskin raised one eyebrow.

“Because as I am sure you are aware, we are not yet at the Dark Castle.” He gestured around himself theatrically at the open expanse of grassland that they were travelling across. “I can assure you that the place itself is not in any way, shape or form invisible. We’re not going to suddenly happen across it where it wasn’t before. Therefore, we are still riding because we have not arrived at our destination.”

“I know that,” Belle said. “What I mean is, why are we still riding when you have the magic necessary to transport us there in a fingersnap.”

“Ah.” Rumpelstiltskin waggled a claw-tipped finger at her. “Now there, you see, is the problem.”

“Don’t you have that kind of power?”

“Oh, I have that kind of power, all right, dearie. I could transport us to the castle in a fingersnap. I could transport the castle over to us in a fingersnap. I could make you invisible and send you to the bottom of the ocean and back without harming a hair on your head. Raw power isn’t the problem here.”

“So why wouldn’t you transport us?” Belle asked. She was intrigued by his vehemence about the whole affair, and she wondered what his motives were in extending their journey longer than they had to. Surely it would be in everyone’s best interests for everything to be cleared up as soon as possible; the sooner that they could get started on breaking her curse, the better. Or, to put it another way, the sooner that Rumpelstiltskin could tell her that her curse was unbreakable, the sooner Belle could start coming to terms with the idea.

“All magic comes with a price,” Rumpelstiltskin explained. “It’s a basic law of nature, you see. Equal and opposite reactions and all that kind of thing. You can never get something for nothing. Every time I perform a feat of magic to assist me, then the magic requires something in return. Can you imagine what life would be like if there were no prices for the spells that we weave? Everyone would get a magical solution to their problems with no questions asked and the world would be very boring.”

He gave an explosive, high-pitched giggle, and Belle could immediately tell that there was something else behind the words than mere flippancy.

“Somehow I don’t think that boredom is the reason,” she said sagely.

Rumpelstiltskin just looked at her for a long time. His eyes were narrowed, scrutinising her thoroughly, and Belle wondered just what he was thinking. It looked like he was sizing her up again, taking some measure of her although she didn’t know what.

“You’re an interesting one, Lady Belle,” he said, not that the cryptic words really shed any light on the situation.

He didn’t speak again for a long time, and Belle assumed that the conversation was closed. Perhaps she’d touched a nerve somewhere along the line without meaning to, although she couldn’t for the life of her think what she might have said to offend him.

“It’s a question of balance,” he said suddenly. “Every spell cast takes its toll on its caster. Why do you think I look like this? My complexion wasn’t always this rosy, you know. Several lifetimes of dark magic will do that to a person.”

His dark eyes flashed dangerously, but Belle didn’t feel any fear. “If you know the legends, then presumably you know the bad ones as well as the good ones. There’s a reason why people only come to me for a deal when they’re desperate.”

“Well, I’m desperate,” Belle said. “And yes, I know all the legends. I know the prices that you extract from people who seek your help. I may be young, but I’m not naïve.”

“Well, I suppose that will remain to be seen,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “Still, it’s good to know that you’ve done your research. The price that I extract from my deals is simply the price that would otherwise be extracted from me instead. All magic comes with a price, be it the dark magic that we sorcerers have harnessed for centuries, or the mystical magic of the fae. The difference is that the fairies don’t tell you about the price in advance. They just let you pay it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, they’ll give you a solution to your problems all right, and they won’t charge you a penny for it. But somehow, in some way, that solution to your problems will inexplicably start causing more problems than it solved, and no-one ever thinks to link this mysterious coincidence back to the fairies.” He gave an emphatic sniff. “At least I’m up front with my prices. No-one can ever accuse me of not setting everything out in writing. Whether or not they read it is entirely up to them.”

His feathers were ruffled; Belle could tell.

“I apologise. I seem to have touched a sore spot.”

Rumpelstiltskin just bowed his head a little. “All magic has a price,” he repeated. “Even the magic to break your curse will have a price. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“I’m willing to pay it,” Belle said.

Rumpelstiltskin just looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” he asked. “You may not like the price once I’ve worked out what it’s going to be.”

“Well…” Belle thought back to the tales of her youth. “I’m not sure that being uncursed is worth a first-born, but then again, I probably won’t survive to see a first-born in the first place, or at least to live with one for very long.”

“You’re incredibly pragmatic about it,” Rumpelstiltskin observed.

“Like I said before, I’ve had to be. There’s no use in pussyfooting about the whole thing. Sometimes you have to look at things from a different point of view in order to get anywhere in the world.”

“Hmm.” He paused. “I’m glad you thought about the first-borns.”

They rode on in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. At least Belle knew now why they were still travelling on horseback even if Rumpelstiltskin had probably poofed himself to the inn to meet her as soon as he knew that she was on her way to seek him out. Magically transporting another person probably came at a much greater cost than just moving himself, and she couldn’t ask him to pay that price now just for the sake of her convenience.

“You mentioned all the legends that surround you,” Belle began again. “I was wondering about them.”

“How many are true, you mean? Oh, all of them and more, I can assure you. Especially the really bad ones.”

He grinned then, showing sharp, mossy teeth, but Belle was unperturbed.

“No, I wasn’t thinking about the truth of them. I know that all legends get embroidered over the years.”

“Most of them embroidered by my own fair hand, if I do say so myself.” He seemed extraordinarily proud of the fact.

“Well, be that as it may, I was wondering why there were so many legends in the first place since you’re still, you know. Alive. Active. Still making deals. You’ve fallen into folktale and legend but you’re as real a person as I am. How did that happen? How does a man become a myth like that within his own lifetime?”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t answer for a long time. He was staring out into the middle distance as they rode towards the mountains, but Belle could tell that he wasn’t taking any of it in at all. His mind was miles away.

“I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that my lifetime is rather longer than everyone else’s.” He looked over at her at last, and in that moment, Belle could see the centuries etched into the lines around his eyes. Physically he didn’t look to be older than his late forties, but his eyes held many more years in their depths. “Yes, I really am as old as people say.”

“How?”

“You’re not the only one who’s cursed, dearie. Like I said, all magic comes at a price.”

They continued to ride on. Belle was lost in thought, but she didn’t dare to ask Rumpelstiltskin any more questions until later, once they had reached the castle. She felt that there was something different about him now. Despite his strange appearance, he was the closest to a normal human man that he had been throughout their short time together, and it perturbed her. The knowledge that there was a man who had once been human there underneath the veneer of magic and legend made her wonder just what had happened to turn him into the person she saw now.

There had to be a reason why he had allowed his name to become legend. There had to be a reason why so many people thought that he was just an old wives’ tale and that he didn’t really exist. He was a figure from local myth and history, someone who wasn’t entirely real despite his presence throughout their folklore.

Up until now, perhaps he hadn’t been entirely real to Belle. Now, he was definitely a man of flesh and blood like anyone else, and she was more than intrigued to find out what the real story behind him was. His origins had been lost to time; like so many figures of legend, no-one could tell precisely how he came to be. The books had spoken of a curse, vague mentions of making a deal that he hadn’t understood at the time. Belle wondered if fairies were involved somewhere along the line to give him his antipathy towards them and their magic.

Other than those few vague words, though, there had been no mentions of where he had come from or who he had been before this curse. It was as if he had always been there, a constant presence that no one questioned. She had been intrigued by him before, but now having met him and verified his reality, she was even more so.

A cold wind had started to blow in from the north, and Belle pulled her cloak in tighter around her against the chill, pulling her hood up and tucking in her chin.

“Yes, the mountains are a forbidding place at times.” Rumpelstiltskin seemed unaffected by the sudden cold, and he looked over at Belle, shivering in her saddle. “Don’t worry. The castle will be more welcoming once we get there.”

“Do you have to live in such a remote place?” Belle muttered.

“I don’t like uninvited guests any more than the next man looking for peace and a quiet life,” Rumpelstiltskin pointed out. “At least I know that anyone who comes looking for me here really means business. I find that living so remotely does help to sort the desperate from the truly desperate. Most people would think it madness to make such a journey.”

“Well, call me mad then.”

Rumpelstiltskin just chuckled and squeezed his heels in to pick up the pace against the driving winds; Belle followed suit.

“Here,” he said, snapping his fingers. An empty glass jar appeared in his hand, and he held it out to Belle, who took it gingerly.

“What is it?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “It’s not finished yet. Stop getting ahead of yourself.”

He snapped his fingers again and a small ball of blue flame flickered into life, dancing over his palm. Carefully, he tipped it into the jar, and immediately Belle felt her chilly hands begin to warm up.

“Thank you,” she said. “What’s the price for this one, then?”

Rumpelstiltskin waved her question away. “Oh, this one’s on me. We can’t have you dying of frostbite before we even get there, can we? It would be a terrible waste of a journey and I was really looking forward to analysing your curse; it’s one of the most complex I’ve seen and I’d hate to be denied the chance to take a closer look at it.”

Belle didn’t think that he was being entirely truthful in his reasoning there, but she didn’t press him any further, simply grateful for the warmth that was now suffusing her veins from the little jar of fire.

She felt a tingling sensation at her scalp again, at the base of her maudlin streak. It was the same feeling that she’d had the night before in the tavern, when she and Rumpelstiltskin had first talked and she had first been clued in as to his identity. He had said that her curse trusted him. It was the magic in her that had recognised the magic in him, and now it was doing so again, reminding her about just why she was here with him in the first place.

Her curse knew something about him that she didn’t, and she was determined to find out what it was.

Not now, though. In time. He had said that her curse was a complex one, so it might take some time for him to break it. It might take some time for him to find out if he would be able to break it in the first place. There might be plenty of time once they reached the Dark Castle and were out of the cold in which she could find out more about him. Because she really did want to find out more about him. She knew that she really couldn’t trust what the books said, and she had barely scratched the surface with her questioning this afternoon.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled up short, reigning his horse in.

“We’re here,” he said.

Belle came up alongside him, and looked over the mountain ridge. He had been right in the tavern when he had looked at her map; she never would have found the place so quickly had she gone on her original planned route. In fact, she wondered if he had perhaps used magic to make their journey shorter after all.

They weren’t there yet, there were still a few miles of winding roads into the foothills, but the Dark Castle was now in sight, looming impressive in the distance.

It was a foreboding place, and Belle shivered, but any fear that she felt soon gave way to anticipation. If she was going to succeed in finding a way to break her curse, then it would soon be close at hand.

She looked over at Rumpelstiltskin.

“Lead the way, Bill.”

He rolled his eyes but said nothing, and they continued down into the foothills, coming ever closer to the Dark Castle.

[for-peace-war]

[Rosie Eveligh] - “Alive”

I was going through stories I’ve worked on and realized I never posted this one.  It’s rare that I try to write from someone else’s PoV, but Rosie was perfect for getting into the setting from an outsider’s perspective.  She is @diermina‘s original and favorite main.

Rosie ran her thumb over the stump where her ring finger had once been.  On most days it had not bothered her at all, but then again most days did not involve her meeting with the Queen.  There were days when she allowed herself to forget that the gulf between she and her former friend had become more than that which spanned distance.  It seemed like only days prior when Lady Madelynne Albrecht had been but an exiled noble attempting to gather knights to a faltering cause.  Now, as Rosie stood in front of the immense gates of Dawnhaven she could not help but feel as though those very memories were a falsehood and never could she have known a woman capable of commanding not only that castle, but the country to which it belonged.

There were few castles that she had seen in person, but Dawnhaven literally shone above the others.  Every stone upon its outer wall seemed to have been kissed by the Light, generating from them an ethereal glow that banished the darkness that lurked within most of Blackmarsh.  It was not until she approached Blackwatch keep that shadows returned to her and even then, they seemed more servants to the glory that was the Dawn than invasive creatures.  Whatever magic had gone into creating this duality was such that the eye of any not accustomed to it might be forced to gape in awe for several moments.  She was not native to Blackmarsh, but some ancestral part of her knew to feel at ease when about the heart of the province.

Once, when attempting to make herself feel more at ease around the increasing number of nobles that populated the then Lady Albrecht’s inner circle, Rosie had looked into her past with some effort.  She had not been able to go much further than her grandmother, Abigail Luckett, who at birth had been Abigail Stannis.   The name of Stannis appeared several times in Blackmarsh’s history as a knightly house and though that had filled her with some wonder, when she compared that to names such as Pendleton and Buzan she quickly lost the desire to broach the subject. What more would she gain from Lady Albrecht than a polite smile and a remark on how very industrious she was?  Even when they were close, the woman was a cold sheet of ice.

How much colder was she now, she could not help but wonder?

Rosie thought back to her entrance to the province, where she had seen the Lord of Stranglehold in his newly made glory.  The man had come from near nothing – a foreigner and a thief – and through dedication to the queen was now named lord of a very vital portion of Blackmarsh.  That he had not asked her yet to marry him was becoming less of a mystery with each day that passed.  He was a man destined for greatness and great men required great women in the titled world he belonged to.  What value did the granddaughter of Abigail Stannis have?  Again she rubbed her stump and fought back the urge to delve into sorrow. Regardless of whatever her name was, the lord had been delighted to see her and she him.  There was not much time they had to spend together with her heading for Dawnhaven and he preparing for a meeting with the lords that were beneath him, but what moments that stole away together had been magical.

He has entire lords beneath him now, Rosie lamented. I have but a few cats to my name.  It would have been very nice to curl up with those cats before a fire then.  The magnitude of Viktor’s accomplishment’s had not become clear to her until she saw his sigil flying above the gates of Stranglehold.  It was an old and drafty castle, but it was his.  Even his name, Velgim, had been returned to that of his birth – Viktor.  Lord Viktor Romel was only Sir Velgim in appearance and even then, since parting from her he had grown a horrid beard that she threatened to attack with shears if it remained when next she saw him.  That had gained a handsome laugh from him that still warmed her as she traveled up from Stranglehold and into Dawnhaven proper.  The Black Road was cold and lonely, but his voice warmed her.

The contingent of guards that he sent with her had not hurt either.

It was the presence of those guards at that moment that truly gave her what fleeting courage she knew.  Once, she had been but a girl that ran away from her troubles without anyone to turn to.  How long ago had it been since she was rescued from the clutches of the Duke of Westridge by Lady Albrecht and her champions?  That had been a bittersweet reunion and one that still haunted her at times.  If you betray me, I will end you. How exact and precise she had said those words as she held her hand.  There was no doubt as to whether or not she would do it, but would she enjoy it?  That question had been what bothered her.  In truth, she did not know.  That day she vowed never to find out.  In many ways, she simply felt blessed to know a woman of such ability.

Bravery had never been something that came easily to Rosie Josanna Eveligh and the moment that pride began to well within her, there was a phantom itch that afflicted her missing finger.  The initial impulse to maim herself had come about as the result of love lost, but whenever feelings welled within her she found that the stump reminded her of who she was – of what she was.  She had been a coward before and would likely be one again but it had been stories of hearing how Queen Madelynne had returned with an army triumphant to put down the Dread Rebellion that caused her to feel guilt.  How magnificent would it have been to see that with her own eyes?  She had felt too ashamed to question Viktor too closely on the topic as while he was afield she had been safe in Stormwind, but there were times when she could not help but wonder if she would have stood resolutely by the Queen’s side then.  That this woman, now more a figure of legend than a person, had at one point taken tea with her seemed unconscionable.  It was more than enough reason for her to feel apprehensive.  Reason enough, but not the actual cause for her despair.  

“I shall be able to continue from here,” Rosie said politely to the guardsmen that had accompanied her.  They were all rough-around-the-edges and dressed in regalia that was far from grandiose, but Viktor had assured her they were reliable and good with sword.  Initially she had thought to deny him his request, but he had been adamant and she did find Blackmarsh a terrifying place.  No wonder so many people that came from it were austere and humorless – the very land sucked the life out of them.

The lead guard, a man named Derrick, looked about. “You’re not yet with the Queen, m’lady.” “Is that not her guard yonder? I should be fine to travel several more steps.” He frowned. “Lord Romel paid us to see you all the way.” “If I were to pay you to visit a tavern would that be acceptable?”

They were good men but they had a thirst.  “Be careful, m’lady.  The shadows in the Dawn ain’t so easy to see what with them being on the inside.”  With that warning, they took their pay and were off. Should Viktor question her she would say that Derrick led her directly to Her Majesty.  They truly had proven to be good traveling companions and the danger was long gone.  If nothing else, she knew she had little to fear in Dawnhaven if only because the Queen would not let harm come to her by any hand other than her own.

Her horse whickered as they crossed the bridge that led to Blackwatch Keep.  Two guardsmen awaited, each outfitted in armor that surely cost more than the entirety of Viktor’s retinue.  They were straight-backed and severe and when she came to a halt it was the left and not the right that looked toward her.  If she did not know better, the latter well may have appeared to be a statue.  I could turn and leave now, she told herself with noteworthy reservation. Would that count as a betrayal?  She no longer knew the disposition of the woman that had called upon her.  Rosie had changed much in that span of time and Lady Albrecht was not the same woman either.

She now sat a queen.

“What business have you within Blackwatch Keep, my lady?”  There was no familiarity or kindness on the man’s voice, but neither was it harsh.  Sharp, professional.  Even the guards in Dawnhaven were made of something different.  Rosie thought back to the sad state of Stranglehold as compared to Dawnhaven and she suddenly realized that they were as though worlds apart.  As people could come in many different types, so could castles.  It only made sense that the castle guard would likewise be different.  Without question, Lady Albrecht’s paranoia had not abated once she sat the throne.  These guards would not have taken coin to give her a few moments to compose herself.  They would have been with her to the very end.  Queen Madelynne would accept no less, she supposed.

From within her satchel, Rosie drew out her summons.  It was a letter, sealed with crimson wax and stamped with the royal insignia: a crowned falcon.  Her hand trembled as she held it forth. “Her Majesty has requested me.”  It took the guardsman but a glance before he nodded and gestured for her to enter.  “The servants will see your horse to proper stabling, my lady.  Welcome to Blackwatch Keep.”

Was she expected to bow?  The guard spoke more like a noble than she did!  A polite nod was what she decided on before continuing past him and beyond the bridge, where she could see more people milling about the courtyard.  A young groom all but manifested before her and took her horse and soon she found herself whisked along by servants that promised to take her to the queen.  Would she not be given a chance to freshen up?  Was it not proper for her to be announced or something of that sort?  Words failed her but her feet did not.

The beauty of the courtyard was not lost upon her, but her world was a blur then.  With her heart beating in her ears, Rosie tried her best to remain composed but she could not appreciate in its entirety the majesty that surrounded her.  Her stump was ablaze and her mind was racing and every thought that she had told her to break and run back to Stranglehold but she did not.  She could not.  It wasn’t the arms of those that guided her that made her feel trapped, it was fear.  What was she doing? Why had she come? It all spiraled about her until finally she heard something that made everything fall to order.

“Lady Eveligh, it has been too long.”

For the briefest of seconds, Rosie thought that if she did not look in her direction the Queen might forget she existed, but she dared to do so and in a moment was reminded of the woman she had once known.   Though she had been away from her for well over a year, the moment that she laid eyes upon Madelynne Albrecht she could see her for who she had been when they spent their walks remarking idly on the state of Stormwind.  The same woman that, though her gowns had been less decorative then and her hair not worn in a bun so elaborate, had been willing to offer her advice whenever she asked for it.  In many ways the crown on her head seemed almost redundant.  She knew that Madelynne Albrecht was a queen because of who she was.  Had she enough sense, she might have formed those words.  A hurried curtsey had to suffice.

“Excuse us,” the Queen said to her attendants.  They, all of them, flittered away as though birds save for one.  A woman of a dark and olive complexion with brilliant eyes of green, she looked between the two of them with mild curiosity before the queen looked directly back to her.  “You as well, Lady Anais.  See that proper quarters are prepared for our dear friend.”

Briefly, Rosie thought she saw resentment.  It dissipated quickly.  “As you wish, Your Majesty.”  The woman’s walk was grace and propriety.  It was the gait of a true noblewoman and not someone that the queen deigned to refer to as ‘lady’ for the sake of politeness.  Rosie fought not to watch the dusky woman take her leave and instead trained her eyes on the queen.  If she had highborn ladies as companions now what good would she serve?  In an instant she knew the answer to that question.

It didn’t matter.

But she was now alone with the woman that had taken the burden of Lordaeron onto her shoulders and as she approached, Rosie could see the toll that was taking.  Her corset was tighter than ever which might have accounted for the echo of pain in her eyes, but even her proud shoulders were not what they once had been and her temples had the whispers of lightening coloration beginning to form at them.  Whether or not the queen was beautiful, she was stressed.  Rosie knew well the feeling and found herself momentarily relieved that the queen could feel something so human. “My lady – Your Majesty, I came as quickly as I could.”

“We never doubted that you would,” the Queen said.  She offered her hand to her. “Come, walk with us.  We fear that we will not be able to speak with you overly long at the moment, but a stroll through our garden with a friend always proven good preparation for dealing with what weeds lurk in Blackmarsh.”  When she hesitated to take her arm, Queen Madelynne offered her a pleasant smile. “Have we become so garish since last we spake that you now doubt our kindness, my lady?”

“Of course not,” Rosie defended almost too quickly.  “It is just that… well, you are a queen now and I am little more than a commoner.  Is it not against protocol to do such?”

Queen Madelynne paused.  “As queen we are free to do whatever it is we like,” she said more to herself than to Rosie.  It was not a boast – more the sound a bird might make when it realized its wings could not carry it free of its gilded cage. “We shall not force you to take this walk if you would rather not.  A great many have found our presence difficult to appreciate since it was we took the throne.”

Had she not seen a flock of women fleeing at her command previously?  Rosie considered that though the statement seemed preposterous, the melancholy that drifted past her former friend’s lips was not feigned.  With a shaking hand she accepted the offer. “Never could I find you anything less than wonderful, Your Majesty.  I simply did not wish to offend you.”

“Never would you offend us,” the Queen said as she led Rosie along. “We simply would not allow it.”

Unlike when it came to all that had led them to the garden, she was aware enough of her surroundings to appreciate them in full.  Back in Stormwind, the manse had been a spot of beauty in a dingy city, but in Dawnhaven this garden managed to eclipse even the magnificence that had been seen outside.  Blackwatch’s shadows were banished as light shone down upon the gathered flora and Rosie took in sights that went beyond her imagining.  One plant, mostly white and kissed with blue along its petals stood out to her.  Her mother would have loved these lands, she knew.  

“Adder’s vine, they call it.” Their walk came to an end as the Queen looked over the plant. “The name Edevyn is come of it, naturally.  Before the Summer Campaign, Eden’s vine could be found all over the Grasp.  Now, it grows only here.  That plant is one of the oldest ones in the whole of Blackmarsh and it is more dead than alive.”  There was a sorrowful note to that and Rosie didn’t believe it dealt with the plant itself.  “Much of this flora is no longer resident to the lands from which they came.  It is more a museum than a garden, we fear.”

More dead than alive? Rosie could hardly imagine how lovely the vine would have been had it been at its fullest.  

[tinydooms]

Worth a Thousand Words

  So, I didn’t write anything for the June Challenge yesterday, because I couldn’t figure out how to make this scene fit into one of the prompts. It’s one of those Maurice-love-the-Beast-as-a-son AUs, but is mainly an excuse for me to have a go at analyzing Adam’s ruined portrait. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. 

So, without further ado:

Worth a Thousand Words: 

Maurice wanders the castle, growing more confident with each passing day. The staff have assured him that as long as he stays out of the West Wing-the master's private quarters-he is free to go anywhere he likes in his new home. Home. Maurice shakes his head whenever he thinks of the word, falling so easily from the lips of the enchanted servants. Whatever this castle is, it is not a home. It is dark and cold and lonely, its grand hallways filled with a despair that is not hard to understand. He has no idea what happened here, but he senses that the Beast is as much a prisoner here as he is.

If only he hadn't sent Belle away. If only he had never lost his way in the woods. If only they had never come to Villeneuve. If only, if only.

Belle will be all right. Maurice knows that she is a capable young woman, and she will make her own way. He will never stop missing and worrying about her, but he knows that she is her mother's daughter and that she will survive.

He has hardly seen the Beast since the monster sent Belle away, and he cannot help but be thankful for that. The rest of the staff are good to him; they have given him a comfortable bedroom, new clothes, excellent food. The cold that set in when Maurice was in the tower is beginning to heal. He asked for drawing materials and received a wealth of fine paper and charcoal pencils, paints and canvases and chalk. Truly, there is nothing Maurice wants for here but his freedom.

He wanders the corridors now, looking at the paintings on the walls. There is excellent work here, portraits and landscapes and scenes both classical and modern. He recognizes the work of some of his Parisian compatriots, men he worked and drank with back when Paris was bright and the future rosy. There is a picture of a woman on a swing, kicking her shoe off to her lover below. Maurice studies it, remembering Fragonard's earlier works. So they have not been cursed long here, then. Ten years, at the most. Interesting. He wonders, not for the first time, who is responsible for collecting all of the extraordinary artworks that reside in this place.

There is a portrait gallery in one of the upstairs corridors, filled with pictures of the family that has ruled the castle for generations. Maurice wanders, looking at them, studying the family resemblances. These are the gentlemen of the family, here are their wives, their children, on and on, until finally the portraits run out, ending in a pair of ruined canvases. Maurice stops. What on earth has happened here? The mother has survived (and good thing, too; she was a lovely creature, with a gentle smile and eyes filled with kindness), but the father's face is mangled. It looks like someone ripped through his features, someone with claws and a fierce and burning hatred.

Maurice goes very cold.

Why would the Beast do this? Who was this man, who stares down at Maurice with a single cold eye? His face is all but obliterated, but Maurice can see the proud stance, the hands curled into fists. There is a sword on his hip and he is surrounded by dogs; a stag's head hangs on the wall behind him. A hunter, then, and a soldier. A cold man. And he was married to that lovely young lady? Maurice looks at the woman's portrait again, and feels a twist of sadness at the harshness of arranged marriages. Then he moves his attention onto the last portrait. Their child.

This portrait is slashed, too, though not with the same hatred as the father's. It is as if the Beast (for Maurice has no doubt it was he who did this) couldn't bear to look at this picture long enough to destroy it. The gashes are fairly clean; with care this picture could be salvaged. Maurice studies it with interest.

The subject is a young man, perhaps twenty-five. He favors his mother, with dark gold hair and blue eyes the color of the summer sky. He is a great beauty, or would be if it weren't for the coldness that he exudes. His gaze is icy, challenging, as though daring the viewer to find him anything but beautiful. He sits with one arm resting on the table before him, his very posture filled with hauteur. And something else, something-

“What do you think of him?”

Maurice starts, yanked from his thoughts. In his concentration, he has not noticed the Beast making his way down the gallery, though the Beast himself has taken care not to be too quiet. He stands a few feet away, watching Maurice study the damaged painting.

“Oh! Forgive me, Lumiere said I could wander-”

“Yes, it's all right,” the Beast says. He is not wearing that filthy shroud today, Maurice notes, but has washed and dressed in clean clothes. Is he more or less horrifying for dressing like a human man? Maurice is unsure.

“What do you think of him?” the Beast asks again, nodding towards the portrait. “You have studied him so long.”

Maurice looks back at the picture. Whoever the artist was, he was a genius for capturing so much emotion. It strikes Maurice suddenly that he has seen those eyes before, that he knows whose picture this is.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that I would be very worried about this young man, if he were my son.”

The words ring out into the quiet corridor, and Maurice waits for the Beast's anger. But it does not come. Instead the monster cocks his head, startled. Whatever answer he had been expecting, it wasn't this one.

“What do you mean?”

Maurice gestures at the painting. “Look. It has layered nuances, this picture. At first glance we see only this young man's beauty, and that would have pleased him. But look at it longer and you begin to see more. Come.”

The Beast comes to stand next to Maurice, gazing as the artist points. Maurice puts his fingers to the canvas, pressing the worst of the gashes across the young man's face together. “Look, here, at his face. He is handsome, arrogant. He is blessed with classical beauty, and would be stunning if he smiled. But look at the eyebrows-what do you see?”

The Beast shakes his head. Maurice taps the canvas. “He is afraid, this young man. Anxious is the better word, maybe. See how his eyebrows are set? There's a defiance there. He is waiting for an attack, this one. You can see the challenge in the way he holds his features. I would say that someone close to him was extremely critical of him, so much so that he hid his fear behind a mask of arrogance, and became exactly like that person so as to try to appease them.”

Maurice falls silent, wondering if he has said too much. The Beast does not speak, but stares at the picture. “You can tell all that from a painting?” the creature says at last.

“An artist is trained to see every nuance the body has to offer,” Maurice replies. “I would very much like to know who the artist was.”

“He was an Englishman, Joshua somebody. Came to France, did a few paintings, left again. He was immensely talented.”

So it is the Beast's own picture. Maurice looks at his erstwhile captor, suddenly pitying him. For the first time, he is not afraid of the Beast.

“What happened here?”

The Beast looks at him. He is not angry, but seems rather hesitant. “What if I told you that the young man in the portrait was afraid, of so many things? What if I told you that his mother died when he was young, and that he was never good enough for his father, who called him all sorts of names and accused him of weakness and a multitude of other sins? And he tried and tried to please the old man, to make him love him, and never succeeded. And so he became cold and cruel and, and twisted, until he was so full of fear and anger and hurt that he cared for nothing and no one but himself, because it was safer?”

“I would say it is small wonder that he became so, if he was raised without love,” Maurice says. He hesitates, then adds, “It's your picture, isn't it?”

“Yes.” The Beast looks down at his paws, ashamed. “I was cruel to an enchantress. She damned me for it. She offered me a rose in return for shelter, and I mocked her and sent her away. She said I needed to learn a lesson and that I could look forever as I was on the inside.”

Maurice whistles. “I know some villagers she ought to visit,” he remarks, and the Beast gives him a shy smile.

“It's cold here,” he says abruptly, “and you are not yet well. Let's go downstairs; Mrs. Potts can bring tea.”

Maurice is surprised, but follows the Beast out of the gallery, down the stairs to the little drawing room. If the staff are surprised to see them together, they make no sign of it, and Mrs. Potts does indeed provide them with tea, and toast and little cakes. They eat and drink quietly, and Maurice reflects on the Beast's words.

“That will be your father, then, in the other ruined portrait?” he says at last.

The Beast gives a hollow smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“You must have hated him.”

“Yes,” the Beast says. “I was scared to death of him. He always had quick fists and a raging temper.”

Maurice studies the Beast, who does not quite meet his eye. He is beginning to understand, now, and wants to learn more, but he knows too how difficult it can be to talk about the past. “Fear is a terrible thing to live with,” he says, and the Beast nods.

“Yes. I've made you fear, and I regret it. I am...not used to kindness.” He raises his eyes and looks at Maurice. “You can go. Home, I mean. Back to your daughter. For...for helping me to see.”

Maurice stares. The words hang in the air between them; there is no anger in the Beast's voice, only a quiet despair. He thinks of the young man in the painting, and how different he would look if he were happy. And he understands for the first time that he can help.

“Thank you, but I think I will stay a bit longer,” he says. “As you said, I am not quite well yet. Would you like some more tea?”

The Beast stares at him. Maurice helps himself to more tea and toast, and turns the subject to art in general. The next day, he begins to teach the Beast to draw.

*

It is strange to have someone in the castle who is neither a staff member nor a prisoner. The Beast (for he will not allow himself to have a name) is mystified by the old artist, Maurice, and cannot imagine why he has chosen to stay. But he finds that he is grateful to have the man there. Maurice's fear has vanished. In its place is a warmth and kindness that the Beast has not experienced since his mother died, many years ago now. It makes the Beast want to get up in the morning, to see him. Maurice teaches him to draw, showing him how to hold the pencils in his clumsy paws, never speaking a harsh word. Drawing soothes the Beast, allowing him to breathe regularly. And as they draw, they talk. Maurice tells the Beast of his life and travels, and how he and his daughter came to be in Villeneuve, and the places they had lived before. Paris, Versailles, Rouen, Toulouse. Adam tells him about his childhood, about his English mother, his tutors, the books he loves to read. They talk and talk, and the Beast's heart begins to thaw under Maurice's genuine interest. Shyly, the Beast opens up more and more to his former captive.

“What is your name?” Maurice asks him one afternoon, as they sit in the library together, looking through books on the history of art.

The Beast hesitates. “I haven't let myself have a name in years.”

“Yes, I noticed that the staff only calls you 'the master', like some villain in a gothic novel.” Maurice smiles. “You needn't tell me if you really don't want to, but I would very much like to know it.”

“I'm a creature. Can creatures have names?”

“Certainly. Have you never named a horse or a dog? You may be a creature, but you are also a man under a curse. You are allowed to have a name,” Maurice says.

The Beast's breath catches in his throat. He realizes all of a sudden that he loves this old man dearly. I wish he were my father. He clears his throat. “I was called Adam. I am Adam.”

Maurice smiles. “A strong name. It means 'man', you know.”

Adam's breath catches again. “It does?”

“Yes,” Maurice replies. “I'm sure there is a Hebrew grammar somewhere in this library, if you don't believe me.”

“I believe you,” Adam replies. He feels as though he has been given a gift.

Maurice's cold goes, and yet he does not leave. Weeks pass, and he continues to stay with Adam, bringing light and laughter and kindness to the castle. Maurice is the father that Adam never had and always longed for. He finds he does not resent the curse as much, now that he has a friend. There is only one thing that keeps Adam's happiness from being complete, and that is the man's daughter. Adam cannot help but feel a stab of guilt whenever he thinks of her.

“Why do you not return to your daughter?” he asks Maurice one afternoon.

They are sitting in the West Wing balcony, where Maurice has been using the turrets to teach Adam perspective. Maurice looks up from his sketching and gives Adam a small smile.

“Do you not know?” When Adam shakes his head, Maurice continues. “Belle does not need me as much as you do. I made the choice to stay weeks ago, that day when you said I could leave. I could see your fear and self-loathing, Adam, and I couldn't let it continue to consume you. Your father may have twisted you up, but you were beginning to find your way out of it. You just needed a little outside help.”

Adam stares. Maurice gives a little chuckle. “Besides, I always wanted to have a son. And now I do. Because you are my son, Adam, whatever you look like, and I love you for it.”

Adam can't speak for the tears that fill his throat. Then there is a flash of gold light, and a ringing that sounds like music in his ears, and Maurice jumps back in shock as Adam ripples and changes. For a moment all is confusion, and then Adam is standing on his own human feet, his human hands holding a pencil and sketchbook, his heart racing. He looks up at Maurice, thunderstruck. The curse is broken.

“Oh,” Adam says, and flings himself into Maurice's arms, sobbing. The older man catches him and holds him close.

“It's all right, Adam,” Maurice murmurs. “It's all right, my son. You're all right.”

Adam has never been held like this, by a father, has never felt a father's love, and yet he knows in that moment that everything will be all right.