#shout out to whoever gave him the crown

[monolithemissions]

(x)/(x)

[princessbellecerise]

Court Shenanigans

Summary ✩ Missing their father, your children decide it’s a good idea to interrupt him in the middle of court

Warnings ✩ Mentions of pregnancy

Authors Notes ✩ Everyday I cry cause this man isn’t real but at least I have fanfic

You tried to stop them, you really did.

But being almost nine moons pregnant and having the most swollen feet known to man, it was almost impossible to chase after and keep up with two rowdy tots.

Usually, their nursemaids would have them by now and would be helping to assist you, but Aliza was sick and Joanna was with her family. Both of them would have scolded you for trying to run when you couldn’t even see your feet, but your kids were a mischievous bunch and you had a sinking feeling on where they were headed.

Aemma, the eldest of the two twins, had been complaining all day about not being able to see her father, as Jace had missed out on breakfast and lunch with her in order to hear a few extra petitions.

It seemed as if the Kingdom was more unruly than usual, and Lords had come from all over the realm to plead their cases.

Wanting to be a good King and make sure that he could adhere to all of his subjects, Jace had opted to spend a little extra time on the throne and a less with his family.

This of course didn’t sit well with Aemma, and as her shadow Jaelin followed right on along with her.

Try as you might have, you weren’t fast enough to catch up to them and your protests for them to stop didn’t do much good, either.

Before you could even blink, your twins were flying past the Kingsguard and bursting into the throne room, with little Aemma’s excited shouting making you want to crawl into a hole right there and then.

“Kepa!”

In no time your baby girl ran across the room, interrupting some poor Lord under a pink banner. You thought that he might’ve been from White Harbor, or maybe he was from Maidenpool.

Whatever it was, you didn’t pay much attention as suddenly, all chatter stopped, and you were the center of attention as you wobbled towards Jacaerys and fixed Aemma with a stern glare.

“Aemma! Come back here!” You shouted after her sternly, and thankfully Jaelin was too afraid of your ‘motherly voice’ to get any closer.

He stopped just short of the Iron Throne, choosing to remain by Ser Darklyn’s side rather than follow his sister up the steps. With horror, you realized that Aemma was headed straight to Jacaerys, exclaiming happily as she threw herself in her father’s open arms.

“Kepa!”

She bounced excitedly as Jace pulled her on his lap, looking amused while you struggled to catch your breath.

Running at your size was no joke, and you ached to sit down somewhere and rest. You couldn’t do that though while your two year old twins were causing mayhem.

It was unbefitting of a Queen, you knew that, but desperation had you hiking up your dress, climbing the the steps, and holding your arms out expectantly while Jace chuckled.

“Aemma. It’s time to say goodbye to Kepa and go back to our chambers. Now,” You told her, but that only resulted in the toddler shaking her head and burying herself even deeper into Jacaerys’ arms.

“No! I want to stay with Kepa!” Her defiant little voice shouted, and you winced as a few murmurs echoed through the court.

You were painfully aware that everybody was staring at the scene, which made it even more embarrassing when you reached out again and failed to grab Aemma.

After about the third attempt to pull her away with no avail, your husband seemed to finally take pity on you and sighed.

“It’s alright my love. She can stay,” Jacaerys said, and upon hearing this Aemma beamed. “It’ll be her seat one day after all. Let her gain some experience; even if it is during the middle of a petition.”

You gave him an apologetic look, and you made a mental note to apologize to Lord…well, whoever you were currently interrupting. You had to admit, the sight of Aemma babbling broken phrases to Jace while she tried to grab his crown was adorable.

You sighed reluctantly.

“Alright,” You said, willing to leave Aemma where she was. At the very least you could persuade Jaelin to follow you and take him away, but as you turned to go back down the stairs you suddenly paused.

Had there always been that many, you wondered?

You hadn’t really paid attention that much, but now that your feet were practically screaming at you to sit down, the idea of going down so many steps didn’t seem so appealing.

Of course, you could’ve just asked one of the Kingsguard to help you down, but you didn’t want to be a bother—as silly as it sounded. You also didn’t want to risk your knees giving out and falling, either.

You were in a dilemma, but before you could even decide, Jace did it for you. Your husband, ever attentive, noticed your hesitation and immediately got up.

“Here, my love. Why don’t you rest and I’ll stand for now,” He suggested.

Even more whispers broke out at this. What Jacaerys was proposing was sweet, but it had never happened before and the idea of the Queen sitting on the throne in the presence of the King was…well it was simply unheard of.

You were sure a few people would call the action scandalous, but at the moment though, you didn’t really care what they thought. Your feet were aching and you needed a place to sit down before your knees decided where for you, so you nodded and accepted his offer.

“Thank you, my love.”

You sighed in relief as you sat on the throne. Albeit, it wasn’t the most comfortable of seats with all the swords and points, and you would’ve much rather been in your cushioned chair in your chambers, but it was better than nothing and the pressure on your feet was gone.

Nodding his head, Jacaerys gave you a small kiss on the side of your head and then he stood with Aemma in his arms, and gestured for Lord whoever to keep speaking.

Had you not been out of breath, you would have laughed at his face and the face of many others as they not only witnessed their King give the most powerful seat in the realm to his pregnant wife, but also witnessed him stand up while bouncing his baby daughter in his arms.

It was an unusual sight, but an adorable one that you cherished.

Motioning to Ser Darklyn to bring Jaelin up so that your family would complete, you smiled in content and Jacaerys once again motioned for the man who had been interrupted to continue his petition.

“Lord Mooton. Please, do continue,” He said with a large smile.

You giggled.

Ah, so that was his name.

[sadistic-kiss]

Use Me (Kinktober Fic)

Succubus Reader x Various JJK Men

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Two.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

You crawled behind Choso, traversing over carpet and tile floor. Luckily he naturally walked slowly, some of the others walked quicker on purpose.

Now that you were inside the house you could hear the music much clearer. They were playing Halloween music and even had decorations up to match. Were they about to throw a party? When you entered the kitchen and saw the three giant kegs you knew that's what was about to happen.

That can't be good. You hope they don't kick you out, you were starving.

"Lay down." Choso commanded.

You looked over to see he was pointing at a giant pink fluffy bed sitting on the side of the kitchen. That was new.

"When-"

"Ah ah- I didn't say speak I said lay down." He pointed again with a bit more force.

You crawled into the bed and got comfortable, lying down as you looked up at Choso.

He cracked the smallest grin, "Good girl." He praised petting your head as you purred excitedly. He then stood up and went to the fridge, "Sukuna got it for you. Thought you might like it." He chuckled while searching for something to eat.

Even though he was talking to you, you couldn't talk back, not unless they told you to speak or asked you a question.

Honestly, it wasn't always like this. When you first met them they had released you from your slumber so you could help them find a curse. Between helping them or sleeping for eternity you chose your best option. They had aided you and you helped them. Killing whatever curse spirit they needed.

Everything was perfect.

It wasn't until you accidentally killed their best friend, then they started treating you differently. You told the man that he wouldn't survive and he wanted to sleep with you anyway! Who were you to turn down a meal!?

Food was food.

Apparently, you chose wrong and you shouldn't have done it. Human morals were so weird but you were learning bit by bit. They didn't like it when you hurt their people...only other people...bad people...the people they tell you to hurt....It was a work in progress.

Your body burned, bringing you back to why you were here in the first place. You released a light whimper staring at Choso as he scratched his abs under his long-sleeved grey shirt. Your mouth watered wanting to lick upon his stomach among other things.

"Quiet pet." He spoke without looking your way. He finally found something, pulling out a few things.

You pout, observing him as he moves around the kitchen cooking. About five minutes in you heard someone coming. You sat up excitedly hoping whoever it was would bless you.

Gojo came rushing in dressed like a Roman king with a leaf-like crown. He was talking on the phone.

"We are gonna need to get a new battery for the hockey table-oh what the fuck!" Gojo shouted.

"What?" Getou's voice boomed loudly on the phone.

"What the hell is she doing here!?" Gojo hollered while looking at Choso for an explanation.

"Why are you acting like I summoned her or some shit." Choso questioned with a twitch of his brow.

"Awww is it our kitten?" Getou cooed.

"No aww! She's going to kill everyone!"

"Did you want me to leave her outside?" Choso questioned.

Gojo glared at you as you gave him your puppy eyes and a little poke of your lip.

'Please don't kick me out please don't kick me out.'

"I swear to Tengen if one person dies tonight you will never come back, got it?"

You nodded quickly as Gojo sighed looking at Choso. "Where is Aiko?"

"She sent them away."

"What why?"

"She said they would have died if they touched her because of how minuscule their curse energy was."

Gojo smacked his forehead with a little growl, "Fuck I forgot about that."

"Forgot about what?" Sukuna popped in catching the end of the conversation. He was dressed up as a Viking, suns out guns out. Two knives clipped to his hips. Knowing him they were most definitely real. You wouldn't be surprised if the fur he wore was also real and something he hunted himself.

"Our problem pet." Gojo pointed to you.

Sukuna's face lit up as he saw you, his lips pulling up into a wide grin, "Aye~ look who it is, my little slut." You chirped at him as he got down, he nudged you so you could roll on your back.

When you did he chuckled while rubbing your stomach. You were so touched starved you moaned while looking up at him pitifully. You didn't care how degrading this was, as long as you allowed Sukuna to do what he wanted he was quick to give you a reward. He was sadistically twisted and just as needy. He also had a shit ton of curse energy to spare.

"You like the bed I got you?" He grinned wickedly while inching toward the lower part of your belly.

You nodded, leaning into his other hand as it cupped your cheek.

"Poor thing, must be so hungry." He clicked his tongue.

You blinked your eyes quickly, whimpering some more. 'Yes so hungry! Feed me!' you wanted to scream.

"I gotcha kitten." He got up going into the kitchen cabinet.

"Oi!" Gojo threw up his arms, "Are we not gonna talk about our problem?"

"What's the problem?" Sukuna questioned getting out two pink bowls with diamonds on them.

Oh fucking hell.

"We are throwing a party and if someone touches our pet then it's lights out!"

Choso finished cooking, plating his food, "Why not keep her in one of our rooms." He slid onto the barstool saying a quick prayer before digging in.

"No way." Sukuna growled, "I'll fucking watch her."

Gojo scoffed, "You just want to parade her around on your dick."

"Don't act like you won't do it too."

"Maybe, but if she kills too many people the elders are going to get involved and they're already up our asses as it is."

"Maybe we can let only those with a decent amount of curse energy in." Getou suggested.

"Hm~ Enough to survive at least a little bump from our pet."

"Oooor~ She can do what she did with Aika." Choso spoke while chewing.

"Fine fine!" Gojo looked toward you, "Anyone that you might accidentally kill send them away, can you do that?"

You were caught by surprise when the conversation shifted to you. From their back and forth, you realized they wanted you to be here just as much as you wanted to be here.

"Yeah... I can do that... but it does take some of my energy to do so..." you spoke while cocking your head to the side sheepishly. "...and I am quite...depleted..."

"What do you think I got these for?" Sukuna questioned bringing you the two bowls. Sukuna filled one of the bowls with water and the other with a few scoops of peanuts.

This again… it was their little joke that they came up with after Getou asked if you wanted his nuts and you agreed eagerly only to be disappointed when he gave you a handful of peanuts. You don't even need to eat or drink like a human does. All you needed was their attention and affection, but they knew that all too well. They liked you begging and pleading. They liked you desperate. It was all part of their sadistic ways. Toying with you and searching for your limits.

Sukuna tapped your bowl with a black nail, "Come on pet, go ahead and eat."

You sighed looking into the bowls. You were starting to question if you had any limits or if you were just that far gone.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Three.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Me to me: yes just some light pet play, mainly the leash and collar.

Sukuna: and I took that personally

[rendy-a]

Could I request ramshackle dorm, romantic.

I’d like you to assign me a valentine. You can write for whoever you're in the mood to write for. I know I'll like it no matter what, I just really like your writing!

Goodness, this has taken me a while to finish but I’m finally done!  The last request I wrote was for Silver, so it just makes sense to finish out the pair and write for Sebek.  How you like your tsundere Valentine!

Time will not be ours forever

But while we in this life endeavor

Will you not join with me in joy?

Or wiltst thou remain aloof and coy?

My heart did you quietly steal

And so I ask that in your answer you reveal,

What is the nature of your regard?

Will you return to me a Valentine’s card?

You’d been finding small gifts left on the porch of Ramshackle for a while now.  When they’d started, you’d asked Grim about it and he denied knowledge of the small bouquets of wildflowers or the (mostly eaten) boxes of candy.  You scolded Grim for hardly leaving you a piece of your own chocolate while wondering, who were the gifts from? 

One particular day, you’d received an elaborately braided crown of flowers.  You turned it about in your hands, admiring the time and effort taken to construct such a thing.  Then amusedly, set it on your head; feeling nostalgic for your childhood days, the last time you’d have worn such a thing.  “Oh, what’s this?” you hear a deep and amused voice ask from behind you.  “Gak!” you shout as you turn to see the smiling Lilia hanging from a branch beside the dorm door.

Lilia effortlessly flips over to land lightly on his feet.  “To think I’d see such a thing in this day and age. Fufufu.” You look at him quizzically.  “Well, my dear, you clearly have a suitor.  To think there are still kids these days making flower crowns, he must be quite traditional,” he says as he places one finger to his chin, as though thinking something over.  Then he smiles slyly.  “I take it this isn’t a part of your own courting traditions?”

You fluster a bit, taken by surprise at the topic.  You remove the flower crown and twirl it around in your hand as you reply, “Well, no.  Where I’m from people don’t really go through effort like this to confess.  Unless it’s something special like Valentine’s Day, but really that is only once a year.”  Lilia’s smile broadens, “You don’t say.  Tell me more…”

The strange conversation you had with the Vice Dorm Leader had slipped your mind by the time the Earth holiday rolled around.  You’d gone to class on Valentine’s Day like any normal day, laughing and enjoying your strange school life with your new friends.  As the sun was settling lower into the sky, you made your way from the mirror chamber towards Ramshackle.  As you neared your home, you could make out the silhouette of someone standing in front of the door. 

You had approached cautiously, aware of how isolated your dorm was from the rest of the campus.  As you neared, your mystery guest appeared to notice your presence and stepped out from the shadow of the doorway and into the fading light.  You breathed a sigh as you saw it was only Sebek.  You gave him a friendly wave and jogged the rest of the way to the door.  “Hello, Sebek!  What a surprise to find you here.  Do you need something?”

He looks at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as though left unsure about what to say.  Then he furrows his brow before standing to his full height, coming to attention like a soldier under inspection.  “HUMAN!” he shouts before a conflicted expression crosses his face.  “I mean, Prefect,” he continues in a far more normal volume.  “The great Lilia-sama has told me I need to…I mean I should…I…” he trails off uncertainly, placing a hand to his head.  Then his face screws up in determination and he shoves a box at you.  You take it in surprise and, when you do, he turns heel and walks briskly away.

You look after him in confusion as you hold your unexpected delivery.  Sebek had always been somewhat of a mystery to you.  When you first meet him, he had called you Human with disdain and taken many opportunities to lecture you on the short-comings of humans as compared to fae.  Then one day, as you were walking with Malleus after class, you had seen a wayward spelldrive disk heading right towards your friend.  You quickly jumped in front of Malleus to shield him from the projectile.  Of course, he easily stopped the disk with magic, preventing either one of you from coming to harm.  Still, your friend was greatly amused by your efforts to protect him and chuckled at you warmly.  From where he followed behind, Sebek had looked at you for a moment with both great surprise and a bit of grudging respect.  Then he had charged off to yell at the unfortunate spelldrive players. 

Although you couldn’t fully define it, your relationship with Sebek had changed that day.  He stopped insulting you for being a human, sometimes even begrudgingly declaring you to be an exception to his usual view of humans.  He even began to allow you to start conversations with him.  You hadn’t expected to enjoy his company but found that Sebek was surprisingly charming.  You learned of his hobby of reading old tales of knights and valor.  If you probed him, he was willing to talk poetically about his views on chivalry, duty and honor.  It was inspiring to hear someone talk about something they were so passionate about.  It was a trait you admired in him; an admiration that grew into a certain fondness for the stern knight.  You’d like to think he had grown more comfortable with you too.  Not to the point where you were expecting gifts from him, though. 

As you considered the box, you noticed a small envelope attached.  You opened it to find a short card, written in neat script.  The poem was very much like him; perhaps a bit old-fashioned but showing the depths of passion that lie beneath.  You blush a little before opening the box; rows of neat homemade chocolates lie inside.  You bite into one and find it is your favorite flavor.  You consider this and wonder how long he had been planning this gift.  At least long enough to have learned your preferences and schedule.

You are pondering this as you head inside when you hear footsteps pounding up to the door.  You are surprised to see Sebek returned.  He flushes when you meet his eyes and quickly pivots to place his back on the wall beside the door and out of your view.  “Please, just stay there.  I need to say something but I…I just can’t say it to you directly.”  You follow his lead and turn to lean on the inside wall, separated by only a few rickety planks of ancient wood.  “Ok, I’m listening.  Say what you need to.”

The silence is heavy as Sebek hesitates to begin and you wonder if the fae has finally run out of things to say.  Then, he finally begins.  “That day with the young master, you were so brave.  You didn’t even hesitate.  I think I hadn’t truly noticed you before that day but since then, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you.  The way you face each day in an unfamiliar world but never give up hope.  You have fought great battles and saved those precious to you.  It’s an ideal I also strive to achieve.” 

You hear a thud and think Sebek has leaned back, placing his head on the wall.  “For a time, I thought of you as a rival to overcome for the attention of Malleus-sama.”  He laughs mirthlessly at that admission.  “I’m ashamed to admit such a thing now.  It did drive me to train harder but the more I trained, the more you were in my thoughts.  Every time I mastered a new skill, I only thought of showing it to you; wondering what you’d think or say.  Finally, even I realized that you were not my rival by my inspiration.”

You hear a creak in the wood of the doorframe and realize he is grasping it tightly, seeking support from the sensation.  “I don’t expect anything from you.  I just want you to notice me, like I have finally noticed you.”  Slowly you reach over until your pinky touches his glove.  He lets out a surprised gasp, as though the small contact had electrified him.  Then slowly, as though afraid to find this a dream, he gently covers your hand in his own.  You respect his boundary and remain on your side of the wall, but you hear him let out a breathy laugh, overjoyed by his unexpected boon.

Courting you would be a long quest, but it was one Sebek was excited to undertake.  How could he not be when the prize was something so rare as your love?  As he gazed ahead, watching the setting sun, he silently thanked his Master Lilia for instruction him on the proper way to begin courting his precious human.

[asnowfern]

Ghosts that broke my heart before you

Shout out to @areyoudreaminof for putting out all the amazing acotar playlists! Thank you for reminding me how much I love Laura Marling. Enjoy this little drabble!

Inspired by Ghosts - Laura Marling

🎵I'm still mourning the ghosts that broke my heart before I met you

Cassian exhaled deeply, readying his form while he ran through the series of strikes in his mind. With the next exhale, he launched his wrap covered knuckles against the punching bag, single mindedly expending his frustrations as he threw out his body weight with every jab and uppercut.

Ding

His muscles seized as he halted his movements at the buzz of his phone. He contemplated ignoring it and raised his fists for the next round. Whoever it was could wait.

Well, except her. His mind reminded him as his knuckles collided against the bag.

He heaved a sigh and dropped his arms to the side.

Can we talk? Face to face?

Cassian closed his eyes at the text message. Nothing good ever came out of the words “we need to talk". Especially not after the fight they had - When he pushed her too far and she left. Leaving him to mull over his regrets.

Sure, just say when and where.

7pm. Our usual bench by the Sidra.

Nesta was already seated at the bench when Cassian reached the agreed meeting point. He wordlessly sat next to her and firmly kept his eyes on the Sidra. He had said enough, said too much. There was nothing left but to wait for her to make the next move.

“My father’s ashes were scattered here.” She said quietly. The words opened the dam within her, spilling her past out.

A father, who was knocked over by a car before her, leaving her to watch as the light faded from his eyes. Died after years of isolating himself from her and her sisters, drowning the sorrows of his bankruptcy in alcohol.

A mother, who died in sickness after a lifetime of criticism. Whose dying words were for her to marry well and lift her family to greater heights.

An ex-boyfriend, who gaslighted her at every opportunity and paraded her on his arm as a trophy.

His heart ached with every sentence. He clenched his fists tightly to resist the urge to sweep her into his arms and never let go. To give everything he had to ease her pain.

Her eyes were downcast when she finished, as if her past made her unlovable when it couldn't be the furthest from the truth. Cassian slid off the chair, falling to his knees in front of her.

"Nesta" he murmured as he gently swiped his thumb over cheeks, wiping the flowing tears. The steady aching hold in his chest squeezed and tightened with each second.

"Why are you crying?" she asked, laughing slightly as she choked out a sob.

He gave her a weak smile and hugged her to his chest. He asked in return, "Why are you crying?"

Cassian tightened his hold as she crumbled into the embrace, her weak laugh drowned out by her cries. He dropped his head to hers, kissing the crown of her head as he held her through her breakdown.

"I'm here," he promised, his tears seeping through her hair as he stroked her back, "and I'll stay here for as long as you need."

🎵 After it was done after it was over/We were just two lovers crying on each other's shoulder

[laffy-taffy-creations]

HAPPY BELATED DAY 9 PEOPLE!!!!

This fic was cross-posted on AO3 here

Fucking Up Royally

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | "You're a liar"

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Taglist: @athenswrites @lili-loves-whump

Words: 1,646

Warnings: fighting, and an incredibly annoying character

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a simple support course student. That’s what I was. That’s all I was.

At least, that was what I was meant to be.

The lab was almost empty, at least half the students had left school in favour of safety because of the villain attack while the rest that were still here were at their classes, albeit in something of a lockdown while the heroes and hero courses dealt with the villains.

When the shaking almost caused me to hit an extremely delicate part of the support item I was working on, I’d had enough.

I pushed away from where I’d been working with an angry sigh, I couldn’t just go in there angry, I had to be calm. Collected. Calm. Collected.

“You gonna go help the heroes?” Mei asked, wiping her hands of grease. She’d either just finished her current project or was about to switch projects.

“Well clearly that cant deal with whoever it is on their own,” I grumbled out.

She gave a small giggle. “Fuck em up, your grace.” She put her goggles back on and continued working on whatever it was.

I surveyed the counter area I was currently taking up, making sure there were no loose parts strewn about before leaving. I didnt know where the battle was happening, but I didnt need to know.

Mostly because once I reached one of the lowers levels, that battle reached me, one of the students crashed through the wall. I heard the laughing of a villain from the other side, and it sounded like AFO.

Oh it is so fucking on.

I checked for any major injuries or health concerns before leaving whichever of the hero students it was where they were.

A battle was raging, and the heroes were clearly losing. Obviously, that was a major fucking issue. Stepping through where the wall had broken, AFO was there but no one was trying to fight him.

“Well, is one of you gonna punch him?” I shouted at the heroes standing around, just looking at him, refusing to make a move. Several of them looked at me like I just said the dumbest thing on planet earth. “Fine then, I’ll do it.”

I charged at him. He had a lot more speed than he should have, but unluckily for him, I had more.

I missed my punch, but he had dodged away from it and directly in line with where my leg just so happened to be waiting so it could kick him in the back. It could not have been more obvious he didnt expect that.

While he doubled over, I kneed him in the chest and planted a foot on his throat, pinning him down pretty effectively. At least I let him breathe.

He laughed at me despite being in the disadvantage. “Who do you think you are, Clover Morgan?” he mocked.

I could tell he was trying to steal my quirk but had given up after thinking I didnt have any. Too bad he couldn’t tell I’d put up blockers around his quirk.

I drew and pressed the trigger on the item that expanded into my sword and took off my mask, tapping it and turning it into my crown. “That’s Princess Clover Morgan to you,” I growled, pointing the sword at him.

I put the crown on my head and tilted his chin up with my blade. “Now, would you care to tell me just what you thought you were doing?” I asked, making sure that my faux kindness in my voice could be seen through with the visible anger on my face.

I switched sword hands and elbowed the person sneaking up behind me, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Intimidation tactics could go both ways.

The falling of his face told me he didnt expect it to actually be me. The Princess Clover Donovan Morgan, heir to the throne of France, on many measures the most powerful person on the planter despite being a teen. The one person in the world with multiple quirks. The one person in the world with Reality Bending.

“I- I-... uhm- uh-” he stuttered out.

My scowl grew. I stabbed my sword through the floor next to his head and moved my foot up, tilting his head up to meet my gaze as I leered over him. “Not sufficient enough.”

My grip on my sword tightened, and sparks emerged all across the room, channeling my power into the surroundings through it. He truly was an idiot.

I couldn’t explain it, the room around us changed, first there was a form of blue electricity shocking every last one of the villains and their weird experiment creatures. Then void, pure darkness stretching across, a place between realities, perhaps an entirely new one, ending off with more electricity going through the entire room, but this time much much different, being entirely comprised of a rainbow of colors and pastels. The colors whizzed around me, in a sort of tornado.

He would never forget this lesson.

Not now, not ever. I would make sure of that.

With one last burst of energy, I teleported both of us out of the room, leaving my sword stuck in the ground for later. For now, I put him in a cell. One of the power blocking ones in a nearby hero agency. With a sigh of relief, however temporary it may be, I switched my crown back to my mask and put it on, feeling more like me again.

I didnt exactly like using my power like that. My authoritative power, anyway.

I teleported myself back to UA, going back to the weapons lab, finally able to build in peace.

Mei looked over at me expectantly when I walked in. “Dont worry, I did, in fact, fuck them up,” I said sitting down at my station. I caught a glimpse of a smirk while I got my materials back out.

----《 ¤ 》----

I finally finished S’s new support item. I pushed off from my workstation and breathed a sigh of relief. All in a day’s work.

“Hey, you ready to go? I’m hungry,” Mei smiled at me from the door having already finished what she was working on and cleaned up her area.

I nodded. “Let me put some of my stuff away and we can go.” I put everything back in its place as quickly as I could before joining her. “Oh, right, I have a quick pitstop to make first,” I said, leading us down to where the battle had taken place earlier. It had only been maybe 30 minutes to an hour.

Which was part of why it was surprising that there were still people there.

I stepped through the same hole in the wall that I’d used earlier, whoever had gotten thrown through it was probably in the nurse’s office now.

Some of the others waved at me, a few recognized me and either froze up and some even gave sheepish bows. I didnt really pay them much mind. It was weird enough that I was treated as my title every now and then by Mei, even though she was my friend. I didn’t need that trend starting with my friends in the hero course too.

I tried waking towards where I had left my sword while attracting little attention, but that failed.

“Hey! You cant touch that!” someone called at me.

“And why not?” I asked, continuing towards my sword until they physically got in front of me and blocked me.

“Because it’s Princess Clover Morgan’s!”

“I fucking know that.” I tried moving around them. They stepped in front of me again. I sighed, “Look dude, I dont need your help. Back the fuck off, it’s not your sword.”

“So?” he challenged.

Someone else piped up, “Bro you know that sword has a safety mechanism so only the princess can hold it right? You dont need to guard it!”

Thank gods some people had some sense in them.

“Oh,” he said, finally standing down.

“Yeah.” I walked forward and grabbed onto my sword, unsheathing it from the ground and twirling it around a bit. “I’m perfectly capable of getting and protecting my own damn sword, thanks.”

His jaw dropped. “Give that to me!”

Obviously he still wasn’t convinced. “Okay, look dude. This is the sword of Clover Morgan-”

“Princess Clover Morgan,” he grumbled.

“...Excuse me? Dont tell me how to refer to my own fucking self! You see this sword? You think I could mess up on my own technology? Here, dont believe me? Why dont you fucking try holding it!”

He was determined to prove a point. And so he foolishly reached out and tried to grab the sword, running into 2 issues. One, it was too heavy for him to hold because of the spell I’d put over it to increase in weight for maximum power and damage when extended into sword form, and two, it was charged with electricity that was more than happy to shock his sorry ass because he wasnt me.

“I’m not fucking discussing this further, I am Clover Morgan, this is my sword, and I dont need you fucking help with it thank you very much.” I twisted the bottom of the grip and it retracted back to the small metal rod of sorts that was the disguised version of it and put it back in my blazer’s pocket.

Performing a mocking curtsy, I marched myself back to where Mei was waiting for me. I really needed some fucking food after that shitshow of an interaction.

“So much for not wanting people to know,” she snorted, walking towards the cafeteria with me.

I groaned.

I didn’t even want to think about how times I’d already dealt with idiots saying ‘you’re lying’ by the end of the day. I almost turned into a villain myself from it.

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #20 + #21 + #22

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Ahm. Here the story starts getting a little darker. If you’d like to suggest tags for safety’s sake please do so, because I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to tags.

Autumn came, and with it William's seventeenth birthday. Unlike Adam's parents, William's family did want to at least look like they gave a damn about the son they'd placed on the bloody altar of the Dowager Queen's curse. They sent what was needed so he could host a small dinner for whatever friends and allies he'd made, and a gift of a fine jousting saddle. Adam was invited, and found himself the youngest once again; it made him think wistfully on what time he had spent at the palace. They ribbed him about his desire never to come to the crown, of course, and he accepted the teasing gracefully. They wondered why he lingered in the palace, if he truly had no intention of claiming the throne. Adam fully admitted to them that he would stay even after someone took the throne; he wanted nothing to do with the parents who'd thrown him into such a mess. Once there were a King, he'd be free to swear fealty, and perhaps they ought to get hopping to it?

It brought wry laughs because they could all too readily see his plight in their own, and they returned to making William's birthday as memorable as they could.

Full of good food, warmed by strangely unexpected cheer and wobbling a little from too much sherry, brandy, and other rich liquors, Adam found himself unwilling and unable to tolerate the walls of the palace. He found his way to a bench in a nearby garden and flopped down on it with a groan that said he'd learned his lesson well: only two servings of roasted stuffed goose with peach glaze next time. Three, tops.

A crack of thunder woke him up so violently he fell off the stone bench, crashing down to the ground with a stinging impact, drenched by a freezing, torrential downpour that had failed to rouse him even as it chilled him to the bone. He sat up, panting as if he'd run for miles. His head was pounding with the aftereffects of too much liquor, and the food had gone to a stone in his gut.

There was someone walking along the lawn. Adam roused to his feet, feeling sick to his heart. In the light of a lightning bolt he saw it, clear as if it were daylight, indelibly etched in his mind and his memory: someone was walking across the green grass with the jerking, rigid motions of a puppet, pulled and pushed this way and that by its strings. On a second flash of light Adam realized that whoever they were, they were not alone: another figure, lithe and slender, a ghost of fog, a shape drawn in raindrops and wind, was dancing around them.

"Hey," he croaked, his voice strangled by fear and drowned by the rain. He took a few uncertain steps forward.

The whispering voices of the water-spouts called out his name. They were full of warnings.

"Keep talking," he urged them. "Keep calling my name. Please. So I won't forget it."

They sang his name, all of them, an endless echo powered by the violent rain, and Adam gasped for breath, unaware that he'd been all but drowning until that moment. "Hey!" he shouted.

Lightning answered. The swirling thing around the walking figure came to a standstill.

Adam walked. He ran. "Hey, stop!"

The thing of rain and wind and fog began to dance and circle again, and the walker jerked forward. Adam slid on the grass and the mud. "Stop! Leave him alone! Let him b-!" He skid to a halt, mouth open, every thought and emotion gone to a jumble and a knot in his heart.

Prince Rickard stared back at him, and took another step toward the woods. "Adam," the older prince croaked. He'd just become eighteen late in spring. "Adam, help me." Another step.

Adam realized, with the most profound horror, that Rickard was aware. He knew exactly what his body was doing, there in the rain. He was wearing a shirt and pants, but no boots, no coat. He'd been ready to go to bed, likely relaxing in his room, when the Prince in the Woods had sent his emissary to summon this newest sacrifice. And try as he might, and the older prince was very much trying, not all his terror and hate, not all his rage and ruthless determination, not one jot of his willingness to kill for the crown was helping him. His feet carried him one step closer to the woods, looming immense and black before them, alien and menacing as Adam had only once before known them to be.

"Rickard, stop."

"I can't," the prince wheezed.

"Why should you," the thing of rain and fog whispered, and Adam saw her clearly at last, beautiful and deadly, inhumanly so in every regard. She wore a maid's shape, and next to her Arditty would have looked plain and forgettable. She had pale eyes and wind-tossed hair, and sometimes she wore fine courtly clothing and sometimes nothing at all. "Come, prince, my prince. Come. Are you not now a man? Should a man not be a king?" Her lips brushed against Rickard's cheek and the older prince made a high sound of terror and revulsion.

"Leave him alone!" Adam shouted at her, and she laughed at him, high and cold and cruel. "Rickard, stop!"

"I can't." Through the sodden shirt Adam could see that Rickard was truly trying. Every muscle on the older prince's body was standing out starkly, to no avail. He'd taken three more steps already on his way. "Adam, strike me, break my legs, do something. Stop me. Help me, please."

"What's to help, oh, what's to help, prince, my prince?" She tangled up around him as intimately as a lover in bed, running her hands and her too-sharp fingers through Rickard's rain-plastered hair. "Have you not lied, cheated, schemed for this crown you wish to claim? Have you not killed, have you not spilled blood, oh, blood, warm and rich." She licked along the side of Rickard's neck, who closed his eyes tightly and fought his head away. She spun around him in a flash of lightning, laughing. "Is this not what you have always wanted, prince, my prince, my sweet, delicious prince?"

Adam saw the treeline far too close, and shadows like wolves prowling along the edges. "Rickard," he said at last. "Rickard, answer her."

"Help me," the older prince croaked. "Adam, please." Nothing remained of the bully, of the older boy, sure of his strength and his cold machinations. There was only a terrified young man trapped by a power entirely beyond his understanding.

"Rickard, answer her!" Adam shouted. "Tell her! Tell her you don't want the crown! Tell her you give it up -!" He had to throw himself back, crashing down on a heap in the muddy ground when the fairy maid lunged at him, hissing like a blizzard wind, her fingers gone to talons of ice. "They can't take you if you do!"

Rickard fought to drag in a breath. Everything he'd done, everything he'd lost and sacrificed, every part of his heart and his soul that he'd cut away, came crashing down on him like the most terrible of avalanches. He'd thought it would all be worth it if he could only claim the crown. He'd never imagined it had all along been a contest he'd lost before he'd even begun. "I -" His voice strangled, gone to nothing; she'd closed her hands around his throat.

"Cheat!" Adam cried out. "You're cheating!"

The rain cut off as if an ax had swung and murdered it. The wind went perfectly still. The fairy maid gasped and locked her pale white starlight eyes on the young prince. "You dare -!" All her power suddenly came to rest on him, bidding him be silent, bidding him be still.

Somewhere far behind him the spouts whispered his name, and Adam flicked his hair from his face and her power from his mind. "You're cheating," he told her sharply. "He has to take your test, but only if he wants the crown. You can't make him if he doesn't want it, and if you don't let him choose, you're cheating."

"He wants it," she hissed.

"You don't speak for him."

Something, immense and dark and so powerful it felt as if the night itself were speaking, did something at the edge of the woods. Growling, she released her grip on Rickard's throat, and the older prince crashed down to his knees, coughing, breath rasping in and out of him erratically.

"Rickard," Adam said. "Rickard, tell her. Tell her now, because we're here and it's about to be too late. Tell her."

The older prince went down until his forehead touched the mud, and began to weep. "I," he croaked, "do not want the crown."

"Liar." She coiled around Rickard like a snake. "You've killed for it. You've bleed for it. You've done everything for it."

"I do not want the crown," Rickard repeated, straightening up to his knees. "I forswear it. On my heart, on my life, on my blood, I renounce it. Let it go to someone else. I do not want it!" he shouted the last bit at her, his voice raw with all that he'd done and lost for a prize he could never have.

She went to pieces under the force of his voice, or so it seemed. One moment she was there, and the next they were alone in a patch of cold fog, two young men at the edge of the woods. The rain began to fall again, but this time it was just an autumn squall, cold and dreary, already losing strength.

Rickard went down again, hands curled to fists in the mud, and wept. Adam crawled over to him and wrapped his arms around his once-enemy, not knowing what else to do.

***

Prince Rickard went home the morning after, alone on his charger, after giving up his claim before the Dowager Queen. He was ashen and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes, but his voice was steady and his steps sure.

Adam watched him go, and went down to the edge of the woods. The rain had washed them clean, and there were birds flitting through the nearly naked branches, hunting down gifts of rosehips and slugs. "I do not want the crown, I surrender my claim to it," he told the birds and the trees and an errant beetle, and waited.

A wood thrush sang somewhere in the woods. The beetle crashed against his boot and fell on its back; Adam bent down to right it, and looked at the autumn wilderness in exasperation. "Really, now. Do we have to wait until I'm eighteen? I know what I want."

A breeze tore a few leaves from the trees and sent them spiraling down. Adam resisted the urge to stomp his foot in vexation; he was not a baby to be throwing a tantrum when balked. "Fine. Until I'm eighteen, then," he declared, and went to find his friends.

***

The last few days of autumn were marred by Adam catching a terrible cold that the palace's physicians couldn't explain; it wasn't as if the young prince had gone traipsing about in a freezing downpour an entire night, after all. He was left restless and unhappy in his bed, plucking at the blankets that were piled on him in an effort to break his fever. He tried to study, but he could barely focus on food, let alone reading. There was a bit of a nervous moment for his human friends when one of the healers came to give him his hourly medicine and the prince, half delirious, started calling out for people with very inhuman names.

Culli-maid went out to the woods after that, bundled up in a heavy shawl, carrying a basket with honey and bread and figs from the Royal hothouse, and a crispy roasted trout.

She needn't have bothered with the offerings. Linden nearly ran her down when they saw her coming, their fingers tangled up in each other like the knotted roots of a surly tree. Needlemaw had heard from William that Adam was sick, but little else; all they otherwise knew was that Adam had been out on a Hunting Night. Culli's news were far more welcomed, worrisome as they were, than any gift of honey. She was sent back with word to leave one of the windows in the prince's rooms open. Boul looked deeply crestfallen at that; he was a troll, a creature of earth and water. Climbing was one thing he'd never learned, in all his years with his wild friends. Culli-maid solved that by sending Dane down with a wheelbarrow, ostensibly for firewood.

Adam woke up from a heavy, feverish sleep to the scent of linden flowers and a cool hand brushing back his hair. "Would you please," he whispered hoarsely, "thank the water-spouts for me. They helped me more than they know."

Linden couldn't help but laugh. "What were you thinking, what were you doing?"

"I wasn't thinking much," Adam admitted. "I had five servings of stuffed goose and I think I drank half the bottle of blackberry brandy, and never, ever again."

"Well, 'tis a hard lesson learned, that, but a good one to learn," Needlemaw's voice purred low at him, full of wry amusement, as Linden sprawled on the bed next to their best friend.

He told them everything, these two disparate groups that had become the bonds of his life, strange as it was and stranger as it had become. He drowsed once in the middle of the telling, and then picked up the thread again as he woke up, unaware that he'd stopped. He slept again after that, only vaguely aware that the physicians had come back with his medicine; Culli-maid heard much of how the treatment was surely working, making the young prince biddable and meek.

When he woke up again the hearth was banked to rich red coals. Culli's shawl and mending basket rested on the chair by the window, and the nearby study table was covered in books and scraps of well-worn parchment. Adam licked his lips and grimaced at the taste of bitter medicine, and heard a low, familiar chuckle. "You wouldn't laugh if you had to drink it," he muttered, grinning.

"I don't get sick from the rain," Linden replied, their voice low and cheerful.

Adam turned. He felt wrung out and exhausted, but clear-headed for the first time in forever. He gazed at the shattered, many-colored eyes. In the dark, Linden's wild burst of gold-tipped white hair had slicked down, pressed close to their skull, and their features looked sharp and deeply inhuman in the gloom, sun-kissed to the color of a tree's bark. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Ugh," Linden replied, shifting in the immense bed and seeking out Adam's hand so they could lace their fingers with the prince's. "And you thinking you're selfish." When Adam smiled at that, they went on. "You'll get better now, then?"

"I suppose. Anything so I don't have to drink any more bitter tea."

Linden snorted. "You could have let him go, you know. He's been nothing but horrible to you."

Adam rubbed at his mouth with the sleeve of his sleeping shirt. "Linden, lots of people are horrible to me. Lots more are always going to be horrible to me. That's not my fault, it's never going to be, but I can't be horrible back just because. How exhausting would that be for nothing gained." He licked his lips and grimaced at a lingering taste no rubbing could take away. "You should always start out being nice. I did. I didn't stay nice for Rickard, but when he stopped picking fights I didn't go looking for them. I didn't want to be his friend, I just wanted him to leave me alone."

"Did he?"

"Yes. The thing with being nice right off is, other people end up being nice back. Because they already were, or because they're ashamed, or just because they're tired of being mean, or a lot of other reasons. Rickard being nice was him leaving me alone, and I don't mean the fighting. He could have just made me part of his schemes. He didn't. And... Maybe, if things go the way everyone thinks they will, someone will be there, like I was for him."

"I will be."

"I think that would just scare me more. I'm used to the thought of me being in trouble. I don't know what I'd do if it were you instead." Adam paused. "Are you in trouble now? For being here after dark?"

"No. I told them I wouldn't come back until I knew you were alright, and if they got in my way I wouldn't come back at all."

They laughed at that, their small bits of defiance, unaware or perhaps simply uncaring of the vastness of what they'd accomplished. Adam rubbed at his mouth once again and licked. "Ugh!"

"It's stained your lips, too," Linden pointed out.

"That's probably why I can't get rid of it. Wouldn't have hurt them to put a bit of sugar in it."

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

9.22.23 Friday

4:53 am

Back from the floor of Iqor... Hmm....Coach John was not around, he went to Bicol? Hmm...

I met Migz or became my coach for the day, my support on the floor...

I saw Popz again small but having a pretty face...

Guess what? I saw dread-locks guy (Miles) I think 3 times today... He was on his "green shirt" , I see and saw him again today... First when I entered the floor came from the bathroom I accidentally saw him walking on the side going out of the training floor... 2nd around 2am we were just on the training floor huddling or doing team meeting with Coach Gian and Miles ( dread locks guy) was walking with 2 girls one was fat and the 2nd was chubby. Miles was smiling while walking with those 2 girls...

After shift on the elevator lobby on the 4th floor I saw him the dread-locks guy or Miles with a girl who looks like me, wearing a black jacket as well... They were nearly walking together and the girl on a black jacket as well looked at Miles ( dread-locks guy ) that secretly talking to him, probably the girl wants to go home with him or to walk together... But the way, the girl seems like a wife or a gf behaviour... hmm... The girl's behaviour was kinda controlling Miles... I felt mad but why should I???

I don't know what to feel...I'm no longer spoiled and I lost my crown of being the spoiled or baby that I can always get whoever I wanted... Or if I like someone, I can always have him but not these days... I was kinda mad for a moment but why will I get mad?

I feel bad and I don't know, why should I? I hate losing but I was never really mean....I wanna still keep my sanity.

I wanna keep my sanity and I have to keep my sanity...

Bella on the other angle of Iqor floor got mad at me for a moment... I didn't mean to be loud beside her coz Tin2x asked something awhile ago and I was kinda shouting,I must admit... I didn't know that Bella was still on her call... I said sorry Bella I didn' mean it, I didn't mean to interrupt you....Then, Bella said this is not the first time, I was just quiet and I said Bella sorry I didn't mean it...

Bella is still keeping her soft side as always....That's Bella...

11:54 am

Huh? Uncle Jun is asking and requesting for a cooked meal here??? Huh? If Uncle DD gave something for the food?

Uncle DD just gave for the rice....There is no enough food fundings for the grocery.

Just for these few days a 1k coz Ate Liza is in Bicol...That's it...Not enough money for our food here...

Then, I have to pay on Ate Liza....

Then, this is my diary Lexa I considered a friend there for this moment that I have my journey there in Iqor... I was shocked yesterday that her cti failed, or failed to pass by Coach Melai... Coz I was assisting her just this week coz she is out of budget accidentally.... I'm a genuine person and I'm always a friend and I know boundaries and I know maturity. But I told Lexa to recover coz I also experienced that situation that I need to borrow money coz I have to... I'm bringing lunch for Lexa my wavemate and friend that I considered, bringing food just this week and next week supposed to be her time recover... Lexa is living now under the roof of Coach John, that is 15 minutes away from Iqor... Then, suddenly Lexa told us me, Mia and Ramil that her cti failed...

I have maturity, I also need money... But the cti failed is a different case... Cti failed is our system attendance.Once your cti failed meaning you can't get salary coz you are absent...I think Lexa can have only 1k for her salary this week.

I still need to pay my creditz until now...

12:22 noon

I also saw Cali twice... I was with her again awhile ago this 4am waiting for jeepney.

Cali is the tomboyish from wave 464 or 454?? her team was already graduate and it is their off today and she told me that she wanted to sleep but she needs to do her laundry.She's been there for almost 2 years and she said I'm still surviving.

1:02 pm

Wanted american bf!

I feel bad I still some blemish on the cheek of my butt...

Mike are you there hahaha...

Wanted american bf...

[chimchimsauce]

Fairest

Is beauty a blessing or a curse? All of her life, princess YN was told that her beauty was the greatest gift her late mother ever gave her. But when her looks attract a man cruel and bloodthirsty, YN begins to think that her greatest asset is the beginning of her demise.

“Checkmate.”

YN cannot help the grin that spreads across her face as she utters the word, watching as her older brother groans with disdain.

“You always win!” he complains, acting very much like a child.

“That’s because you always get too caught up in the current move, dear brother. The future decisions are the most important ones.”

YN’s older brother, first in line to the throne of their small country Ameris, huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Chess is like war. You get too focused on winning battles that cause you to lose the war. I certainly hope that won’t be the case for our kingdom . . .”

YN is only jesting. Her elder brother is an excellent leader and will make a wonderful king. He’s just really impatient with games. 

“I’m sure I can beat you next round!” her brother says playfully.

They both know it’s unlikely, but YN clears the board and begins to set up another game. As she’s placing the last pawn, a knock comes at the door. One of her handmaidens opens it, revealing one of their father’s special guards. 

YN’s breath catches ever so slightly before she schools her expression back into one of unbothered royalty. It’s always so hard to ignore her secret lover when other people are around, but she knows she must. A relationship between her and her father’s most trusted guard would cause a scandal that would undoubtedly get Wonho’s position revoked. He’s worked his entire life to get good enough for a spot on the King’s royal guard and there’s no way YN would do anything to sabotage that.

“His majesty has requested your presence,” Wonho says, not even looking YN in the eyes.

He’s much better at keeping his emotions in check.

YN’s brother stands, tapping his finger on the chessboard.

“Lucky thing I’m being summoned, or else I would have absolutely destroyed you in this game.”

YN laughs, maybe a little more politely than she would if Wonho wasn’t standing at the door.

“I’m sure of it,” she says, “Feel free to come back anytime to play again.”

YN’s brother nods and leaves her quarters, following after Wonho. Being the heir to the throne means that YN rarely gets to see her brother. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time as he tours the neighboring countries to learn everything he possibly can, as well as maintain a positive relationship with their allies. Ameris may be a small country, but it is located in the perfect spot for transcontinental trade and filled to the brim with valuable resources. One could dig in a mine for just a few moments and emerge with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Thankfully, Ameris has not had any problems with its neighboring countries in hundreds of years. The last war was ended by YN’s great great great grandfather and peace has blanketed the region since then.

Well, for the most part. In the last several years, the Eastern kingdom of Moonbyss has been steadily expanding and taking over small, unclaimed villages. They have not breached any borders or broken any treaties, however, so there is no cause to worry quite yet.

YN sighs as her thoughts shift back to Wonho. Their secret love affair has been going on since they were teenagers. At first, Wonho was just an attractive boy who was willing to indulge her wanton fantasies, but soon enough an affection bloomed between them. It’s so hard to pretend not to be in love with him, especially when he grows more handsome by the day.

“Thinking about him, my lady?” YN’s lady in waiting, Irene, asks her.

Irene is YN’s closest confidant and friend. She knows almost everything about the princess. Ever since she arrived in the castle from abroad two years ago, they have been inseparable. 

“Of course,” YN says, standing and walking over to the window that overlooks her private gardens. 

She opens the glass door and steps outside, her skin warmed by the sunshine. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, cloudless and blue. Birds chirp sweetly and the scent of flowers wafts on the breeze. The princess stops at the fountain in the middle of the garden, sitting on the bench and looking into the bubbling water. YN often made wishes in this fountain when she was younger, tossing in coins that reflected the sunlight back at her. More recently, though, she’s only wished for one thing - to be with Wonho. Her father, although he loves her, would never allow a union between them. Her older brother, however, has promised to allow YN to marry whoever she desires once he takes the throne on his thirtieth birthday.

He does not know that someone already has her affections, but no matter. YN is not worried about being married off. While her brother is the only prince in the kingdom, the king was blessed with twelve daughters and YN is the youngest. Every available man of power in the kingdom and the surrounding countries have already been wedded. 

YN has Irene bring her a book to read and she settles in, getting comfortable in her garden. The hours pass by quickly as she is sucked into the tale, but soon enough a shadow blocks her reading light. 

The princess looks up and is shocked to see Wonho standing in front of her. Alarm flares up inside of her. The two of them have agreed to never be seen together in daylight.

“Won-”

“Your Majesty,” Wonho says stiffly, “The King requests an audience. I have been asked to escort you to the throne room.”

YN hesitates a moment. She can tell that something is wrong by the strain in his voice. Something must really be bothering him for the guard to allow it to leak into his words. She wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she never knows who is watching so she simply stands, handing her book off to Irene who stands beside her.

“Very well,” YN says, trailing after him and back into the castle.

He walks three paces in front of her, leaving her to stare at his back. So much about him has changed in the last few years. He’s gained an immense amount of muscle, something that YN has really grown to appreciate during their midnight endeavors. It’s a shame that everything is covered up by his uniform, but she must admit he looks dashing in it.

As they walk, YN notices that Wonho isn’t the only one acting strangely. The various maids and butlers who usually flit around and chatter pleasantly amongst themselves are dead silent, walking with perfectly straight backs and zipped mouths. The princess notices a few pitying looks tossed her way and something cold settles in her stomach.

What’s going on?

Wonho knocks on the throne room’s closed doors. They are ever so carefully opened a few moments later and Wonho leads YN into the grand room.

Her father sits on the throne, a smaller one empty next to him. It always makes YN sad to see her father by himself. The Queen passed away only a year ago and was her father’s closest friend. The late Queen was kind to everyone, even YN’s mother - a poor girl her father discovered in one of his hunting trips. Apparently, YN’s father was so taken with her mother that he simply had to add her to his harem and rarely visited any of his other concubines afterward. But it didn’t last long - YN’s mother died shortly after her birth. Everyone says that she left YN her ethereal beauty, a fact that led YN to being hidden away in the castle for the majority of her life.

“You’re the most valuable diamond in all of Ameris,” her father told her once, “It’s important that few people know of your existence.”

It had saddened YN when she was younger that she could not attend the lavish parties and balls like her elder sisters and brother, but she came not to mind once Wonho came into her life. It mattered not if other people thought she was beautiful - as long as Wonho desired her, that was more than enough.

Standing to her father’s side is YN’s brother. The jolly air that had surrounded him mere hours ago is gone completely now. He looks furious, an expression YN has rarely seen on his face. He’s looking at a man who stands before the throne, a crown placed perfectly on his head.

Visiting nobility? 

The man turns as the click of YN’s heels sounds out against the marble flooring. YN’s step falters as a large, nearly terrifying grin spreads across his face. He is incredibly handsome, but the smile on his face does nothing but creepy the princess out.

“There she is,” he says, quickly extending his hand towards her.

YN, uncertain, looks at her father who gives her a stiff nod. Hesitantly, YN places her hand in the stranger’s grasp, making sure to school her expression as he places a cold kiss that lingers too long against her gloved hand. The princess has never been more glad to be wearing gloves.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” YN asks, careful to watch her throne. 

“King Seokjin Moonbyss, your highness. I must say, the rumors of your beauty do you no justice. You’re much more radiant in person.”

YN’s blood freezes in her veins. This cannot mean anything good.

“Thank you,” YN says, a slight tremble in her voice.

The man has still not released her hand.

“YN,” her father says, giving her an excuse to look away from this man - no, this monster - beside her, “King Seokjin has asked for your hand.”

YN barely squashes the shout of protest that so desperately wants to escape her throat. There’s no way this can be happening! No way! Her eldest brother is just three years shy of taking the throne, three years more of having to tiptoe around with Wonho. No way she can get married, especially to someone from so far away.

“Excuse me,” Wonho says, speaking up from his place behind YN, “I thought King Seokjin was already married.”

Relief flows through YN. If Seokjin is already married, then surely this is an error.

“She failed to provide me with a male heir, so I had her disposed of,” King Seokjin says simply, glaring at Wonho, “Do not question me again.”

There is not a trace of remorse in his voice at all, nothing but anger.

YN begins to tremble.

“Father -” she begins.

“King Seokjin has made us an offer I cannot refuse,” he says, cutting her off, “And besides, YN, you’ll be able to be Queen. You never would have had that opportunity here.”

YN’s father would normally never make this sort of decision, especially not for the daughter he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Of course, sweet YN,” King Seokjin says, “You are free to reject my offer if you so desire. I would, however, be forced to declare war on Ameris. After all, this country is the most resource rich of all the lands. It’s a shame. It would have been so much nicer to make a positive connection with this beautiful country. I wonder how much of its splendor will be left once my troops march through it.”

The threat is crystal clear. YN has to marry this King or her country will suffer for it. YN glances at her father and brother, seeing the fear that’s in their eyes. Ameris is much too small to fight Moonbyss and win, especially since the eastern country has been gaining a lot of territory very rapidly. YN swallows. In a matter of hours, her perfect daydream has been shattered.

“I would be honored to marry you, King Seokjin,” YN says, trying her hardest not to cry.

She can release her tears once she’s in the safety of her own chambers. She cannot show any weakness in front of this man.

“Beautiful and smart,” King Seokjin says, “It will be my honor to have you as my bride. After all, the most handsome man in all the world deserves the most beautiful bride of them all.”

YN never really thought much of her beauty. She’s always heard it was a blessing, the only one her mother ever left her, but right now it feels like a curse. 

“I pray that you’ll join me for dinner this evening, my betrothed,” King Seokjin says.

“I would love to,” YN says even though the thought of having to spend even a single moment more in this man’s presence makes her want to hurl.

“You best retire to your quarters, my love. Your father and I have much to discuss before this evening. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready.”

The dismissal is clear. YN turns swiftly and leaves the room, Wonho following closely behind her. She walks much too fast to be considered ladylike, but she does not give a damn, wanting to be as far away from the throne room as possible. 

“YN, wait!” Wonho calls out to her.

He grasps her wrist, uncaring of who will see, and pulls her to his chest. As soon as the warmth of him touches her, YN loses all composure, breaking down and sobbing into his pristine uniform.

“Wonho,” she cries out, grasping him as close as she can, her fingers creasing the silk he wears, “I don’t want to be Queen! I want to marry you!”

YN feels something wet fall against her head. Based on the way his shoulders shake, Wonho is also crying. She hasn’t seen him shed a tear since one of his best friends was murdered on a mission.

“What are we going to do?” YN asks into his chest, her voice muffled, “I don’t think I can bear being apart from you, especially with someone as cruel as the King!”

“We’ll figure something out, YN, I promise,” Wonho says, pulling away just enough to give YN a salty kiss.

“At least once more,” YN says once their lips part, “I must have you at least once more.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Wonho says, pulling her along to her chambers.

The two fall into the sheets, both knowing that this is the last time despite desperately wanting to spend eternity together.

On the other side of the castle, Irene makes her way through the hallways, stopping at a grand door and knocking three times. No one answers, so she swings it open, prepared to wait for as long as it takes. 

Maybe half an hour later, King Seokjin opens the door, looking quite pleased with himself. He doesn’t greet Irene, instead instantly walking over to her and pinning her against the wall, his lips meeting hers passionately. Irene barely has any time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t mind at all, too enamored with this man she knows is only using her.

When he was only a prince, Seokjin was infamous for being a womanizer. All too often, he lured servants and noble girls alike into his chambers, whispering promises and pressing kisses against their skin only to leave them abandoned like trash when he grew bored of them. Irene was one of those servant girls, but Seokjin has kept her around for longer than most. A part of Irene is convinced it’s because she’s special to him, but she knows it’s really not true.

Seokjin has been obsessed with YN, the secret twelfth princess of Ameris for five years now. Ever since he spotted her while visiting Ameris with his late father, he wanted her - needed her. After all, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, trying as he might to find another. His late wife was incredibly beautiful as well, but she didn’t compare to YN. No one else was worthy of her but him. It was YN that drove him to murder his own father and take the throne before he was supposed to. After all, Seokjin has never been a patient man.

Seokjin pulls away from Irene, looking unbothered as ever.

“No good,” he says, “Simply imagining that you’re YN does nothing. I’m tired of waiting.”

His words sting Irene’s heart. She tries not to be bitter, but jealousy is a powerful emotion, one that overshadows the genuine affection she feels for princess YN.

“Well,” the King asks her, “Who is it? The one YN claims to be in love with.”

The King rolls his eyes, gripping his fists tightly. How dare YN love another when he’s already claimed her.

“It’s Wonho,” Irene says, pushing down her feelings, “the guard that accompanied her today.”

“A guard huh? How dare he think he deserves someone as beautiful as YN!” he says, furious.

Seokjin is terrifying when he’s angry. Irene tenses, preparing for the worst. Instead of gripping her hair and tossing her to the floor like he usually does, Seokjin grabs a decorative vase and tosses it against the ground, watching as it shatters into a million pieces.

“You didn’t strike me,” Irene says, shocked.

“I have been practicing,” the King says, “After all, it would be a shame to make a single mark on YN’s perfect body.”

Much too soon, Irene is knocking on YN’s private chamber door.

“Your majesty,” she calls out softly, “Your betrothed has requested your presence.”

YN rolls over to Wonho, tears in her eyes. He blinks them away, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

“One moment,” YN calls out, listening as Irene walks away.

“Run away with me,” YN pleads, her voice desperate.

“You know we can’t,” Wonho says, his eyes sad.

“Yes we can!” YN insists, “You know this country better than anyone. We can get up right now and flee and -”

“YN,” Wonho says, “What about the country? You know we’ll be forced to go to war if you disappear.”

YN sniffles.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” YN confessed, “And if I can, I don’t want to find out.”

Wonho is silent for a moment before he sits up, an idea in his mind.

“What? What is it?” YN asks him.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t have to live without me? I’ve heard rumors amongst the staff of a poison you can take that will put you in a deep slumber for a fortnight. If some was mixed into your dinner tonight, it can seem that you’ve been poisoned and passed away. Then when you awake, you and I can disappear together.”

YN brightens. Even though being unconscious for a fortnight doesn’t sound pleasant, anything will be better than having to marry KIng Seokjin. Besides, she trusts Wonho with her life.

“Okay,” YN says, agreeing right away.

“Are you sure, YN?” Wonho asks her, “You will end up getting rather sick for a few days before the slumber.”

YN nods eagerly.

“Yes, anything,” she says.

“Very well.”

Wonho hops out of bed, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he possibly can.

“I’ll get everything ready. YN, go to dinner with the king, alright? I won’t be able to see you after this so as not to arouse suspicion. I love you, princess.”

He leans down to kiss her.

“I love you more,” YN says, watching as Wonho slips out of a glass door and into the gardens.

Unbeknownst to the lovers, King Seokjin is outside the door, his ear pressed against it to hear everything. He had come to escort his beloved like a sweet fiance would, only to hear his to be wife scheming to get away from him.

He’s never been so angry, but he suppressed it, not wanting to let YN know that he’s been here. He grabs Irene by the arm roughly and leads her out into the hallway, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Make sure to add enough of the poison to YN’s food to keep her under for longer than a fortnight. Put as much of it in as you can without bringing her to the brink of death.”

“Are you sure your -”

Irene’s question is cut off when he backhands her, one of his elegant rings drawing blood.

“Do NOT question me!” he says, “Do as I order!”

Irene rushes off to do as the King says, tears brimming in her eyes. She’s never regretted being Seokjin’s spy until now, too blinded by love. She should have warned YN, should have helped her disappear with Wonho - someone Irene knows truly loves the princess. King Seokjin is just obsessed with her beauty and determined to own her like she’s some sort of object to be bought and sold.

Peeking around the corner, Irene sees Wonho pouring a liquid into the soup bowl meant for the princess. When he leaves and when the coast is clear, Irene snatches the vial from the counter and empties the rest of it into other dishes reserved for the princess before refilling the vial with water and placing it back where Wonho left it.

“YN, I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself before fleeing into the night, never to be heard from again.

At dinner, YN pretends not to notice the odd taste in her food. It’s obviously been tampered with, but YN doesn’t let it show at all, eating properly and conversing with King Seokjin as much as she can bear. YN misses the look of glee in his eye as he drinks from his goblet, still believing that everything is going to plan.

YN starts feeling ill once the final course comes around. She quickly asks to be excused and King Seokjin offers to walk her back to her room. YN accepts, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own with the  way the room begins to spin.

For the next three days and nights, YN is in and out of consciousness, the world swirling around her in a nauseating mix of bright colors and fuzzy shapes. When she closes her eyes at midnight of the third day, her thoughts are on Wonho and the fact that the next time she opens them, she’ll be free to be with him.

But YN does not wake up. Not for a fortnight, not ever. Seokjin, furious, intends to find Irene and hang her for murdering his beloved before realizing that she’s nowhere to be found. It’s easy enough to frame Wonho for her murder and a matter of hours after YN dies, Wonho follows her from the gallows.

At his request, YN is preserved and dressed in a wonderful white wedding gown, still looking very much alive. He marries her anyway and has her crowned, determined to have her even in death. She’s too beautiful to be buried underground, so he commissions a glass coffin to display her in, putting her corpse in his bedroom where no one else can see her. King Seokjin finds that he does not mind YN being dead. She’s much less bothersome in passing, much easier to fall to his will.

King Seokjin stands before her, placing his hand flat against the cool glass of her coffin. Even in death, YN is the fairest of them all.

[a-libra-writes]

Congratulations on 800!

24. “You’re my favourite.”

For Sandor Clegane from his s/o mayhaps? 🪐

Enjoy 👀

The hooves hit the ground so hard, she could swear the horse's legs would break. But the beasts stayed true to course, carrying the weight of the riders that were determined to run straight into each other.

Both knights missed their mark completely, and the men around them groaned in annoyance. The riders lined up to try the list again, and Y/N found her patience running thin. Only a man would think up the idea to mount a horse in full armor, carry a stick and think to knock someone off a horse with it.

Y/N sat restlessly, not able to use the excuse of her 'delicate constitution' disagreeing with the heat because the weather was perfectly agreeable. She glanced at Joffrey, a boy too small to sit in his seat properly, yet allowed to watch the practices. His seat had to be stacked with cushions, and he was yelling princely directions at the knights. In Y/N’s opinion, he was far too young for this, but her opinion was rarely considered by her queenly cousin.

Ignoring the boy’s shouting, she scanned the armored knights, looking for the only reason she was here. It was always worth enduring Cersei’s brat to see him.

Finally, he rode up, wearing that distinctive dog helm she found ridiculous but the boy insisted on. She hated how Sandor was in Joff’s service, even if that’s what brought them together. He hadn’t closed the snarling visor yet, so she could look at him, brief as it was. Of course, Sandor wouldn’t look back at her. He was careful about these things. Paranoid, and rightfully so. Still, it wouldn’t kill him to slightly glance in her direction…

Y/N was so focused on watching him, she hadn’t noticed how the other men were deciding who would ride next. No one wanted to risk broken limbs for a practice run. They whispered hastily amongst themselves, and then a mounted knight stepped forward dramatically, ending their conversations. Y/N only vaguely recognized his shield. He turned and bowed to the prince, and then bowed to her. That was surprising; she was used to being ignored when in the presence of the crown prince. The young knight’s helmet was off, giving her a proper view of his bright smile and a flourish he made with his hand.

She was sure if he had flowers, he’d be offering them to her. Y/N didn’t even know who this knight was, but he ought to keep the dramatics for the tourneys. A bold man, but a foolish one. She simply pursed her lips in a smile, then dropped it. An indication that she noticed the flattery, and no more.

The sound of metal hitting metal resounded through the field. The snarling dog helmet snapped shut with a swift motion. Y/N dismayed at losing sight of Sandor’s face. If that knight hadn’t distracted her, she may have had a few more moments, pathetic as that sounded. He was always busying guarding her cousin’s royal terror. Now that her focus was back on him, Y/N noted how tightly Sandor’s fingers curled around the lance. The other knight was not holding his near so tightly, and why should he? This was practice.

Little Joffrey stood on stop of his cushions and bellowed, “FIGHT!” There was no point in telling the boy it wasn’t a real fight, because gods knew he wanted blood.

Y/N hadn’t expected it to actually come, though. Stranger hit the ground running hard. He was a brutal mount, and Sandor had a strong, rigid poster. Y/N tensed, then gasped as Sandor knocked the knight straight off his horse with a single blow. The man went flying, hitting the ground with a cacophony of metal clanging. His horse bucked and ran off from the shock, causing several squires to shout and jump out of the way.

Joffrey laughed in delight. “Get him! Get him!” He said, though his cries were drowned out by the voices of men. They all stayed far away from Stranger, whose nostrils were still flaring, and a few squires ran for the dismounted knight. Y/N winced as they lifted his battered body. At least he was able to shamble to his feet.

That dog helmet turned sharply toward her, and Y/N realized she was holding her hand to her mouth. She lowered it, making sure the disapproval was clear on her face. Joffrey shouted and pointed some more, demanding someone else go against “his dog”, but Jaime stepped forward. His patience always ran thin with Joff.

“That’s enough, your highness,” The Kingsguard said airily. “It’s time you head back for your lessons.”

“I don’t want lessons! Uncle, go down there and fight the Hound!” The young prince jumped out of his seat in agitation. “You're the only one who will, and mother said he'll fight whoever I say!"

Jaime and Y/N shared expressions of exhaustion. She didn’t envy him in his duty. She put on her sweetest voice and said, “Dear prince, the more lessons you do, the more your mother will let you watch the knights. You don’t want to miss their melee training, do you?”

The boy considered this. For once, the storm in his green eyes lessened, though no doubt it would return when he was allowed to return. “Let’s hurry, uncle,” He ordered his Kingsguard. “I’ll do whatever stupid lesson mother and that old man want, then we can come back for the real fighting. I'll make sure they do it."

Charming. Y/N sighed. She watched Joffrey practically pull Jaime away, forgetting all about the bodyguard he was just shouting at. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the opportunity the brat gave her. Y/N waited a few minutes, watching the knights disperse and talk. Sandor was already gone, but she still took her time in making sure the servants were occupied before slipping away from the pavilion.

Lifting her crimson dress high above her ankles, Y/N walked through winding servant’s paths along the Red Keep’s gardens. She ducked behind a pillar or tall bush anytime someone passed. As she edged closer to the barracks and quartermaster’s keep, she watched squires and soldiers file in and out. As soon as backs were turned, she scampered down the wide hall.

Despite being an official bodyguard of the Prince, Sandor kept his own small quarters. He had little patience for any squires and servants attempting to enter, the only reason she was so bold to come here. That, and no one would ever assume the good-natured cousin of the Queen would ever associate with a scarred, angry dog. Y/N stepped close to the wooden door, pressed her ear to it, and smiled as she heard the movement of armor.

She didn’t knock as she came in, and closed the door quietly behind her. Sandor flinched as though she slammed it. As usual, he was more on edge when she entered his room than vice versa.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?” He grimaced.

“Lovely to see you, too,” Y/N said. She dropped her skirts down, ignoring the dirty rushes that scattered the floor.

“I told you not to bloody come in here, didn’t I? You’ll be seen.”

“I won’t be. You’re determined to scare off any servant whose trying to do their job."

Sandor scoffed, but said nothing to that. He turned away from her, his shoulders tense, returning to cleaning his helmet. Y/N was familiar with this. She stepped forward slowly, reaching her hand out. Even with the armor on his shoulders, he flinched again when she touched him.

“You needn’t be so rough on the training grounds.” She said, leaning in. She wished he’d look at her. Sandor was lowering his face, the scarred side covered by some of his stringy black hair. “You could have killed that man.”

Instantly, he looked up. “What does that matter to you?” He sneered. “Do you know him?”

“An hour ago was our first meeting.” Y/N said. A smile tugged at her painted lips. “Were you jealous, Sandor? Are you still?”

He scoffed, the harsh noise coming hard from his throat, but he didn’t refute it.

“You needn’t be. You’re my favorite.”

The lady gasped at the feeling of cold, hard metal on her wrist. With little grace, Y/N was yanked onto the man’s large lap. She felt his other metal gauntlet wrap around her waist, digging into the silk and skin, keeping her in place. Finally, finally, they were close. There was no looking away or hiding now.

Sometimes she wondered if he wanted her to recoil and turn away. She never did. Y/N pressed herself closer, all armor and propriety be damned. That raspy voice rumbled through his chest as he said, “You won’t say sweet things when I stop being nice, Lady Lannister.”

He sneered that title as two large hands squeezed her even more, keeping her stuck in place. Y/N was fine with that. She glanced at the modest bed just a few feet from them, one of the few furnishings in this small room. She wanted those gloved hands to squeeze and rip whatever they pleased, wanting to surrender to all of it.

So, she challenged him. “I prefer when you aren’t nice, ser knight.”

She expected the usual retort — the gruff “I’m no knight” line that he was so fond of. A rough kiss was the response, and she gladly accepted it.

[dodo-begone]

The Kidnapping...

(Aka in a nutshell the Yandere boys kidnap reader)

They adored you. They befriended you. They payed attention to you. All for one very important reason. They loved you. And they were quite sure you felt the same for each of them. However. There was no good way of keeping the thing they loved safe and hidden from everyone else. Something so good could be snatched away right from their finger tips. They couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. So they created a plan. A plan to keep you safe. More precisely, a plan to kidnap you.

After sometime they realized their feelings for you. The four sat down to talk about their feelings for you. Tommy confessed first, stating that he should have the reader for himself, followed by Tubbo barking back that reader and him were closer then Tommy and reader ever were. Ranboo jumped into the fight  stating that Tommy was just being a selfish child and that Tubbo was just as immature as him. Purpled knew this was a battle he had to fight in too. “I should have (y/n) for myself! They actually notice me and make me feel seen!” Purpled said. “Your just desperate for attention from someone Purpled! You’re always just giving them crap to make reader like you!” Tommy shouted at Purpled. Before they knew it the argument turned violent with Purpled trying to stab the shit out of Tommy. Just as Purpled backed Tommy into a corner ready to plunge his dagger into Tommy’s throat, Ranboo yelled “Wait! W-What if we s-shared them?” Purpled turned his head to Ranboo so fast it could give him a whiplash. Everyone in the room went silent at his comment. “That could work.” Tubbo agreed. “Fine I guess I can work with this.” Tommy grumbled. Purpled gave a silent nod signifying he agreed. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief after Purpled put his dagger into his hoodie pocket.

They finally all agreed to share you. It was better this way. This way no ones feelings were trampled on and together they’d have a better chance of keeping you safe. The next day they confessed their (platonic) love for reader. They wanted to keep you for themselves forever safe forever! After all you guys are such good friends. They could make sure you’re taken care of. You’ll have everything you could ever want. Just please stay with them. If you say yes? Great! You get to move into your new forever home with them. They’ll cut you off from the rest of the server. If anyone asks about you or tries to search the forever home? They’ll get a nice wack to the head from Purpled and wake up outside their base or home unaware of what just happened or how they ended back up here. If you want to leave, they’ll guilt trip you into staying with them. This is your home now. And they’re your best friends! Don’t you love them? Why would you ever want to leave? “Are you tired of me (y/n)? Is that what it is?” Tommy said. “Please don’t leave me alone (y/n)! You don’t hate me do you? Oh thank goodness your willing to listen, come over here and we can have a nice cuddle session! No need to focus on the outside world!” Tubbo said. “What if I forget you (y/n)? I could never forgive myself if I did (y/n). Do you want that?” Ranboo said. “You could get hurt if you leave here! Please just stay by my side and I’ll keep you safe (y/n). I won’t let a single person lay a finger on my best friend.” Purpled said. Eventually after cuddles, gifts, and kind words from the strange teenage boys. Your content (or you think your content) with living here. You’re stuck either way.

If you say no? Fine. They’ll do things the hard way. Over the next few days you’ll start to notice foot steps behind you, more random noises in your house then usual, and wherever you go somewhere you feel rather unsafe. Eventually you reach your breaking point when you come home one night to find your house’s door wide open and your kitchen window smashed. You take off in a random direction with tears streaming down your face. As your running into the distance you bump into someone. In the dark you can’t quite see who it is but whoever it was offered to take you back to their base to calm you down. As you reach their home you start to see the lights of the forever home in the distance. Entering the forever home, you finally realize who your savior is. Not only did you have one savior, you had two. Ranboo and Purpled. You didn’t care it was them in the moment. You felt to scared to be in your home alone in the moment. “Oh you poor thing! You’re shaking! Here have some tea to warm up.” Tubbo said as he handed you a cup of tea while you sat in their living room shaking like a leaf. After drinking away the entire cup of tea you started to feel tired. You didn’t feel calm or scared. You felt numb, like the world was slipping out of your grasp. The last thing you remembered before you blacked out was being picked up by Tommy and being placed somewhere warm.

You’re their beloved best friend. They could never let you go. Even if you try to escape or scream how much you hate them. That won’t change anything. They just think your tired and cranky. So they’ll take you to bed for naps and cuddles instead. But honestly living with them isn’t so bad. Besides any teenage boy habits and random little things they might do that seem a little strange. They don’t try to hurt or punish you. They’re usually just overly sweet and soft towards you. When ever the boys talk to anyone in the outside world they’re usually more loud and obnoxious towards everyone. But to you, they’re as soft as cotton candy. Days could be spent with doing small to large tasks with them in the home. Or just enjoying movies together that turn into late night cuddles. Cuddle piles are the best! They don’t exactly know how to cook, but they’ll often try to cook meals for you which turn out rather interesting. Their favorite part about the process is when you compliment their food. Any compliment you give the four boys will send them over the moon. Often times they’ll try to 1-up each other all the time to see who can get the reader’s appraise over the others. It’s really cute what they’re willing to do for you.

After some time with the yan boys, you’ll start to love their company just as much they love yours. Days where they’re busy become incredibly lonely and dull in the home. So because of this reader would make small gifts for the boys while they were out. Like little flower crowns out of the flowers they brought home for you yesterday. Or writing little letters telling them how much they mean to you. Or just trying to make them some food for when they come home to you. Just little things to make them happy. When they find these things, they’re more then happy. They’re overjoyed! The fact you’d do this for them proves you think about them even when they’re not there! They couldn’t be happier! They’d wear or use anything you give them with pride. One day Purpled decided to wear a flower crown the reader made. Turns out the same day he was going to train with Punz. “So Purpled, what’s up with the flower crown? It’s not usually your sty-“ “Shh! More training less talking!” Purpled would say while dragging a confused Punz by his hood.

Although things weren’t all calm. People already suspected the boys kidnapping reader beforehand due to how they had already made such attempts in the past. We already knew that if someone made an attempt to search the home they’d be put to a stop by one of the boys. But what if none of the boys were home? Uh oh. Say if one of the caretakers of the smp(Puffy, Philza, or Sam) came to the home in another search of reader. And found them inside the house. We’d be in trouble. All I can imagine is the reader kicking or screaming to be released back home. And the the caretaker would just be like: “but we are going home? What’s the problem?” I can just see the reader being sad cause they miss the boys and know the boys miss them.

As soon as the yan boys find their bestie has been taken away. Panic. It’s panic mode baby. The four gear up in full netherite and grab any weapons necessary. Along with an extra set of netherite for reader. Tommy and Purpled scout outside. While Tubbo and Ranboo stay at the forever home just in case you come home. At a certain point while Tommy and Purpled were searching, they heard from Niki that she’d seen reader with Puffy. Tommy and Purpled were overjoyed and quickly ran back to the forever home to alert Tubbo and Ranboo of their discovery. They decided on ambush. They went to Puffy’s base ready to ambush but were completely unaware that Sam and Phil were currently taking care of reader with Puffy. So this ‘ambush’ went less then pleasant. The four went into the water stream that went down into Puffy’s underground base. Phil was about to go upstream to grab some more medicine from his base only to be greeted with four angry teens ready to tear the place down just to find reader. Phil knew exactly why they were there based on how reader had been ranting on and on about how they were going to come and save them or something. Tommy and Tubbo tried to hold off Phil as Purpled and Ranboo searched for reader. It wasn’t hard to find reader at all. Sam and Puffy were just keeping reader restrained in a small makeshift room in the west wing. Purpled and Ranboo saw Puffy and Sam by reader’s side trying to convince them they were safe and the boys wouldn’t find them here only for them to quickly stand up pulling out weapons ready to defend reader. Purpled being more experienced in combat than Ranboo instructed he help reader while he took on Puffy and Sam. 2 against one wasn’t easy due to the fact that Puffy and Sam were strong fighters too. However Ranboo was quick to follow orders. Ranboo in a hurry took off reader’s restraints and handed them a full set of netherite armor. Both hurried to assist the now cornered Purpled. Reader took a running start launching themselves onto Puffy. Due to the unexpected weight, Puffy went tumbling down knocking Sam down with her in the process. With reader now saved, the three ran out into main area of the under ground base to find Tommy and Tubbo still battling with the Angel of Death. Tommy and Tubbo noticed Reader and they all headed for the water stream up. Finally after a long day of fighting and searching for reader they had them home safe again. The long day had the five tired. They all laid down near the fireplace for some late night cuddles.

Yay! Good list/story? I don’t know. This kinda turned into a strange story at the end lol. I hope you liked this either way. This was just something I made while being sick. So your welcome I guess Dodo :D Apparently I wasn’t done with kidnapping head cannons after that one alien-purpled thing. Either way. Good day. -Toma can anon 🥫

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First off, Toma I’m so sorry that I took ages to answer this. Second off- FUCKING POP OFF MAN THIS WAS SO FUCKING GOOD HOLY SHIT. I McLove it.

Okay so I won’t be writing too much of a commentary on this- I want ppl to enjoy this masterpiece in their own plus anxiety but let’s not talk about that. Anyways beyond the cut is my commentary- so tw for jokes and all of the stuff from above.

KSJDJDJD PURPLED PULLED THE QUIET KID MOVE- lmao Purpled the Quiet Kid tm. It just reminds me of that one fucking meme: “I wanna kill you and destroy you. I want you died. #scene #anger #fuck #die #hatred”.

Can we just mention that the bonking ppl on the head and them appearing at their homes confused and shit is literally just the despawn system in mc. Like right on par- that’s the literal version of it and that’s how I’m seeing it and I’m fucking cackling at the idea of it-

OKAY LEMMIE GET ANGSTY!!! WHAT IF- What if, when the boys start getting so busy that you practically don’t see them anymore. Eventually you leave to either find them or just leave the house (for company or freedom). You feel that they don’t like you anymore. That you were just a bother. No wonder they haven’t come back. The withering alium flower crown in your hands was a somber reminder of the better times that weren’t so long ago.

[yonkimint]

So Show Me, I’ll Show You

Part 28.2

This part has written parts with pictures in between.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

TAGLIST (send me an ask or leave a reply if you want to be added!): @esteemedsalt @halesandy @historicalgigi @seaoffangirling @secretlycrazyhummingbird @kiwimash12 @aviwasabi21 @sehun096rainbow @darkskin-buttercup @rainfallingfromthesky @yoongiofmine @lucedelsole97 @pleasegivemearemedyyy @kim-jias-den @unadulteratedlyunique @thesweetest-peas​ @joyfullyobsessed​ @irishhbamb ​

When you come to, the lights are too bright overhead like someone is shining a laser beam directly into your pupil. You splutter and groan, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Someone is leaning over you, smoothing hair back from your face and speaking words you don’t understand.

“Don’t,” you moan, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“y/n? My name is Doctor Yang. You’re safe now,” a gentle voice says but it sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel. They keep talking and whoever is stroking your hair moves to pat your cheek. An image of Mark holding a knife flashes against the back of your eyelids.

Somewhere far away, someone starts screaming. The bright light and the pressure of the hand on your hair disappear and you fall back into the safety of the dream they’ve awoken you from. This memory you have shared with no one and it’s, perhaps, the safest one of them all.

The delicate strum of the guitar combined with your already drained emotions has your eyes drifting shut. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember that Yoongi wants your opinion on this song and you make a mental note to tell him it’s the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.

You barely register when Yoongi stops playing but you rouse a little when you realize he’s come to sit next to you on the couch. The two of you have never been this close before and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. 

You have a feeling if you ‘wake up,’ he’ll back off so you keep your eyes closed and wait to see what he’ll do.

He clicks his tongue and sighs almost like he’s scolding himself and you force yourself to keep your face free of emotion. You’d like to know what’s going through his brain but you don’t dare give away that you’re awake.

Soft fingertips brush your cheekbone, tracing the tear swollen skin beneath your eyes, and move to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t help the gentle sigh that comes from your lips and you hope he attributes it to a dream you’re having.

This feels like a dream.

“Why can’t I get you out of my head?” Yoongi whispers. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s been thinking about you too?

You almost jump when he wraps his arm around you and pulls you out of the ball you’ve been curled in. This would be the perfect time to pretend you’ve woken up but you still want to know what he’ll do. It’s taking all your best acting skills but you let out an indignant moan and fall against his shoulder.

He laughs, the sound of it making your whole body tingle. “You silly, beautiful girl,” he whispers, turning his face so his lips brush the crown of your head, his breath warm against your scalp.

His palm presses gently against your cheek and his thumb skates the skin beneath your lower lashes again. You squirm a little, taking liberties as if you were asleep, and he must believe you are because he keeps whispering the things he won’t say to you out loud.

“I know I said we can’t be friends…” he trails off. You crack your eyes open just a sliver and peer through your eyelashes as if you will discover what has interrupted his thoughts. He sighs and his hand moves from your face, his fingers curling in your loose hair.

“I know that,” he says again, “but I hope you can tell how badly I am lying.”

You hope he can’t feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

The press of something warm against your face has you convulsing again. You think you might scream again, anything to stop whatever pain you’ve been roused for, but you find that your fear response has been replaced with anger. How dare he take you away from that dream? How dare he take you away from Yoongi?

How dare Yoongi take himself away from you too?

You are so angry, you try to jerk away but find that you’ve been strapped down, every limb suspended in place and your head locked. Hot, fat tears well in your eyes and spill down from the corners to drench your hair. Vainly, you give a thought to how awful you must look in your final moments and that pisses you off too.

“Just get it over with, you asshole,” you spit.

“Baby,” a voice whispers in your ear, so familiar to you and so absolutely not Mark that your eyes snap open. You wince at the bright lights overhead and groan. Yoongi is leaning over you, smoothing your hair back from your forehead and smiling so sweetly that a deep ache fills your chest. You have missed him.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, his free hand coming up to wipe away the flood of salty liquid still dripping from your eyes, “You’re okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You blink at him. You aren’t sure how Yoongi got here — or how you got here, honestly — but all the emotions you have been put through today come to a head and you settle on anger once more. You glare at him, this boy who has pushed you away and abandoned you until this very moment when it is almost too late. His smile falters and you can’t say you aren’t happy to see it.

“Oh, you can get it over with too, you asshole,” you spit again, “Jimin said you went all the way to Daegu to get away from me. You didn’t have to come all the way back just because I almost died. A breakup text would have been fine.”

They’ve given you painkiller and you can tell because you’re starting to ramble but you can’t stop. You desperately wish you could fall back into your dream where Yoongi would hold you and whisper the sweet things. You don’t want to be awake for this part.

“y/n, I know you’re mad—”

“MAD?” you screech, “Mad is an understatement. How are you gonna abandon me when that’s the ONE THING you were so afraid I was gonna do to you? Mad, tch! Why did you even come back? How did you get in here?”

“Do you…?” he trails off, looking very uncertain and suddenly very boyish. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in response. He’s making that little pout that has had girls swooning for a decade and suddenly you notice the cut across his cheekbone and the bruise blossoming across the bridge of his nose.

You jerk against your restraints to grab his face but you are securely locked in place. He presses his lips together and finishes his question, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you nearly shout, “What happened to your face?”

His hand springs back from your face and he goes to touch a cut at the corner of his mouth that you failed to notice. He must see the frantic look in your eyes because he is quick to shrug it off, “It’s nothing. I got into a little confrontation on my way up here. I’m fine. Honestly, you should look in the mirror because you really look like shit.”

He’s deflecting. You’ll allow it for the moment because the longer you are out of your delusions, the more you realize you actually are safe, and now you have other questions that need answering.

“Gee, thanks, pretty sure my psycho ex-manager just tried to kill me so I would expect nothing less,” you tell him sardonically, “You wouldn’t happen to know how I got out of that mess, would you?”

He smiles, relief flooding his features that you aren’t pressing him about his own injuries, and says, “Well, I was on the train back from Daegu when the girls found you missing. They thought one of the boys had tried to break you out of jail but they were secretly trying to keep you here too until I could get here—”

You cut him off, “What do you mean until you got there? Is that why Jimin was taking so long? You were really coming back to break up with me?”

You can’t help it. The tears are welling up in your eyes again. His eyes bug out and his hands are suddenly aflutter around your face as if there’s some secret button hidden there that he can push to stop you from crying. He wipes at your eyes and then carefully presses both palms to either side of your face, making you look at him.

“Are you stupid?” he asks. Your despair shifts back into rage but he doesn’t give you time to speak, “I was coming back for you. Because I was stupid to have ever left you in the first place and I was coming to beg you for your forgiveness and to promise you that I would never leave you again unless you wanted me to go. And to tell you that I love you.”

You squirm, trying to alleviate the sudden soaring of butterflies in your core, but it disturbs your injuries which suddenly light up in flames of pain. Yoongi sighs, peeling one hand from your face to press his palm flat against your stomach so you’ll stop moving. It doesn’t stop the butterflies from their maddening dance.

“You are a terrible boyfriend,” you mumble. He nods in agreement.

“The absolute worst. I’m so, so sorry, y/n. I should have been here with you. I should never have left your side from the moment I dropped you off from the arcade. Then you wouldn’t be like… this.”

You see the glassy look come into his eyes and the lump bobbing in his throat and you realize he’s about to start crying too. He’s been blaming himself for this awful chain of events ever since that night and he never gave you the chance to tell him it was always inevitable.

You wish you could lift your arms and pull him down against you. That you could stroke your fingers through his hair and calm the ache that must be tearing through his chest. You frown at him and ask, “Are you stupid?”

“What?!”

“You cannot blame yourself for anything that Mark does. If you had been there that night, that guy could’ve killed you. If you had been here at the hospital, Mark still would have come. He still would have waited until I was all alone and he would have taken me. This wouldn’t have turned out any different so stop blaming yourself. 

“It’s probably not even your fault that Mark found me in the first place. If he had Lauren’s twitter and Lauren’s phone number, that means he probably found me months ago. He’s probably known all along. He was just waiting for the perfect moment, okay? There was nothing you could have done,” you tell him.

He takes a moment to consider this and then lets out a long sigh, “I should have been here.”

“You should have,” you agree, “Speaking of my would be murderer, what happened?”

“Oh,” Yoongi says as if he has completely forgotten about that asshole, Mark, and then he scowls, “Well, the police arrested him and I actually caught him in the elevator on my way up to you… which is why my face looks like this.”

“Yoongi!!” you cry.

He throws his head back and laughs, “It was worth it! Honestly, y/n, you should see his face. These are actually from one of the police officers trying to get me off of him. Mark looks a lot worse!”

“He’s gonna sue you for assault,” you scold him, wishing more than ever that you could reach for his face and erase the marks left there.

“That’s fine,” Yoongi says with a shrug, “I’m rich, remember? And nobody is going to be upset with me for throttling a man who tried to murder my girlfriend. I won’t even get negative press over this, okay? And it made me feel a lot better knowing he was hurting after what he did to you. He’ll never hurt you again.”

His nostrils are flared and there is hatred in his dark eyes. You sigh, upset that he risked getting hurt for you but so overwhelmed by the fact that he cares enough for you to have done it in the first place.

“I love you, Yoongi” you whisper.

Your words catch him off guard and he stares down at you blankly for a long moment. You wait, patient for the first time in your life, for your words to register and when they do, he breaks out in his wide, gummy grin.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” he starts, his fingers fiddling the fabric of the hospital gown at your waist. There’s a fire starting down there that makes you want to squirm for relief but you don’t dare move. He presses his lips together, thinking carefully of how to make his request, and asks, “Do you think I could start making it up to you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

He leans down, the one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other gently caressing your face, and presses his lips softly to yours. He’s kissed you before. Shy kisses in his bed the night you finally confessed your feelings to each other and more frenzied makeouts in dark corners of loud arcade rooms. Coffee laced kisses on early mornings. Lazy kisses in his studio that you’ve mentioned to no one.

But you are determined that this one should top all the others.

You open your mouth to let his tongue tangle with yours and sigh when his fingers move to loop not so gentle knots in your hair. Your fingers curl, aching to hold him but secured firmly at your sides, and you break the kiss briefly to whine at him about the straps holding you down.

He laughs a husky, breathless chuckle that catches in his throat. It’s not fair that he holds all the power in this exchange though, and you demand to be freed. Kissing the tip of your nose affectionately, he loosens the strap around your torso just enough for you to slip your arms free.

You do, snaking them around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the base of his neck as you pull him as close to you as you can manage. It is a mixture of pain and pleasure as the weight of him jostles your injuries but you don’t want him anywhere else.

Your lips meet again hungrily and you don’t waste time parting them. Your tongues dance as if they’re meeting for the first time and a low moan hums in your throat. Yoongi pulls back, his dark eyes fiery with his desire for you.

“Oh god, y/n,” he gasps, “You can’t make noises like that when you’re injured like this. I’m going to get carried away and forget to be gentle with you.”

You only laugh and coax his lips back down to yours. You’d like to trace your lips across his jaw… and down his neck… and lower… and lower… but you settle for letting him explore your mouth instead. His hand, splayed across your stomach, begins to explore too and the fire in your core grows almost too intense.

You gently bite at his lip, a warning to cool it when you both know you can’t go much farther than this in the condition you’re in. He pulls back, whispering an apology against your lips, and you decide to offer him a promise in return, “I heal fast, sir. And when I do, I don’t want you to be gentle with me at all.”

He whimpers and it’s all the satisfaction you need.

[baejax-the-great]

Aches

Fenris x Hawke (G)

1850 words of banter about old injuries between even older friends. Mentions of alcohol, spiders, and aging.

Read on AO3

~

When Bethany summoned ice from thin air, Varric reflected for the umpteenth time what a fantastic waste locking up all the mages had been for all those years.

“Thank you, Sunshine,” he said while scooping it into a handkerchief.  It would soak through eventually, but it was going to get the job done.

Hawke watched him with a raised eyebrow. “Was I the only one who thought the ice was for our drinks?”

“Ice in wine? Yes,” Fenris replied.

“I don’t know, it might have been nice to try it cold. Something new?”

Fenris shook his head.

“I’m an old man now,” Varric explained as he tied a knot to hold the ice in, “I have aches and pains, and in my time in the charming south, ice helped.”

“What aches?” Bethany asked.

“My wrist,” he replied. He rolled his eyes at Hawke’s failure to hide a childish smile. “There’s a cranking motion I have to do for Bianca and—”

Hawke was no longer pretending to listen seriously, giggling to herself, and Varric put his hands back on the table, regretting his choice to act out the motion in the air for more than just the predictable pain that came with it. He set the ice to do its work.

“Tell me more about how you crank Bianca,” Hawke said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He shook his head. “I know I’m not the only one here suffering. Come on, Hawke, you’re practically a walking bruise at this point. Maybe you’d like to be put on ice for a bit.”

She grinned. “Well there was the old shoulder injury. And the knee injury, of course. Every time it rains it starts creaking. And I really did roll that one ankle too many times. It seems always on the verge of rolling again.” Bethany quietly began summoning more ice as she spoke. ”And, well who could forget my back that one time, except that the answer was all of you forgot my back or nothing would have happened to it in the first place…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bethany tied up the ice and handed it to her sister, who only used it to gesture in the air as she said, “Honestly, at this point I take a healing potion prior to fighting just so I can make the stabbing motion without wincing. And I’m still not half as fast as I used to be.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was whisky.”

“You thought I was getting drunk before fights?”

He nodded. “I was worried about you. Now I know you are in too much pain to hold a blade. That’s much better.”

“Not after I take one of these,” Hawke said, wiggling a small vial in front of him. She seemed to remember the ice in her other hand at that point and after some consideration she balanced it on her right elbow, her smile fading into consternation. “And then take three more the minute we’re done, or I’d have to make you carry me home.”

“Give me that—” Bethany said, snatching the vial before Hawke had the chance to protest. She swirled it in the light, popped the cork to delicately sniff it, then sighed. “You really shouldn’t be taking four of these in one day.”

Hawke snatched it back with her tongue stuck out. “It’s better than taking a knife to the gut, but I’ll keep that in mind. Not all of us can shove healing magic into our shoulders after every fight.”

“Maker, don’t remind me. All that twirling has taken its toll.” She sighed. “And Alistair—all that plate mail on his big body—his knees are practically dust at this point. I think magic is all that’s holding them together.”

Hawke laughed and offered her elbow to Bethany, who prodded at it a bit with some magic. Fenris was conspicuously silent through all of this, and Varric just couldn’t help poking.

“What about you, elf?” he asked, “Where’s your worst pain? No, don’t tell me. It’s either the shoulder or the elbow, and my money’s on the elbow.”

Fenris took a slow drink of ale, and Hawke, to her credit, didn’t shout out the answer. “I may not know my age,” Fenris drawled, “But I am now certain I am younger than all of you. My joints are fine.”

Hawke laughed. “Maker, but you were a haggard teenager when we found you,” she snickered.

“Bull shit,” Varric replied. “And here’s how I know it’s bullshit and that it’s your elbow. I haven’t seen you do that over-the-head hack move in two years. Now I know you’re strong enough to lift that enormous sword of yours, but I’m guessing your elbow won’t let you do the follow-through.”

Fenris shrugged. “It was an inefficient maneuver,” he replied simply to Hawke’s giggles.

Bethany, who had prepared yet another handkerchief full of ice, turned to Varric and asked, “Should we play pin the ice pack on the elf? Honestly I’m guessing there are no wrong answers.”

Of course, with her time spent healing, she had an eye for these things. She leaned over and whispered in Varric’s ear.

He grinned. “Alright Mister-Younger-Than-The-Rest-of-Us, let’s have a demonstration of your peak physical condition. We’ll start with something nice and easy. Put your hand all the way up in the air, as far as it will go.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and started to raise his hand.

“The other hand,” Varric and Bethany protested at the same time.

Fenris considered the hand currently holding his cup of wine. “No.”

Hawke accepted the ice pack from Bethany and placed it on his shoulder for him.  “I really thought I’d be much older when all my conversations devolved into what hurt where and how bad,” she said, Seems like a conversation for people with white hair.”

Fenris gave her a very pointed look.

“I mean like Varric,” she sighed. “He’s not nearly gray enough for this conversation.”

“Thanks, Hawke.”

“Any time. Anyway I suppose we’ll really be lost when we start arguing over whose pain is the worst.”

“It’s you,” Bethany said simultaneously with Fenris’s “Yours is.”

Varric, who might have enjoyed a great sympathy for his poor wrist that started the entire conversation, had to agree. “We all saw—”

“Don’t bring up the Arishok,” Hawke interrupted flatly, “I’m so tired of talking about the blasted Arishok—”

“That golem-looking thing in the Deep Roads that crushed your foot,” he finished.

“I was going to say that time a Maker’s Fist blasted her right off a cliff on the Wounded Coast,” Bethany said, “I think she hit every shrub on the way down.”

“I was thinking of the Arishok,” Fenris said.

Hawke elbowed him.

“We all had our fair share,” she said, “What about that time Merrill got that spider bite and we had to carry her home?”

“That was nothing,” Varric said, “She was fine by the time we got back, but I think she was enjoying the ride. Void, she probably weighs less than Bianca, so it wasn’t some big imposition or anything. Whoever had to carry her staff got the worse end of that deal.”

“What about when Isabela got that nasty burn? I can still remember the smell,” Bethany said, scrunching up her nose.

“But you healed that in about a minute,” Hawke said, “She hardly suffered at all.”

The rest of the evening was spent arguing over not over which injury was the most grievous, but which injury was the stupidest in their history. Isabela’s hand blowing up twice its usual size because of what turned out to be a very infected splinter was right up there with the time a crab snapped Fenris’s bare toes and refused to let go until Varric bolted it. Varric personally felt that while Isabela’s injury was more serious, Fenris deserved the crown because he could have just done his lyrium thing at any moment to get away, but instead hopped around like an idiot for a solid minute before Hawke got him to hold still.

Regardless, the ice eventually melted, leaving them all a little soggy, a little nostalgic, and definitely ready for bed.

~

In their bedroom, after their slow, verbose goodbyes to friends and family that involved Hawke hugging everyone at least three times, including Fenris who was going nowhere, Fenris asked Hawke, “So what happens now?”

She frowned. “Well I was going to peel off this shirt and toss it in the hamper, and then normally I would take two more of these so I could go to bed, but Bethy just told me to limit myself to four.”

Fenris stared at the potion in her hand. “You’ve already had—that is not what she said—”

“Maybe a bath?” Hawke continued as if he had said nothing at all, “With those fizzy salts. That should help, right? Everyone always says those help. Have a bunch stored in a drawer somewhere.”

“No, I meant…” They had slowed down. Fenris had been mostly joking about the whisky, but he hadn’t really registered the extent to which Hawke was in pain. They were both in pain. “Are we…?” He didn’t even know how to phrase the question. What were they if not mercenaries, champions, and warriors? “Are we done?”

“With fighting?” She tossed her shirt away with a small grunt. “Maker, yes. That’s done. We’re old, it’s over, you couldn’t pay me to pick up my blades again, which no one does anymore anyway. May they rust wherever I dropped them last time we came home.”

He nodded, though he couldn’t quite tell if Hawke was serious or not. “Just like that?” he asked.

Hesitating a little, her flippant attitude smoothed into sincerity as she walked over to him and rested her arms over his shoulders.  “Do you remember that time you got bashed over the head?”

“Not really, no,” he replied very honestly.

“Right. Of course. I do, though, and after tonight’s conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The slower I get, the stiffer I get, the greater the chance it happens again. Only this time I might not finish off our assailants on my own, or get you to the healer in time, or be able to carry you at all if I have to.”

Fenris rolled his bad shoulder. That thought had crossed his mind once or twice, that should extraordinary circumstances occur as they often did around Hawke, there was less certainty of them prevailing. Still, he didn’t know what a future of quiet peace looked like.

Perhaps it looked like Hawke, slowly undressing as she spoke.

“So I’m done,” she continued, “Didn’t realize it until tonight, but I am serious. Someone else can clean up Darktown or mend the Wounded Coast. I’ll be in the bath, with my salts.” She tossed the rest of her clothes and sauntered toward the bath, pausing to look back at him. “Are you coming?”

Questions of the future aside, what could Fenris do but follow? She had certainly led him to worse places before. “Always.”

[laffy-taffy-creations]

Now presenting: my Whumptober 2023 day 9

This fic was cross-posted on AO3 here

Fucking Up Royally

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | "You're a liar"

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Words: 1,646

Warnings: fighting I guess

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a simple support course student. That’s what I was. That’s all I was.

At least, that was what I was meant to be.

The lab was almost empty, at least half the students had left school in favour of safety because of the villain attack while the rest that were still here were at their classes, albeit in something of a lockdown while the heroes and hero courses dealt with the villains.

When the shaking almost caused me to hit an extremely delicate part of the support item I was working on, I’d had enough.

I pushed away from where I’d been working with an angry sigh, I couldn’t just go in there angry, I had to be calm. Collected. Calm. Collected.

“You gonna go help the heroes?” Mei asked, wiping her hands of grease. She’d either just finished her current project or was about to switch projects.

“Well clearly that cant deal with whoever it is on their own,” I grumbled out.

She gave a small giggle. “Fuck em up, your grace.” She put her goggles back on and continued working on whatever it was.

I surveyed the counter area I was currently taking up, making sure there were no loose parts strewn about before leaving. I didnt know where the battle was happening, but I didnt need to know.

Mostly because once I reached one of the lowers levels, that battle reached me, one of the students crashed through the wall. I heard the laughing of a villain from the other side, and it sounded like AFO.

Oh it is so fucking on.

I checked for any major injuries or health concerns before leaving whichever of the hero students it was where they were.

A battle was raging, and the heroes were clearly losing. Obviously, that was a major fucking issue. Stepping through where the wall had broken, AFO was there but no one was trying to fight him.

“Well, is one of you gonna punch him?” I shouted at the heroes standing around, just looking at him, refusing to make a move. Several of them looked at me like I just said the dumbest thing on planet earth. “Fine then, I’ll do it.”

I charged at him. He had a lot more speed than he should have, but unluckily for him, I had more.

I missed my punch, but he had dodged away from it and directly in line with where my leg just so happened to be waiting so it could kick him in the back. It could not have been more obvious he didnt expect that.

While he doubled over, I kneed him in the chest and planted a foot on his throat, pinning him down pretty effectively. At least I let him breathe.

He laughed at me despite being in the disadvantage. “Who do you think you are, Clover Morgan?” he mocked.

I could tell he was trying to steal my quirk but had given up after thinking I didnt have any. Too bad he couldn’t tell I’d put up blockers around his quirk.

I drew and pressed the trigger on the item that expanded into my sword and took off my mask, tapping it and turning it into my crown. “That’s Princess Clover Morgan to you,” I growled, pointing the sword at him.

I put the crown on my head and tilted his chin up with my blade. “Now, would you care to tell me just what you thought you were doing?” I asked, making sure that my faux kindness in my voice could be seen through with the visible anger on my face.

I switched sword hands and elbowed the person sneaking up behind me, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Intimidation tactics could go both ways.

The falling of his face told me he didnt expect it to actually be me. The Princess Clover Donovan Morgan, heir to the throne of France, on many measures the most powerful person on the planter despite being a teen. The one person in the world with multiple quirks. The one person in the world with Reality Bending.

“I- I-... uhm- uh-” he stuttered out.

My scowl grew. I stabbed my sword through the floor next to his head and moved my foot up, tilting his head up to meet my gaze as I leered over him. “Not sufficient enough.”

My grip on my sword tightened, and sparks emerged all across the room, channeling my power into the surroundings through it. He truly was an idiot.

I couldn’t explain it, the room around us changed, first there was a form of blue electricity shocking every last one of the villains and their weird experiment creatures. Then void, pure darkness stretching across, a place between realities, perhaps an entirely new one, ending off with more electricity going through the entire room, but this time much much different, being entirely comprised of a rainbow of colors and pastels. The colors whizzed around me, in a sort of tornado.

He would never forget this lesson.

Not now, not ever. I would make sure of that.

With one last burst of energy, I teleported both of us out of the room, leaving my sword stuck in the ground for later. For now, I put him in a cell. One of the power blocking ones in a nearby hero agency. With a sigh of relief, however temporary it may be, I switched my crown back to my mask and put it on, feeling more like me again.

I didnt exactly like using my power like that. My authoritative power, anyway.

I teleported myself back to UA, going back to the weapons lab, finally able to build in peace.

Mei looked over at me expectantly when I walked in. “Dont worry, I did, in fact, fuck them up,” I said sitting down at my station. I caught a glimpse of a smirk while I got my materials back out.

----《 ¤ 》----

I finally finished Mina’s new support item. I pushed off from my workstation and breathed a sigh of relief. All in a day’s work.

“Hey, you ready to go? I’m hungry,” Mei smiled at me from the door having already finished what she was working on and cleaned up her area.

I nodded. “Let me put some of my stuff away and we can go.” I put everything back in its place as quickly as I could before joining her. “Oh, right, I have a quick pitstop to make first,” I said, leading us down to where the battle had taken place earlier. It had only been maybe 30 minutes to an hour.

Which was part of why it was surprising that there were still people there.

I stepped through the same hole in the wall that I’d used earlier, whoever had gotten thrown through it was probably in the nurse’s office now.

Some of the others waved at me, a few recognized me and either froze up and some even gave sheepish bows. I didnt really pay them much mind. It was weird enough that I was treated as my title every now and then by Mei, even though she was my friend. I didn’t need that trend starting with my friends in the hero course too.

I tried waking towards where I had left my sword while attracting little attention, but that failed.

“Hey! You cant touch that!” someone called at me.

“And why not?” I asked, continuing towards my sword until they physically got in front of me and blocked me.

“Because it’s Princess Clover Morgan’s!”

“I fucking know that.” I tried moving around them. They stepped in front of me again. I sighed, “Look dude, I dont need your help. Back the fuck off, it’s not your sword.”

“So?” he challenged.

Someone else piped up, “Bro you know that sword has a safety mechanism so only the princess can hold it right? You dont need to guard it!”

Thank gods some people had some sense in them.

“Oh,” he said, finally standing down.

“Yeah.” I walked forward and grabbed onto my sword, unsheathing it from the ground and twirling it around a bit. “I’m perfectly capable of getting and protecting my own damn sword, thanks.”

His jaw dropped. “Give that to me!”

Obviously he still wasn’t convinced. “Okay, look dude. This is the sword of Clover Morgan-”

“Princess Clover Morgan,” he grumbled.

“...Excuse me? Dont tell me how to refer to my own fucking self! You see this sword? You think I could mess up on my own technology? Here, dont believe me? Why dont you fucking try holding it!”

He was determined to prove a point. And so he foolishly reached out and tried to grab the sword, running into 2 issues. One, it was too heavy for him to hold because of the spell I’d put over it to increase in weight for maximum power and damage when extended into sword form, and two, it was charged with electricity that was more than happy to shock his sorry ass because he wasnt me.

“I’m not fucking discussing this further, I am Clover Morgan, this is my sword, and I dont need you fucking help with it thank you very much.” I twisted the bottom of the grip and it retracted back to the small metal rod of sorts that was the disguised version of it and put it back in my blazer’s pocket.

Performing a mocking curtsy, I marched myself back to where Mei was waiting for me. I really needed some fucking food after that shitshow of an interaction.

“So much for not wanting people to know,” she snorted, walking towards the cafeteria with me.

I groaned.

I didn’t even want to think about how times I’d already dealt with idiots saying ‘you’re lying’ by the end of the day. I almost turned into a villain myself from it.

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #20 + #21 + #22

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Originally posted 11/16/2022. Don’t forget, there’s also an update tonight, in addition to the rerun.

Autumn came, and with it William’s seventeenth birthday. Unlike Adam’s parents, William’s family did want to at least look like they gave a damn about the son they’d placed on the bloody altar of the Dowager Queen’s curse. They sent what was needed so he could host a small dinner for whatever friends and allies he’d made, and a gift of a fine jousting saddle. Adam was invited, and found himself the youngest once again; it made him think wistfully on what time he had spent at the palace. They ribbed him about his desire never to come to the crown, of course, and he accepted the teasing gracefully. They wondered why he lingered in the palace, if he truly had no intention of claiming the throne. Adam fully admitted to them that he would stay even after someone took the throne; he wanted nothing to do with the parents who’d thrown him into such a mess. Once there were a King, he’d be free to swear fealty, and perhaps they ought to get hopping to it?

It brought wry laughs because they could all too readily see his plight in their own, and they returned to making William’s birthday as memorable as they could.

Full of good food, warmed by strangely unexpected cheer and wobbling a little from too much sherry, brandy, and other rich liquors, Adam found himself unwilling and unable to tolerate the walls of the palace. He found his way to a bench in a nearby garden and flopped down on it with a groan that said he’d learned his lesson well: only two servings of roasted stuffed goose with peach glaze next time. Three, tops.

A crack of thunder woke him up so violently he fell off the stone bench, crashing down to the ground with a stinging impact, drenched by a freezing, torrential downpour that had failed to rouse him even as it chilled him to the bone. He sat up, panting as if he’d run for miles. His head was pounding with the aftereffects of too much liquor, and the food had gone to a stone in his gut.

There was someone walking along the lawn. Adam roused to his feet, feeling sick to his heart. In the light of a lightning bolt he saw it, clear as if it were daylight, indelibly etched in his mind and his memory: someone was walking across the green grass with the jerking, rigid motions of a puppet, pulled and pushed this way and that by its strings. On a second flash of light Adam realized that whoever they were, they were not alone: another figure, lithe and slender, a ghost of fog, a shape drawn in raindrops and wind, was dancing around them.

“Hey,” he croaked, his voice strangled by fear and drowned by the rain. He took a few uncertain steps forward.

The whispering voices of the water-spouts called out his name. They were full of warnings.

“Keep talking,” he urged them. “Keep calling my name. Please. So I won’t forget it.”

They sang his name, all of them, an endless echo powered by the violent rain, and Adam gasped for breath, unaware that he’d been all but drowning until that moment. “Hey!” he shouted.

Lightning answered. The swirling thing around the walking figure came to a standstill.

Adam walked. He ran. “Hey, stop!”

The thing of rain and wind and fog began to dance and circle again, and the walker jerked forward. Adam slid on the grass and the mud. “Stop! Leave him alone! Let him b-!” He skid to a halt, mouth open, every thought and emotion gone to a jumble and a knot in his heart.

Prince Rickard stared back at him, and took another step toward the woods. “Adam,” the older prince croaked. He’d just become eighteen late in spring. “Adam, help me.” Another step.

Adam realized, with the most profound horror, that Rickard was aware. He knew exactly what his body was doing, there in the rain. He was wearing a shirt and pants, but no boots, no coat. He’d been ready to go to bed, likely relaxing in his room, when the Prince in the Woods had sent his emissary to summon this newest sacrifice. And try as he might, and the older prince was very much trying, not all his terror and hate, not all his rage and ruthless determination, not one jot of his willingness to kill for the crown was helping him. His feet carried him one step closer to the woods, looming immense and black before them, alien and menacing as Adam had only once before known them to be.

“Rickard, stop.”

“I can’t,” the prince wheezed.

“Why should you,” the thing of rain and fog whispered, and Adam saw her clearly at last, beautiful and deadly, inhumanly so in every regard. She wore a maid’s shape, and next to her Arditty would have looked plain and forgettable. She had pale eyes and wind-tossed hair, and sometimes she wore fine courtly clothing and sometimes nothing at all. “Come, prince, my prince. Come. Are you not now a man? Should a man not be a king?” Her lips brushed against Rickard’s cheek and the older prince made a high sound of terror and revulsion.

“Leave him alone!” Adam shouted at her, and she laughed at him, high and cold and cruel. “Rickard, stop!”

“I can’t.” Through the sodden shirt Adam could see that Rickard was truly trying. Every muscle on the older prince’s body was standing out starkly, to no avail. He’d taken three more steps already on his way. “Adam, strike me, break my legs, do something. Stop me. Help me, please.”

“What’s to help, oh, what’s to help, prince, my prince?” She tangled up around him as intimately as a lover in bed, running her hands and her too-sharp fingers through Rickard’s rain-plastered hair. “Have you not lied, cheated, schemed for this crown you wish to claim? Have you not killed, have you not spilled blood, oh, blood, warm and rich.” She licked along the side of Rickard’s neck, who closed his eyes tightly and fought his head away. She spun around him in a flash of lightning, laughing. “Is this not what you have always wanted, prince, my prince, my sweet, delicious prince?”

Adam saw the treeline far too close, and shadows like wolves prowling along the edges. “Rickard,” he said at last. “Rickard, answer her.”

“Help me,” the older prince croaked. “Adam, please.” Nothing remained of the bully, of the older boy, sure of his strength and his cold machinations. There was only a terrified young man trapped by a power entirely beyond his understanding.

“Rickard, answer her!” Adam shouted. “Tell her! Tell her you don’t want the crown! Tell her you give it up -!” He had to throw himself back, crashing down on a heap in the muddy ground when the fairy maid lunged at him, hissing like a blizzard wind, her fingers gone to talons of ice. “They can’t take you if you do!”

Rickard fought to drag in a breath. Everything he’d done, everything he’d lost and sacrificed, every part of his heart and his soul that he’d cut away, came crashing down on him like the most terrible of avalanches. He’d thought it would all be worth it if he could only claim the crown. He’d never imagined it had all along been a contest he’d lost before he’d even begun. “I -” His voice strangled, gone to nothing; she’d closed her hands around his throat.

“Cheat!” Adam cried out. “You’re cheating!”

The rain cut off as if an ax had swung and murdered it. The wind went perfectly still. The fairy maid gasped and locked her pale white starlight eyes on the young prince. “You dare -!” All her power suddenly came to rest on him, bidding him be silent, bidding him be still.

Somewhere far behind him the spouts whispered his name, and Adam flicked his hair from his face and her power from his mind. “You’re cheating,” he told her sharply. “He has to take your test, but only if he wants the crown. You can’t make him if he doesn’t want it, and if you don’t let him choose, you’re cheating.”

“He wants it,” she hissed.

“You don’t speak for him.”

Something, immense and dark and so powerful it felt as if the night itself were speaking, did something at the edge of the woods. Growling, she released her grip on Rickard’s throat, and the older prince crashed down to his knees, coughing, breath rasping in and out of him erratically.

“Rickard,” Adam said. “Rickard, tell her. Tell her now, because we’re here and it’s about to be too late. Tell her.”

The older prince went down until his forehead touched the mud, and began to weep. “I,” he croaked, “do not want the crown.”

“Liar.” She coiled around Rickard like a snake. “You’ve killed for it. You’ve bleed for it. You’ve done everything for it.”

“I do not want the crown,” Rickard repeated, straightening up to his knees. “I forswear it. On my heart, on my life, on my blood, I renounce it. Let it go to someone else. I do not want it!” he shouted the last bit at her, his voice raw with all that he’d done and lost for a prize he could never have.

She went to pieces under the force of his voice, or so it seemed. One moment she was there, and the next they were alone in a patch of cold fog, two young men at the edge of the woods. The rain began to fall again, but this time it was just an autumn squall, cold and dreary, already losing strength.

Rickard went down again, hands curled to fists in the mud, and wept. Adam crawled over to him and wrapped his arms around his once-enemy, not knowing what else to do.

***

Prince Rickard went home the morning after, alone on his charger, after giving up his claim before the Dowager Queen. He was ashen and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes, but his voice was steady and his steps sure.

Adam watched him go, and went down to the edge of the woods. The rain had washed them clean, and there were birds flitting through the nearly naked branches, hunting down gifts of rosehips and slugs. “I do not want the crown, I surrender my claim to it,” he told the birds and the trees and an errant beetle, and waited.

A wood thrush sang somewhere in the woods. The beetle crashed against his boot and fell on its back; Adam bent down to right it, and looked at the autumn wilderness in exasperation. “Really, now. Do we have to wait until I’m eighteen? I know what I want.”

A breeze tore a few leaves from the trees and sent them spiraling down. Adam resisted the urge to stomp his foot in vexation; he was not a baby to be throwing a tantrum when balked. “Fine. Until I’m eighteen, then,” he declared, and went to find his friends.

***

The last few days of autumn were marred by Adam catching a terrible cold that the palace’s physicians couldn’t explain; it wasn’t as if the young prince had gone traipsing about in a freezing downpour an entire night, after all. He was left restless and unhappy in his bed, plucking at the blankets that were piled on him in an effort to break his fever. He tried to study, but he could barely focus on food, let alone reading. There was a bit of a nervous moment for his human friends when one of the healers came to give him his hourly medicine and the prince, half delirious, started calling out for people with very inhuman names.

Culli-maid went out to the woods after that, bundled up in a heavy shawl, carrying a basket with honey and bread and figs from the Royal hothouse, and a crispy roasted trout.

She needn’t have bothered with the offerings. Linden nearly ran her down when they saw her coming, their fingers tangled up in each other like the knotted roots of a surly tree. Needlemaw had heard from William that Adam was sick, but little else; all they otherwise knew was that Adam had been out on a Hunting Night. Culli’s news were far more welcomed, worrisome as they were, than any gift of honey. She was sent back with word to leave one of the windows in the prince’s rooms open. Boul looked deeply crestfallen at that; he was a troll, a creature of earth and water. Climbing was one thing he’d never learned, in all his years with his wild friends. Culli-maid solved that by sending Dane down with a wheelbarrow, ostensibly for firewood.

Adam woke up from a heavy, feverish sleep to the scent of linden flowers and a cool hand brushing back his hair. “Would you please,” he whispered hoarsely, “thank the water-spouts for me. They helped me more than they know.”

Linden couldn’t help but laugh. “What were you thinking, what were you doing?”

“I wasn’t thinking much,” Adam admitted. “I had five servings of stuffed goose and I think I drank half the bottle of blackberry brandy, and never, ever again.”

“Well, ‘tis a hard lesson learned, that, but a good one to learn,” Needlemaw’s voice purred low at him, full of wry amusement, as Linden sprawled on the bed next to their best friend.

He told them everything, these two disparate groups that had become the bonds of his life, strange as it was and stranger as it had become. He drowsed once in the middle of the telling, and then picked up the thread again as he woke up, unaware that he’d stopped. He slept again after that, only vaguely aware that the physicians had come back with his medicine; Culli-maid heard much of how the treatment was surely working, making the young prince biddable and meek.

When he woke up again the hearth was banked to rich red coals. Culli’s shawl and mending basket rested on the chair by the window, and the nearby study table was covered in books and scraps of well-worn parchment. Adam licked his lips and grimaced at the taste of bitter medicine, and heard a low, familiar chuckle. “You wouldn’t laugh if you had to drink it,” he muttered, grinning.

“I don’t get sick from the rain,” Linden replied, their voice low and cheerful.

Adam turned. He felt wrung out and exhausted, but clear-headed for the first time in forever. He gazed at the shattered, many-colored eyes. In the dark, Linden’s wild burst of gold-tipped white hair had slicked down, pressed close to their skull, and their features looked sharp and deeply inhuman in the gloom, sun-kissed to the color of a tree’s bark. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Ugh,” Linden replied, shifting in the immense bed and seeking out Adam’s hand so they could lace their fingers with the prince’s. “And you thinking you’re selfish.” When Adam smiled at that, they went on. “You’ll get better now, then?”

“I suppose. Anything so I don’t have to drink any more bitter tea.”

Linden snorted. “You could have let him go, you know. He’s been nothing but horrible to you.”

Adam rubbed at his mouth with the sleeve of his sleeping shirt. “Linden, lots of people are horrible to me. Lots more are always going to be horrible to me. That’s not my fault, it’s never going to be, but I can’t be horrible back just because. How exhausting would that be for nothing gained.” He licked his lips and grimaced at a lingering taste no rubbing could take away. “You should always start out being nice. I did. I didn’t stay nice for Rickard, but when he stopped picking fights I didn’t go looking for them. I didn’t want to be his friend, I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. The thing with being nice right off is, other people end up being nice back. Because they already were, or because they’re ashamed, or just because they’re tired of being mean, or a lot of other reasons. Rickard being nice was him leaving me alone, and I don’t mean the fighting. He could have just made me part of his schemes. He didn’t. And… Maybe, if things go the way everyone thinks they will, someone will be there, like I was for him.”

“I will be.”

“I think that would just scare me more. I’m used to the thought of me being in trouble. I don’t know what I’d do if it were you instead.” Adam paused. “Are you in trouble now? For being here after dark?”

“No. I told them I wouldn’t come back until I knew you were alright, and if they got in my way I wouldn’t come back at all.”

They laughed at that, their small bits of defiance, unaware or perhaps simply uncaring of the vastness of what they’d accomplished. Adam rubbed at his mouth once again and licked. “Ugh!”

“It’s stained your lips, too,” Linden pointed out.

“That’s probably why I can’t get rid of it. Wouldn’t have hurt them to put a bit of sugar in it.”

[midearthwritings]

The Lovers' Three Swords

It is said that you become conscious of what you have only when you lose it. Ofelia almost lost Kíli.

Words Count : 2,749

Pairings : Kíli x Ofelia (OC), slight Kíli x Tauriel if you squint really hard.

Warning : Angst, Canonical Events (but not too canon), Injury, Near Death Experience.

Author's Note : So obviously this is set during BotFA. This is pure angst. From beginning to end.

Also, the title in itself does not make much sense unless you know the meaning of Tarot Cards. I'm kindly inviting you to check the meanings of The Lovers and the Three of Swords.

Snowflakes were falling from the sky at a slow pace, delicately landing onto the cold ground. Everything looked so pure, immaculate. The rocks covered in white, the scattered goblins’ limbs, the crown prince struggling to breathe. Immaculate. 

The few sun rays that peeked through the clouds shyly made the snow shine like thousands of tiny diamonds. Ofelia had never seen diamonds before. But neither had she needed to handle a sword. So, perhaps the day would come when she would lay her eyes upon one of these precious stones.

She, too, looked immaculate, despite the blood that had splattered onto her soft face and ripped garments. Although, she did not know whose blood it was. Hers or theirs? It did not matter when she quickly pulled her blade out of one of those vile creatures to bury it into yet another one of them.

It was messy because she could not aim properly, her lack of skills causing her to tumble backward. Ofelia gasped in surprise when her backside hit the hard ground, sending sharp sparks of pain into her entire body. Or was it in fear at how vulnerable and helpless she now was, at the mercy of those who wanted nothing more than to spill her blood? 

There was no place for tears or thoughts in a battle. It was only about surviving or dying. As she watched a goblin charging in her direction while she desperately tried to reach for her sword, discarded further away, there was only one thought that crossed her mind: she would die.

Goblins were fast. Terrifyingly so. It was on her within a few seconds. Ofelia cried out, her feet kicking at the thin layer of snow beneath her. Her fingertips brushed against the cold metal of her sword’s handle. She cried out again as if to encourage the weapon to come closer. Of course, it did not. So, the poor hobbit kicked harder, sending the goblin onto the ground.

Ofelia thought she would die, but she would not. Not yet. She grabbed the sword tightly and moved back onto her feet. Inside her chest, she felt her heart swelling with fear as she lifted the blade above her head. If she aimed right, she could get rid of it. Kíli had taught her how to aim properly.

Kíli.

“What are you doing with that stick of yours?”

Ofelia turned around, her arms lifted above her head as she readied herself to hit the nearest tree trunk with a thick stick. It was easy to pretend it was an enemy, another troll perhaps. And the stick was heavy and long, like a sword. Not that Ofelia had ever handled a sword. There were not many hobbits that carried weapons around the Shire.

It was easier to pretend when no one looked. And looking—staring even—, that the dark-haired prince did really well. Ofelia’s arms dropped to her sides in defeat, her wooden sword hitting the ground.

“It is not a stick,” she explained softly, “it is a weapon. I, too, need a weapon”.

At Kíli’s roaring laughter, Ofelia felt her cheeks heat up. Unfair. It was mean and unfair. Sadly, she dropped the stick—the simple, idiotic stick— and began to walk back to the camp. 

Behind her, the thunder died down. She heard twigs and leaves cracking as the younger prince walked fastly, catching up with her.

“Oy, Feli!” he called, grabbing Ofelia’s wrist gently. “Please do not be mad. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“These are not proper apologies,” she snapped. “And do not call me Feli!”

The soft caress of Kíli’s rough fingertips on the sensitive skin of her wrist sent shivers down her spine.

“My apologies, Feli,” the prince declared solemnly. Although, she could hear the grin in his voice. “Allow me to make it up to you?”

The offer made her turn around to face him. Ofelia gave him a questioning look, eager to know more.

“How so?” she asked.

She stayed still and quiet when he began to look around them, his eyes scanning the area. Finally, after a quick study of their surroundings, he bent down and picked up another stick. Not as thick and slightly shorter than the one she was playing with a few minutes prior.

With a big smile plastered on his face, Kíli handed it to her. Ofelia took it hesitantly, her eyes still full of questions.

“Let me teach you how to fight.”

And so he had taught her. Every single night, they would both disappear. And, hidden from anyone’s view, they would train with wooden sticks. It had been hard, at first. But Kíli had been patient with her. 

It had gone on for weeks, months even, until Kíli had deemed that she was skilled enough to have her own sword. One of his swords. The same one that collided with the goblin’s throat and sent thick crimson liquid everywhere to soil the ground and herself a bit more.

As she stared down at the creature’s lifeless body, Ofelia mentally scolded herself. She should have gone with him. She should have followed Kíli and Fíli. Poor Fíli, he who was battling against himself to stay awake. 

Everything around Ofelia seemed to slow down when she stopped to consider that maybe Kíli was also dying somewhere. She felt her guts clench and the urge to throw up as a lump formed in her throat. She needed to find him.

Guided by only her feet and the wind’s soft whispers, she began to run. Clutching her sword as if her life depended on it—because it did—, she ran through the dozens of goblins that surrounded her, her blade dancing haphazardly in the air in a weak attempt to hurt anything that ventured too close to her.

“You must hold onto it tightly, Feli. But not too tight, or else it will be a bother and hurt you. Relax your fingers a bit more... Aye, perfect.”

The contrast of the cold snow beneath her feet and the leather burning her palms was overwhelming, but Ofelia could not bring herself to loosen her grip, was it only slightly. 

“Do not be so stiff, you have to rela- no, not too much. Here, just like that, alright? Great. Now hit.”

Ofelia’s muscles were aching with how tense she was. She swung her sword again in an all too painful movement. Her head was pounding. Was she running for his life, or hers? Perhaps both.

Everything looked the same, covered in pure white snow. Ofelia was pretty sure that she had come here at least twice already. A voice, coming from deep inside her heart, shouted at her that she should have never left the Shire. There was no place in this war for a simple hobbit lady such as herself. There was no place amongst dwarves and elves, men and orcs, for a little hobbit.

“It is not easy, using a sword, Feli. It is alright to make mistakes. Everyone does. Mahal, I do not have enough fingers to count how many times I made mistakes. But, it will be worth it, in the end. You will see, Feli.”

And once she would find him, it would be worth every cut, every blister, every tear. Firmly planting her feet on the ground, her lungs feeling too tight from how much she had run, she screamed his name. She called for the prince, snowflakes crashing onto her face, hoping that he was still alive enough to hear her and call back.

It was not Kíli who answered. At first, Ofelia thought it was an echo, sending her unanswered cry back to her. But it was not. It was an equally desperate voice, one that did not belong to her or Kíli. A voice filled with pain and fear.

Ofelia shivered and began running again. This time, she followed the foreign voice. Whoever it was that was calling after the prince must have known where he was. Hopefully.

It was hard, running in the snow. Inevitably, she slipped and fell, her chin colliding with the ground. Inside her mouth, her teeth sank into her cheek and soon she could feel the unpleasant coppery taste of blood. 

 Ofelia hissed in pain. But there was no time for pain, no time to stumble or fall. Once more, she heard someone calling Kíli's name. Louder, this time. She was getting closer to it. Closer to him. It was enough to pull her back up. 

 In the fairy tales children were told, no one ever spoke about how unreal and slow everything felt whenever the hero was fighting. Nor would they speak about how distorted everything looked, including distances. 

Ofelia did not think she was the hero, not even close to that. She was a hobbit from the Shire. A short creature who lived on good food and a pretty garden. But when she stepped forward, the prince and a red-headed elf—Tauriel— entering her view, she felt so far away. She felt as if she would never be able to reach them, no matter how many miles she would run.

 Further down, Kíli and Tauriel fought side by side. It looked beautiful, Ofelia thought. Ironically beautiful. They moved so easily as if they had been made for that and that only. It looked as if they were dancing a dance that could cost them life.

One of the Orcs was creeping behind the prince, ready to strike. The little lady felt her heart pounding against her chest, yelling at her to do something, anything. But she would never be able to reach them in time.

“Kili!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping it would catch his attention. It did not. Although, her eyes locked with Tauriel’s green ones.

Ofelia had heard of the beauty of elves before leaving her beloved Shire. And she had witnessed it in Rivendell and when they had been held captive in Mirkwood, and again in Laketown when Kíli was ill. Tauriel was one of the most beautiful elves she had ever seen.

Quickly, she indicated the creature behind Kíli. Tauriel’s eyes followed the direction of her finger, and although Ofelia could not hear a single word, she was pretty sure that the elf had warned Kíli because he swiftly moved away.

 Caught into another frenzy, Ofelia rushed down the stone stairs, careful not to slip again. She was not so sure that she would survive it this time. 

Orcs were tall, way taller than her. It was easy to take down a goblin when it was almost her size. But this...It was monstrous. Next to it, Ofelia looked ridiculous. Yet, a spark of bravery shot through her body and she bolted towards it, burying her blade in its calf. She knew, deep inside, that it must have felt like a mosquito bite. Yet, she felt a certain pride when the Orc hissed.

 It did not last long because, in one swift movement of its leg, it sent her a few feet away. 

“Ofelia!”

The sound of his voice ringed in her ears and she looked up. Kíli was there, right in front of her. And she could not help but smile brightly at the sight of him.

“Kíli…” she breathed out. And like a toddler who craved their mother, she reached out for him, tried to pull him close to her. 

  But there was no place for love here. Before she could register what was happening, a greyish hand snaked around Kíli's throat and dragged him away from her. 

The prince looked worn out, exhausted. For how long had he been fighting before Ofelia had arrived? Was the blood on his face his or theirs? Tauriel, too, looked as if she had not been able to rest for centuries. Her breathing was erratic. They were not dancing anymore. They were dying. Both of them.

The Orc's blade was pressed against Kíli's chest, preparing itself to dive into the soft flesh.

She looked around for her own weapon. But the Gods were not on her side anymore, and she stared at the shining steel that laid at the Orc's feet. And she knew that the creature was aware of her helplessness when he gave her the coldest and cruelest smile.

“No!” she cried out, standing up to try and get her sword back. “No!”

The little lady did not have time to go too far when two slender, yet strong arms wrapped around her middle, keeping her on the ground. 

Tears began to run down her cheeks, bruising the soft skin. She tried to fight, tried to free herself from the strong grip.

“Ofelia!” Tauriel begged, struggling to keep her down.

Hobbits did not have the same eyesight as elves, nor could they hear the same thing they did. But when the blood-stained blade plunged into Kíli's body, she swore she had heard the sound of his skin being ripped in two. And although she was at a good distance from the prince, she saw his eyes turning completely black due to the pain, his pupils twitching disgustingly.

 Behind her, Tauriel sobbed. Ofelia felt the elf's nails digging into her skin. But all she could focus on was the tiny red droplets that glided down Kíli's body to crash onto the pure white snow. Immaculate.

Ofelia screamed. She screamed and it burned her throat, sucking all the air out of her lungs. She screamed until her jaw began to hurt and her voice broke into tiny sharp pieces that sliced through her heart. She screamed until Kíli's body hit the ground, his hair spread out beneath his head in a dark halo.

Death was not fascinating, nor was it intriguing. It was devastating. Although, Ofelia could not tear her eyes away from the prince. She watched as his chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm as he struggled to breathe. She could not look away from him, even when she saw the Orc coming closer from the corner of her eye. She could not look away either when Tauriel tightened her arms around her. 

For the second time this day, Ofelia thought she was about to die. And she wished to die looking at Kíli, son of Dís. But she would not die, not yet. Nor would Tauriel. 

The Orc—perhaps it had a name, Ofelia did not care—fell before them. A dagger was stuck in his skull, the handle pointing proudly towards the sky. It was dead.

Slowly and carefully, the short lady extricated herself from Tauriel’s protective embrace, and like a wounded animal, she crawled towards Kíli. She ignored the voices behind her to listen to his breathing.

“Oh, Kíli…” she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek delicately. 

The young heir grabbed her wrist, his fingers shaking. The pained moaned he let out broke her heart a bit more. Without help, he would die. Without help, she would lose him.

Ofelia turned around sharply, her eyes falling onto Tauriel and another elf, one with blond hair.

“Help him,” she ordered, her voice sore from the screaming. None of them replied. They gave her the look. The one that meant there was nothing left to do. Angrily, she pointed a finger at Tauriel. “You healed him once! In Laketown. Do it again! Do it again!”

“Ofelia…”

It was lower than a whisper, barely audible. And maybe Ofelia had imagined it. Maybe she had imagined all of it. She hoped so.

Kíli moaned again, louder this time. And perhaps she acted on impulse again. Perhaps her decision would be his ending. But at least, she would have tried. Ofelia decided that Kíli would not die, not yet.

Determination painted on her face, Ofelia stood up and pulled Kíli to his feet. He screamed in pain, hurting her ears.

“What are you doing?” Tauriel asked. “You’ll hurt him even more!”

It was true. Kíli was in pain and Ofelia could not even imagine how he must have been feeling at this moment. But she ignored his crying, and she ignored their looks. The little hobbit lady began to walk away, supporting the dwarven prince as best as she could.

“Kíli needs help or else he will die,” she explained, droplets of sweat already beginning to prickle on her forehead. She looked back at them one last time and pronounced the same words that Kíli’s own brother had used the first time he had been about to die:

“I will carry him if I must.”