#yes the title is an intentional nod to 'A Sister More Like Me'

[eruherdiriel]

Duty

Jonsa ficlet Rating: T Universe: Canon, vaguely bookverse Other: Marriage of convenience, Queen Sansa, Sansa POV

Also on AO3.

Sansa finds him under the heart tree, Longclaw across his lap and a whetstone in his hand. He looks so very much like Father it hurts and makes what she is about to say all the more disconcerting.

“My queen,” he greets her, then returns to his work.

“My prince.” She spares Jon any further pleasantries. They will not change what she has to say. “The North needs heirs. I need an heir. We cannot ignore that forever.”

Jon’s hand stills, and though he does not look up, she can see his face become guarded.

“We’ve done our duty.”

Sansa holds in a sigh at his intentional obtuseness. “It takes more than once, Jon.”

“Aye, it can.” Finally, he looks up, but he keeps his eyes from locking with hers. “I thought to give you more … time, before we made a second attempt.”

Their wedding night had been a stilted affair at best; she had trembled, he had frowned, but they had seen it through. Sansa had tried not to think of the men who had touched her before, or how surely Jon was willing himself to think of the woman who came before her. 

“You’ve had me once. Surely another time will not be so different,” she snaps. It won’t be different. Your kiss will always taste of duty, and I will never give myself wholly to anyone. But some childish dream buds inside her at times, when he offers her a hand as they walk over icy ground or when he scowls at men who overlook her authority. 

Regaining her composure, she continues, her tone softer. “You leave soon. We cannot afford further delay.”

It’s not just about heirs. Sansa does not know how long Jon will be gone, only that she dreads the absence for the awkwardness it will engender in his return. It would be better to become accustomed to his touch now. And what if he does not return? Despite everything—the oddness of a match to a man she once thought her bastard brother, who is the opposite of everything she once wished for—Jon has been a better husband than any of her former suitors could have been. No one else could love the North and Winterfell as well as she does. And if he gets her with child, perhaps she could forestall another marriage if he falls in the war against his Targaryen aunt.

Jon eyes her. “Would you want children even if it was not your duty?”

The question startles her. No one has ever thought to ask me. Bearing children was always expected of her, a sure part of her life. But yes, she has dreamed of a family, and she wishes for one still.

“I want children.” Then, because she honestly does not know, Sansa asks, “Do you?”

She wonders how much Jon has allowed himself to even consider the idea of a family. Since they reunited, she has seen a glint of desire in his eyes for things he never should have wished for—for Winterfell, for a title—but Sansa also knows he has denied himself. “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa,” Jon had said when the Northern seat was offered to him. Learning that had caused another bud of hope to emerge in her, though she tried to temper it.

His answer comes swiftly. “Yes.”

Sansa’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. She swallows, trying to bring moisture back so she can form words again.

“Then we both get something we want. It shall not merely be duty.”

Jon purses his lips as if in disagreement but doesn’t refute her. His eyes drop before he speaks, resuming the work of sharpening Longclaw. “I’ll come to your chambers tonight then, your grace.”

She nods, then remembers he isn’t looking at her anymore. “Tonight,” she says before turning away and attempting not to run from the godswood—not to run from him. It would be unbecoming of a queen, and she is not afraid of him.

All day, her tummy flutters for nothing: when Jon’s fingers brush her back as she sits in the chair he has pulled out for her, when his eyes meet hers to communicate silent agitation as Lady Cerwyn complains about troop commitments, and when his fist taps on the door of her chambers in the evening.

“It is only us here, my queen,” Jon says before they begin. “No one else.”

Is it? she wonders. Along with their ghosts, surely the nobles and smallfolk have a presence with them in this act. It is for them, for the assurance of her people that she and Jon strive for an heir. And for ourselves, and the family we both desire, she reminds herself. Then her husband says something else, something that makes her heart stutter.

“Let me make it good for you,” he whispers between kisses. “Let me try.”

She should not allow his words to plant a seed in her heart, but the look in his eyes is needful and vulnerable in a way Jon so rarely allows himself to be seen. Sansa finds herself nodding, letting him kiss his way across her body, letting him rid her of her shift, letting him touch and kiss her in ways that start to feel nothing like duty.

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Blaze in the Dark - (4/8)

Chapter Title: In From the Snow

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 4: Courtiers.

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

-

Elain had never struggled to sit comfortably in silence.

Silence had been expected of her since the moment she was born, when her mother would hand Elain and her sisters off to a nursemaid the moment they began to weep. Elain had grown up watching her father urge Nesta and Feyre out of his study when they couldn’t keep still, and she had learned that the trick to never being pushed away was to keep silent.

There was a weapon to silence. Unlike her outspoken sisters, Elain often traded speaking her mind for observing the world around her. It was easy to slip by unnoticed, putting people at ease in her quiet and unassuming nature while she pilfered their words and countenance for the truth they did not know they were revealing.

If you are going to speak, her mother used to say, then your words must not be empty.

Even then, there were rules to obey. Speak with purpose, but never too clever, never too bold. So Elain watched and observed and weighed every word to ensure it was dignified and poised. It was a meticulous effort, being perfect. Use wit and humor to be interesting, but not so much that she be deemed unserious. So Elain listened and observed so that she could disguise every word beneath the thin veneer of perfection.

She did not mind the silence, except that she found herself struggling to leverage it to her advantage when there was nothing to be won. No one to impress besides her indignant husband, who seemed intent on prolonging the silence as long as possible. It sat unbroken for hours, past hills and valleys and the endless seas of bluebells. It was only towards the end of the trip, when the sun was hanging low on the horizon, that it fractured from Elain’s lips in the shape of a startled, “Oh.”

Lucien raised his head, as if drawn from a daze. He blinked, eyes going first to Elain, then following her line of sight out the carriage window. A small laugh escaped him, before he rapped his knuckles against the wall that separated them from the driver. Elain heard the footman call out, and soon the steady clop of hooves slowed.

The carriage jerked to a stop.

“Go on,” Lucien said, nodding towards the carriage door.

Elain set her hand towards the bronze latch, then paused. Retreated. “Will it be cold?”

“Yes.”

“Will I like it?”

“Only you can decide that, Elain.”

“Do you like it?”

Rather than answer, Lucien began unfastening the buttons of his jacket, beginning to strip himself to his burgundy waistcoat and undershirt.

Elain, feeling a bit delirious, asked, “Do you intend to coax me from the carriage by threat of undressing?”

He only smiled. “Would it work?”

She might very well leave if only to escape answering that question truthfully. “At present, I’m not sure which unnerves me more.”

“My pride is relieved,” he said dryly. Once his fingers pushed the final button free, he slid the fabric gracefully off his arms and held it out to her in offering. “It will be cold,” he said. “You will be grateful to have this.”

Elain accepted it with exaggerated reluctance. It was heavy, still warm from his back.

“Will I be going alone, then?”

The question was partly a means of stalling and partly because she was too proud to ask him directly if he could come with her. But she wanted him to.

All he said was, “Put on my jacket.”

His eyes said the rest. They watched her, gold and russet burning with surprising authority. No more questions.

That tone of voice. It was command, laced with something warmer. Something that felt like drinking a glass of the amber liquid her father kept in his study. She felt the prickling heat on the back of her tongue, slowly slipping down. She pushed one arm through his jacket, then the next as a new warmth was spread over her. She was beginning to feel a bit woozy, not helped by the strong scent of the jacket and the overwhelming urge to tuck her face closer for a whiff.

“Good girl,” he said.

And she realized what that tone of voice reminded her of.

Open your mouth.

Elain was grateful for the way her breath hitched—smothering whatever embarrassing sound built in her throat. The metal latch bit into her skin by how hastily she grabbed it to shove the carriage door open, because suddenly what waited for her outside was much more inviting than examining why those two words evoke such an intense physical reaction when they came from someone other than her true love.

A cool breeze brushed against her flushed cheeks. Good, Elain thought, swallowing every freezing breath in large, greedy mouthfuls. She flexed her fingers, marveling at the strange bite of the air, and how quickly it was alleviating her racing pulse.

Elain pressed her foot tentatively to the carriage step, and her improper thoughts were quickly chased away by the anxieties of what awaited her. She was certainly wearing the wrong footwear, but any clothes that had been brought in preparation for the Eastern Kingdom were in the trunk at the back of the carriage. Really, how bad could it be if they were just stopping to look?

On the next clouded breath, Elain pretended that she was exhaling the timid voice inside saying: what if it doesn’t live up to your expectations?

Then she jumped from the carriage.

The snow crunched underfoot. Her mouth parted open in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting a noise. In her mind, she’d always imagined winter as a silent assassin. The frost brought death to flowers and trees and sometimes the living creatures that could not survive its harsh conditions. It was a brutal, unforgiving force of nature.

What Elain didn’t know was that the snow banks glistened in the low-hanging sunlight, reflecting the gold and pink of the sky above it. There were no chittering birds, no chirps of crickets or cicadas.

The world around them was entirely undisturbed. Tranquil, yet stagnant.

“What do you think?”

Lucien stepped down from the carriage, irritatingly dashing in his fitted waistcoat—which cut to his body tightly enough that she could mark the incline of his chest, how he was slightly slimmer at the waist. A playful wind danced against the billowing sleeves of his undershirt, which he was stretching towards Elain to offer his hand. She placed her fingers atop his, though she hadn’t the slightest idea why they needed to be holding hands.

“It’s so…” she glanced back over the landscape, surveying it for a word that could describe all she was feeling. “Unsettling.”

“How so?”

Elain tightened her hand on his as she took a careful step away from the carriage. He followed, clearly having no direction in mind with which to lead her, making the offer of his hand all the more curious.

“Everything is dead,” she said. “For miles and miles there is only cold, silent snow.”

“That is unsettling, I suppose,” he conceded.

“Yes, but that I was not finished.”

“Oh?”

Another step, further and further from the carriage she tugged him, where the snow became deeper, and she had to lift her skirts to venture forward. Already, she could feel the cold seeping through her stockings.

“There is no sound,” she said, “but the wind. And there is no soul around, but for you and I. There is no one here to observe us, no expectations to cater to but our own. I am left to confront my own existence.”

Lucien made a small sound of understanding. His fingers tightened. “Harrowing, indeed, one’s own existence.”

It was said like a joke, but she didn’t laugh.

“Do you ever think…” Elain trailed off. Would he even understand? She didn’t want to reveal something vulnerable only for it to be written off as ridiculous.

He squeezed her hand. “Go on.”

“It’s all so strict. The things we cannot say or do. There are so many words inside of me that have been smothered. Do you ever think that we spend so long curating these facades, that we forget ourselves entirely?” Elain scraped her eyes over the barren snow. “What I mean to say is, I scarcely know who I am when there aren’t others around to perform for.”

Wind picked up, gentle in speed but vicious in the chill it wrought against her exposed skin. Elain had never been so aware of her body before—how it tingled with the strangest burning sensation, one that she had always associated with heat. How curious, that the cold could burn.

Lucien, despite having surrendered his jacket, seemed unaffected by the weather. His free hand didn’t curl the same way hers did, attempting to protect her numbed fingers. Posture unguarded, he seemed to be welcoming the snow as he stared at her quizzically.

Having suffered in silence long enough, Elain said, “If you don’t agree—”

“I do agree,” he said. “I fear I know exactly what you mean.”

Oh. Voice soft, she asked, “Then why do you seem so puzzled?”

“I can’t figure out why I would be excluded.”

“From what?”

“The people you need to perform for.”

For a moment, Elain felt equally puzzled. That sentiment hadn’t been intentional, but… she supposed that was what she implied.

Lucien said, “I can’t decide if I should be flattered or offended. Is it because you feel comfortable with me, or because you find my opinion so detestable that you don’t care what I think?”

Either case seemed absurd, considering they’d only met that morning. And yet even from the first moment she saw him, before she had known he was Lucien Vanserra, she had felt strangely and uncommonly comfortable speaking her mind with him.

“You are my husband,” Elain said, as if that were a straightforward answer.

His lips quirked. “Detestable, then.”

“No,” Elain said, finding that his expression was making her feel lighter. “You are my husband, which means that it could be either, depending on the time of day.”

“What about now, then?”

She pursed her lips, turning away from the blushing horizon to marvel at Lucien. He was remarkably unflushed from the cold, but the pink and gold of the setting sun rested across his cheekbones as if nature were blushing for him. He was watching her with an attention Elain was not unaccustomed to. But there was a warmth to it, a gentle curiosity that didn’t make her feel overly self-aware. Instead, it made her feel… seen.

“Comfortable,” she said.

Lucien smiled, bright as the snow at their feet. He used their joined hands to tug her closer and, as if it were a dance, he raised his arm over her head to let the momentum spin her forward. The fabric of her dress was becoming heavier, sodden from the snow, but even so it twirled with the motion, dusting up the loose powder on the surface.

He caught her gracefully as she came out of the spin, dipping her so low that the tips of her hair scraped against the snow. There was laughter in his voice as he asked, “And now?”

“Detestable,” she said. With the way she was grinning, it was not a convincing assessment.

Lucien leaned closer. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

A challenge flickered in his eyes. “Do you want to see how destable I can be, Elain?”

Her good sense told her not to indulge. But Elain was feeling bold and lightheaded and wanted to see just how deep that mischief lay beneath the surface.

“Yes,” she said again.

With a cruel smile, Lucien dropped his hands. Elain barely had time to register what had happened before she plunged into the deep snow. She sunk through the surface, cold powder rising over and around her as she gasped, flickering belatedly between her surprise and anger.

Lucien peered over at her. He was smirking. “What do you think of the snow?”

It was much less pleasant to be encased in it, she thought agitatedly. Elain kicked out her legs, uncertain how to rise without getting her hands any colder. Lucien watched her struggle whilst looking far too proud of himself, and what was worse is that he seemed to find the situation more amusing the longer it went on.

“Do you need help?” He asked.

With a shriek, Elain grabbed at a handful of snow and lashed it towards him.

He chuckled. “That won’t persuade me to help you.”

Taking pity on her, he leaned over to extend a hand. She grabbed it. Then, with all the ferocity she could muster, she used her grip to tug him off balance. Lucien fell forward—nearly on top of her, if it weren’t for his hands quickly shooting to catch himself, braced on either side of her head. His hair fell into her face, a tangle of red silk that had her spluttering, thrashing her face inelegantly as she attempted to get it out of her mouth.

Lucien was too busy laughing to be any help. Elain was forced to reach up, collecting Lucien’s hair in a fist so that she could get it out of her face and, in doing so, peer directly up into Lucien’s. He was much too close. It was like being back on the altar, except now she could see the clouds of their breath tangle together.

Had he been breathing this quickly then, too? Or was that the adrenaline from falling?

“You know,” Lucien said. He was studying her face, attention flicking from her eyes to her cheeks. To her mouth. “Typically a wife reserves this sort of behavior for the bedroom. And I took you for such a modest lady, too.”

The joke sobered any thought she had of pressing their mouths together. Their position was certainly… compromising.

Elain flushed. “Praytell what opportunity I’d have for such behavior? From my understanding, you and I will be sleeping in separate rooms.”

The heat in Lucien’s expression died, too. He reached up to pry her hands out of his hair. “Cauldron,” he swore once his hands closed over her fingers. “You’re freezing.”

“You dropped me in snow!”

“An oversight,” he said, withdrawing easily from their position. This time when he offered his hand, Elain allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Come, let’s get you out of that dress before you catch a cold.”

She hesitated, looking down at the ruined hem of her skirt. Then back to Lucien. “You don’t mean…”

“Mother-forsake-me, of course I don’t mean now, Elain. Once you’re in the privacy of your own room. We’re nearly to the inn, we can make haste.”

Indeed, Lucien was already rushing towards the carriage, hardly a thought of the wife who had to bundle her wet skirts in her arms to keep up. She couldn’t help feeling that he’d emphasized your own room on purpose. It was their wedding night, and they would be staying in separate rooms, and she of course had known this.

Yet the reminder felt raw. Cold, somehow—like the snow and her limbs and Lucien’s changed demeanor.

He opened the carriage door for her, at least, offering a hand to help her climb inside. But he closed it forcefully enough that she jumped. Then he sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

Elain did her best to square her shoulders—a difficult task, now that her body had begun shivering. “About which part?”

“Dropping you in the snow,” he said. “I was being…”

Playful. She’d like it, until he’d withdrawn from her.

“Unkind.”

She snorted, turning her head towards the window to watch as the valleys of snow passed by. “I’ve heard a rumor that Prince Lucien possesses kindness in short supply.”

“A pity for his wife,” he agreed with a wry smile. “I’ve heard she is extraordinarily kind, and in future I will strive to reflect her kindness back on her.”

Until he proved it, it was all talk. Elain said nothing. She was not prepared to dignify his behavior with forgiveness just yet. Not when she was still trembling, and no amount of wrapping her arms around herself was helpful. The air in the carriage might have been warmer, but the cold still clung to her wet clothes.

“The inn is close by,” Lucien said. “But I can help warm you up, while you wait.”

Elain offered him a flat look.

“Oh, stop.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not like that.”

He stretched his hand toward her, flexing his fingers expectantly. Elain stared for a moment, before she cautiously placed her hand in his. Lucien shut his eyes. It’s what drew her attention to his face—initially because she found it odd, then because she realized she had an opportunity to survey him without triggering that smug, infuriating smile.

In its absence, she could freely admit that he was beautiful. Strong jaw and high cheekbones, Elain searched his face for any sign of King Beron—because surely, if she could look into Lucien’s face and see a glimpse of his father, that would be enough to temper the strange, fluttering feeling that gripped her each time she looked at him. But, fortunately or unfortunately, he was unique in his beauty.

His lips parted open, as though in concentration, and it was only then Elain actually paid any attention to what he was doing. His hand, wrapped around hers, was becoming warmer.

Elain stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Warming you up.”

“How?”

“Magic.” She yanked her hand away, holding it protectively to her chest. Lucien’s eyes were open, now—wide and confused. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She echoed. “Magic is…”

Well, forbidden is what she wanted to say. But that wasn’t the truth anymore. That was her father’s rule and now that she was no longer in Archeron manor… she didn’t know what magic was, anymore.

“It comes at a cost,” she said, echoing the familiar refrain of Nesta and her governess.

“Yes,” Lucien said patiently. “I’m paying it.”

“What’s the cost?”

“Energy. I’m going to heat up your hands and take a nice, long nap afterwards.”

“That’s all?”

He looked bemused. “Yes, Elain, that’s all.”

Slowly, she placed her hand back in his. Magic. To think he used it so casually, like it was nothing at all. She didn’t know how much she could press him on the subject. Could she ask about the true love spell without arousing suspicion?

Lucien hummed as though in afterthought. “Though I suppose I should mention that a curse may fall on your firstborn child, but that shouldn’t be a problem considering—”

“That’s not funny,” she snapped.

She knew he was teasing, because he’d been smiling. Now, he was studying her, as though it were shocking to him that she would have such a severe reaction to something he’d said so lightly. Elain could practically see him trace over his words, connecting them with the stern lines of her frown.

He winced, finally, like his meaning caught up to him. “You’re right, lady. It was not funny, and I apologize. All I mean to do is help you.”

Elain pulled her hand away, folding it into her wet lap. “I think I’ve had enough of your help today, your highness.”

She told herself that though there was remorse in his expression, that didn’t mean he was owed her forgiveness. To speak so tactlessly about having children when he was the one denying them to her… Elain thought she at least owed him the silence he had paid her for the majority of the day, when she had acted insensitively.

“Very well,” Lucien said, bowing his head to her. He looked pained. “We’ll be at the inn shortly.”

-

Soon enough, Elain was welcomed by the sound of the carriage wheels rolling over loose stone. They slowed to a stop, the horses whinnying as the lulling clop of hooves finally quieted. Elain was so frozen in her dress that she wasn’t certain she could have moved quickly if she wanted to. Lucien had no such excuse, but he still seemed to hesitate for a moment before exiting the carriage.

Elain ignored his outstretched hand. She didn’t care if she looked graceless climbing out of the carriage—her stiff and soaking dress would mean she looked graceless, regardless. Nevermind that she was still wearing her husband’s jacket, which was equally wet and hardly keeping her warm, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to return it. She would keep it, if only to be spiteful.

“Ho there!” A man came rushing out of the inn, clutching a handheld lantern which he raised to cast them in better light. When he caught sight of Lucien, he scrambled into a bow, “Your highness.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I request we make haste inside.” Lucien gestured to Elain. “The lady is freezing.”

“Certainly.” The man, who Elain presumed to be the innkeeper, fumbled at his breast pocket for a ring of keys before gesturing them inside. “Right this way.”

They followed him through a series of wood paneled hallways, then up a set of stairs. Lucien had to duck so as not to hit his head on the ceiling’s wooden beams. Elain, still cross, let herself smile at the idea that he might.

Her smile fell away when they stopped in front of one of the doors, and the innkeeper unlocked it for her. “This is your room, my lady. And his highness’s room is just down the hall.”

Elain glanced back at her husband, unsurprised but still disappointed.

“Enjoy your wedding night,” she said, frigidly, before walking into the bedroom and shutting the door.

Why not lock it, for good measure? It took more effort than usual, the key trembling in her fingers. Some warmth was returning to them, now, and she could feel each of them throb with their own tiny heartbeats. Maybe she would lock it later, once the footsteps faded. Elain rested her forehead against the door to listen, but all she could hear was her own heart splintering in her chest.

Alone. On her wedding night. It was a blessing, she assured herself, but that didn’t chase away the cold, lurching feeling of rejection. Maybe sitting in front of the hearth would.

She turned the key in the lock, listening to it click. The footman could deposit her trunk outside, or better yet, with Lucien. For now… for now she just had to get out of these Cauldron forsaken clothes. The ice leached all the way through, so Elain stripped herself bare before she settled atop the fur rug before the hearth.

The absence of the wet fabric was a relief. Whereas the absence of company… that still stung.

Elain angled her head towards the heap that had become of her dress and petticoats. She supposed she didn’t need to be alone. The innkeeper would likely be bringing dinner soon, but he could deposit it beside her trunk. She had no appetite in her state.

She wanted to pretend that it took her longer to consider it. That she waited there for hours deliberating over the morality of seeking the butterfly wings Nesta had given her. She wanted to have reservations, on her wedding night of all evenings, but it was horrifyingly easy to slip her hand into the pocket of her petticoat and withdraw the pouch of wings.

The only difficult part, really, was placing a bug’s wing in her mouth.

After that, it was only a matter of falling asleep. And waking to darkness.

Elain pressed a hand to the cool, silk sheets beneath her. A far cry from the fur rug she’d fallen asleep on. She wondered, briefly, where the dreams took her. Was it her old room from Archeron manor? Having never wandered further from the mattress, it was difficult to tell. But she didn’t think so. The feel of the bedding, the smell… it was different.

“You’re here?”

Thoughts of their location quickly abandoned, Elain scrambled to the edge of the bed, trying to peer in the direction of the voice.

“I’m here,” she said to the darkness.

“On your wedding night?”

The question caught her off guard. She faltered, uncertain how to answer.

“My apologies, lady, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I only mean to say… I suppose I’m just surprised you came. A-are you okay?”

Elain pressed her lips together. She knew what he thought happened, and she supposed she should assure him that her husband had not forced himself on her. He was, in fact, not the least bit the monster that she had expected him to be. Would that be consoling to her true love, or the opposite?

“It’s been a long day,” she said. It was honest.

“I’m sure it has been.”

His footsteps echoed as he tentatively walked towards the bed. She had the sense he made them louder for her sake, so that she was not startled by his approach.

“Is… Please tell me, is there anything I can do?”

Elain was certain that he was close enough now she could reach out and touch him. She recalled how warm his touch had been last night. And the cold still clung to her, even in sleep. Was he capable of soothing it?

“Could you just—hold me? Please?”

Though she had tried to maintain her composure, her voice cracked involuntarily on the please. And maybe the snow had turned her brittle, because that small crack was all that she needed to break. Elain pressed her hand to mouth, trying desperately to smother the sob building in her throat. She hadn’t wanted to come here to cry.

“Of course I can.” He sounded distressed. By her voice, or something else? “I’m going to touch you now. Is that okay?”

Elain nodded, but of course he didn’t see.

“Sweetheart, please. You need to tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

Answering him meant removing her hand from her mouth. She didn’t want to speak—she didn’t trust her voice not to crumble. If she spoke, then the tears would surely come, and she wanted to fight them off as long as possible.

“In here, my love, you only get touched on your terms. If you can’t speak, why don’t you grab my hand? I’m standing right in front of you.”

With her free hand, Elain reached blindly into the dark. It didn’t take long to find his waiting hand—warm, like she remembered. Gentle.

“Good,” he said. “Now, do you want me to get on the bed with you? Squeeze once if you do, twice if not.”

She was already feeling calmer just from the way he was speaking to her. In all of her bouts of emotion over the years, no one had ever braced them with such patience. Such… kindness. Elain lowered her hand from her mouth. Her voice crackled as she said, “I’d like for you to get on the bed.”

“Ah, she found her voice. I’m glad.” The bed shifted slightly beneath his weight. “And if you ever feel like you can’t speak while we’re in here, just remember: one squeeze for yes, two for no.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. Do you want to lie down together?”

She searched the question for any underlying meaning. It had been nice when he’d touched her yesterday—more than—but if that was what he was offering, she wasn’t certain that was something she wanted. Not tonight.

It seemed like he responded best to honesty. “I don’t want to… to…”

“Of course not,” he said. “I won’t touch you anywhere unless you explicitly ask me to.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He moved himself further onto the bed. She could feel the weight shift towards the middle, where he’d presumably stretched himself out, head against the pillows as if they would be going to sleep.

“Come here,” he murmured.

It was a tedious game not to accidentally nudge him somewhere delicate as she crawled towards him, feeling ahead with her hands. She gently patted his stomach, then his chest. It felt oddly catlike, pawing her way to lay down, though she could only hope she had half the grace of a feline as she laid herself down beside her true love, head resting against his steady heart.

“There,” he said. His arm came around her shoulders and he began rubbing slow circles against her back. “We can stay like this as long as you want.”

“Forever?”

It was a suggestion filled with melancholy, since they both knew that regardless of any promises made here, in the morning they would have no choice but to be ripped from each other all over again.

“Forever,” he said back.

Because what was a lie, when the truth would only break their hearts? And what was forever, when between the measly hours of dawn and dusk, she could listen to her true love’s heart beat in time with her own? Forever was overrated, anyhow.

[queen-scribbles]

It’s Cold Outside

*shows up four five years late with the follow up fic to Let It Snow* HOLY COW, it’s finally done! \o/ Cribbing another Christmas song for the title bc I think I’m funny(especially bc the way this plays out is... pretty much the opposite of the song xD) ---- The snow had reached Brighthollow’s first floor windows and was still coming.

“Okay, I like snow, but this is getting ridiculous,” Adela commented, staring out the window. “It’s not as fun once it passes knee-deep. Then it starts being annoying.”

Heodan looked up from his book and smiled, “For growing up somewhere you said doesn’t get a lot of snow, you certainly seem to have strong opinions on it.”

“We don’t get a lot,” she said with a confirming nod. “That’s different from not getting any.” She raised an eyebrow pointedly in his direction.

“Adi, I have no strong opinion on snow,” he pointed out. “Cold in general I’m not overly fond of, but snow I don’t really care one way or the other.”

Adela grinned and crossed to flop on the couch near the fire, noting his chair was even closer to the warmth. “This an Aedyran thing?” she teased, folding her legs under her. “Increased sensitivity to cold?”

It was Heodan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “We don’t all have fur, Adi.”

Her ears twitched as she laughed. “Touché. And I do know what Aedyr’s like. Aloth’s probably thanking the gods for thick stone walls right about now.”

“And fireplaces,” Heodan added.

“I think we’re all grateful for those.” Adela shifted, pulling her knees into her chest and resting her chin atop them. “No matter how adjusted we might be to the cold.” She smirked at a memory. “Even when you’ve had bad experiences with them a couple times....”

Heodan closed his book and leaned forward. “Do I want to know the story prompting that smile?”

“Oh, it’s nothing bad, and only slightly embarrassing.” She picked at the engraving lines on her necklace. “Ben, my oldest brother, is a baker, and he experiments with other cooking stuff in his free time. He’s really, really good, too. But, y’know, with him liking to cook and spending so much time around fire--ovens and fireplaces both--stuff’s bound to happen.” She bit back a smile at the Uh-oh in Heodan’s eyes. “The week before he got married, he singed off his eyebrows and half the fur on one arm b’cause he dropped a pot and leaned to pick it up without checking how close to the fire it was. He wasn’t hurt, but the kitchen smelled like burned hair for three days and me an’ Sirra teased him about it for months.”

He chuckled. “Poor Ben. What did he do to deserve such a scamp of a sister?”

“Oh, he gets me back,” Adela assured him wryly. “He calls me Cricket when he’s annoyed at me, b’cause I’m always getting cricks in my neck from reading for too long in one position.” She hugged her knees closer and bit her lip.  “How  ‘bout you? Any mildly embarrassing stories about your brothers?”

Heodan smiled as he pondered, fingers drumming the cover of his book. “A few... Before the family business picked up and started making decent money, Gyran and Lyam had to share a bedroom. One time when they were teenagers, Lyam walked in without knocking and caught Gyran and Lydia in the middle of what turned out to be their first kiss.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no.”

He shook his head. “I’m not finished. Lyam made some smart comment--none of them ever shared what, exactly, he said--and Gyran spent the next ten minutes chasing him around the house with the express intention of tossing him out a window.”

Adela giggled, looking into the fire. “I think I’m with Gyran; first kisses are awkward enough without an accidental sibling interruption.”

He moved from his chair to the couch and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

“With first kiss awkwardness, yes,” she admitted, face hot from more than just the fire. “Thankfully not with sibling interruption making it worse. I would also have thrown them in a pond or out a window. Fortunately, it was under circumstances where interruption was unlikely.”

“Oh?” No sooner had the word left his mouth than Heodan blushed and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m not.... not trying to pry.”

“It’s alright,” Adela laughed. She tucked loose hair back behind her ear. “It was a typical teenager thing” --she waved a hand vaguely in his direction-- “like your brother. Only mine was just a boy from school I’d been sweet on. I found out he was sweet on me, too, when we were working together researching Old Vailia for a history assignment. We needed a lot of old books and such that were in the back part of the library, very musty, a little creepy, where most people didn’t go unless they had to. Toward the end of our research, Xen said he thought I was very smart--and very pretty, and asked if he could kiss me.” She smiled and bit her lip. “After giggling like an absolute idiot for several seconds, I said yes and he did. I was so happy and flustered, I almost forgot my books when I went home.” She sighed, rubbed her elephant pendent. “Unlike Gyran and Lydia, nothing ever came of it, though.”

“Why not?” Heodan sounded almost indignant on her behalf, which made her heart flutter.

“Oh, it wasn’t by his choice,” she said with a rueful smile. “There was a rash of illness that worked its way through our town, and since his father was a priest and his mother was an herbalist, and orlans are responsible for all wrongs that befall folk, clearly it was their fault. They got run out of town. Despite protests from many, orlan and folk, that they were helpers and healers and would never hurt anyone. Prejudice is a powerful influence, and it won out. The illness continued sweeping around for another month and then died out on its own.”

“Well, that’s terrible,” he said, brow furrowed. “Did anyone apologize for the incorrect assumption...?”

“No, they all found ways to justify being suspicious, or pointed out there was no one to apologize to since Xen’s family had left....” Adela chuckled a little at his affronted expression. “Heodan, that’s the way it works for orlans pretty much everywhere. In fact, Necazoa was one of the better places in Ixamitl. Which is better than a lot of other places, like the Dyrwood.” She reached over and squeezed his knee. “Not everyone is as nice and accepting as you.”

That’s part of why I like you, she added to herself.

He made a noise of reluctant concession and gave her a wry smile. “According to you, my being so nice is why I’m here, all the way across the ocean, rather than one of my brothers.”

“I’m still allowed to be glad you’re here, even being pretty sure you got the short straw because you wouldn’t tell your family no,” Adela said with a laugh.

Heodan studied her face for a moment, gleam of firelight dancing in his eyes.  “Who says I see it as the short straw?” he asked. “I like it here, Adi. I’m glad I met- all of you, got to have a bit of adventure--”

“Even if more than originally planned?” she cut in wryly.

“Even so.” He flexed the hand of his injured arm and smiled. “My nephews think I’m just about the most interesting person in the world, according to Gyran’s last letter.”

“Oh?” Adela smiled, playing with the tail of her braid.

“You, of course, are the most interesting, since you’re the leader,” Heodan clarified with an answering smile, which made her laugh.

“Well, you can tell them I’m flattered,” she said. She let her legs relax down, feet dangling over the floor, and shivered a little even if the fire was plenty warm. “You write your family about me, huh?” she teased, even as the thought made her insides do a funny little flip.

Was it her imagination or did his face go slightly pink at the needling? The firelight made it hard to tell. “They like to hear what I’m doing. You’ve been there for... everything since Echo Bay,” Heodan teased back. “It would be difficult not to mention you.”

Adela giggled, then winced. “Did they worry about the, um, gap? After Cail?” After you almost died.

He shook his head. “I had written right before we went to Searing Falls. By the time I needed to write again, I’d recovered enough to do so.”

“Did you tell them about--”

“Fighting a drake? Yes. How badly that ended for me? No. I didn’t see a point making them worry from a thousand miles away. Especially since by that point I was on the mend, and-” he reached over to flick her bangs out of her eyes “-I’m fine now.”

She supposed she saw the sense of that. There were few better things than hearing (or reading) ‘by the way, I almost got killed fighting a drake, but I’m alright now’ to give parents an anxiety attack. And she was careful with phrasing in some of her letters home, even without any calls that close herself. “So if you ever go home to visit, or they come here, they get to just be surprised you have an arm that doesn’t fully work anymore and some dashing new scars?”

Heodan arched a brow at her for the last bit of the glib comment. “I’ll worry about that when I need to, Adi,” he said, glancing toward the window. “I think our current worry needs to be sleeping arrangements.” 

She hadn’t even realized how dark it was getting. The overcast sky and still-falling snow had thrown her off. “Did you have any thoughts?” she asked, standing on the couch to peer out the window and try to gauge how how late it was. 

“If you have a spare quilt or blanket--or both--” he gave a self-deprecating laugh-- “I can sleep right here--”

“No!” Adela cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, there’s plenty of blankets and quilts, in the others rooms if not here, but.” She turned and crossed her arms, eye level with him thanks to standing on the couch. “The bed is more than big enough for two kith, Heodan.” Especially when one’s my size. “We can each wrap in separate blankets if you’re worried about propriety” --Not that I think you’d do anything-- “and this is not a terribly comfortable couch for sleeping on. So unless you truly want to sleep this close to the fire...?” She arched a brow, waiting, and Heodan just shrugged. “We’re both sleeping on the bed.”

He chuckled. “Far be it from me to resist such a passionate argument. You win, Adela. Where are the blankets?”

“There’s some in the closet, but those are mostly the out-of-season ones; the lighter spring duvets or sheets. One of us might do better to raid one of the other bedrooms.”

Heodan pushed to his feet. “Let me go see...”

Adela hopped down from the couch as he walked from the room and banked the fire so it would burn down slowly and keep them warm as long as possible, while still being safe through the night. Then she went to the closet and dug out the satchel of preserved foodstuffs she’d kept for snacking purposes before they relocated to the warmer--sturdier--keep for the winter. When she left it here she figured it would be for days using the room for peace and quiet, not because she got snowed in. But it was still good and that was all that mattered.

Heodan returned with three blankets piled in his arms. “I figured it would be easier to partially remake beds than fold things right to go back in storage.”

“And I’d agree with you on that,” she said with a laugh. “Dinner is gonna be like camping, I’m afraid.” A gesture at the jerky, dried fruit, and nuts from her stash.

“Only much better protected from the elements.” He dropped the blankets on the bed and joined her to eat. “I guess we need to be careful, since we don’t know how long we’ll be in here?”

Adela wrinkled her nose and glanced out the window. “Probably. Though if it gets too dire we can try for the main keep...”

Heodan followed her gaze with a dubious look. “Adi, it’ll be drifted higher than your head by morning. I’d have to carry you.”

“That’s why I said if it gets too dire.” She chewed on a handful of nuts, her heart doing a little flip at the thought of him carrying her. “Long as we’re alright, better to stay put and hope it clears up.”

He nodded and they finished in silence.

Silence that gave Adela time to actually think about what she’d insisted on in a blaze of impassioned indignation. You are not sleeping on the couch. They would both be on the bed. She and Heodan would be sharing the bed. He’d be right there.

Oh, stop it, Adi, she scolded herself. It’s not the first time.

But Gilded Vale had been a lifetime ago; her crush a small and flickering thing rather than a blaze in her chest. Even with them bundled individually in blankets, she wasn’t sure how well she’d sleep with him so close.

She counted her bites, chewing slowly. Not delaying. Lost in thought. How to act normal.

Heodan picked up on something from her behavior. “Adi, if you’re not comfortable sharing, I really w-”

“No! No, it’s fine.” She was hot enough to wonder if her fur was singed. “Just lost in thought. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Because you just said it’s fine twice in as many sentences.” 

“B’cause it is, I promise.” She stood and brushed crumbs off her dress, giving him a teasing smile. “I’ll even let you have the side closer to the fire; I know how you Aedyrans are about cold. And I have fur.”

He sighed but looked convinced. “If you’re sure.”

They each selected blankets and bundled themselves up in addition to the warm green and white quilt on the bed. 

“I apologize in advance if I steal the blankets,” Heodan said with a sheepish chuckle. “Just know it’s unintentional.”

“Noted,” Adela laughed. “And I forgive you in advance. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

They settled in, back to back with a small gap between them, and silence fell as they tried to get to sleep.

“Heodan?” Adela mumbled after a few minutes, only half-awake.

“Mm?” He sounded even more asleep than she was.

“If you finished that s’pply order you were workin’ on, I can just take it to Defiance Bay when I go for the hearings. Y’don’t need to bother a courier.”

There was a long pause, probably him wondering what made her think of--and bring up--the matter now. “We’ll see. It’s not bothering them if it’s their job.” The mattress creaked, as if he turned to look at her, but she was still facing the wall. “B’sides, I don’t think anyone’s going anywhere for a bit.”

“True.”

This time, the silence remained as it settled over them, and it wasn’t long before she heard his breathing deepen in sleep. It didn’t take long for her to follow suit.

---

It was warm when she woke. Warm and dark.

Adela blinked and rubbed her eyes and quickly figured out the dark part was thanks to burrowing almost completely under the blankets. Warm took a moment longer to register--she was curled in a ball against Heodan’s back.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise; she was inclined to seek out heat sources in her sleep. But under the circumstances, it had her bolting upright, blinking herself awake with heart pounding furiously.

“Morning,” Heodan said, voice rife with amusement.

Oh, wonderful, as if this wasn’t embarrassing enough, he was already awake. “Mornin’,” Adela mumbled around a yawn.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” he asked as he rolled on his back. He seemed perfectly happy to stay ensconced in the blankets and looking up at her.

“...I have been told that, yes.” She raked her hair out of her face. She’d forgotten to take out her braid last night and it was in shambles right now. “I don’t suppose I said anything useful, like unsnarling that spell composition that’s been giving me and Aloth fits for a week straight, did I?”

Heodan chuckled. “Not that I heard. Mostly gibberish, with what I think were your siblings’ names occasionally thrown in?” He gave her a searching look. “But it was normal gibberish, so... no Watcher dreams?”

It hit her like a thunderclap as soon as he asked. “No.” They’d been getting worse (Edér shaking her awake, joking about buckets of water worse) for a couple months, and they’d left her alone last night. “You must be magic,” she teased, which made him snort a laugh as he sat up.

“Hardly.” Heodan stretched, shaking free of the blankets. “Does that mean you got a good night’s sleep?”

She nodded, undoing her braid to replait. “For once. Sorry that I, uh, got in your space.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said with a reassuring smile. “The extra warmth was nice, once the fire started dying.”

“Oh!” Adela tied off the half-done braid and scrambled over him, out of bed, to stoke the embers back to life.

Heodan had made it out of bed by the time she succeeded, his focus out the window. “Still snowing,” he commented, nodding that direction.

“Wael’s eyes, really?!” She followed his gaze to see yes, really. “We’ll be here a while, then, I suppose.”

“At least we have plenty to do,” he said with a smile. “And you’re good company.”

“See if you still think that when I go stir-crazy,” she deadpanned. Which might be by the end of the day, depending on if I find interesting enough books. “But you are, too. Good company, I mean.”

His smile widened as he retrieved food for breakfast and her heart skipped a beat in response. Good enough she had no idea how--or if--she was going to keep certain things from spilling into the open.

But it looked like she was about to find out.

[ricardian-werewolf]

4. Don't sit under the Apple Tree (With anyone but me)

Wait this is completely off the mark but god damnnnnn @lordbettany Summary:

Nikolai and Alina share some sweetness on a cold winters morning, and make some significant discoveries about one another's pasts. Genya provides advice and assists in Nikolai helping Alina discover a key facet of herself.

Notes:

This chapter of the fic gives us a year - you'll need to have a basic knowledge of the olympics in order to catch it, but the worldbuilding should help give you some clues. Nikolai's skating routine is based on this amazing set by Illia Malinin Title taken from "Don't Sit under the Apple Tree (With anyone else but me)" By the Andrews Sisters and Glenn Miller. References to department stores of the Russian Empire forgot to include the Parade in St Petersburg and GUM department stores in Moscow.

Chapter below.

3 months later. 

Alina woke one morning to the sight of snow. 

Despite her assuming that it’d been spring upon her arrival, that hadn’t been the case. Now, the Great Palace was buried under several feet of snow, and classes had been canceled. While the squallers and tide-makers could keep the Little Palace in its own sort of weather pocket, messing with the forces of nature was a major faux pas . 

Distantly, she could hear the faint strains of In the Mood playing on the phonograph, and wondered who it was this early in the morning. Her training with Botkin the day before, as well as the arrival of Zoya, had put Alina in quite the bind. She still limped as she walked, her wounds unhealed. Even though Genya had said that Alina was the Darkling’s favorite, Alina doubted both Genya and herself. She hummed along as she pulled a robe over her nightgown and poked her head out into her sitting room. There, sitting on the sofa, was Nikolai. He had his boot-straps in his fingers, and a scarf around his neck. Draped over the sofa beside him was his First Army greatcoat. His blonde curls were damp from an early morning shower, and his cheeks pinkish from the cold air outside.

“Morning.” Alina smiled. She’d gotten used to Genya and Nikolai using her private sitting room as a social space, as long as it was them three. Her books on Grisha theory had swallowed her desk whole, along with notes and a portable typewriter - a gift from Nikolai. The other grisha hated her for such frivolities, so Alina chose to write her notes with a fountain pen. Zoya had made herself out to be quite the ring-leader of a little gang intent on making Alina’s life a misery, and Maria had fallen easily into line. But, Nadia had resisted, declared her independence and gone to Alina’s side. Her brother Adrik had joined his sister.

“Is the Zoya crew giving you a hard time?” Nikolai asked as she took a shot of tea. His eyes were molten gold in the lowlight of the lamps, and Alina hesitated. She didn’t want to lie, so she didn’t.

“Yes.” She stepped forward. “But… I don’t think you should intervene. It’ll just make it worse.” 

“Isn’t that what everyone says?” Nikolai queried as he laid his jacket over his arm. Alina nodded, and fidgeted with the sash of her robe. She had so much work to do, but the snow beckoned. She missed having so much freedom now. Even life in the First Army had been better than whatever this was.

Nikolai noted her sad expression, and lifted her chin with his fingers. “What do you say to skating? Genya’s up, and she and I got our skates already. Come along?”

Alina’s eyes brightened.

“Yes, just let me put my kefta on.”

“Oh, hold on.” Nikolai reached behind him and held out a deep blue box tied with a gold ribbon. “For you. An early nameday present.”

Alina’s brows rose, and she undid the ribbon and lifted the lid. Under a layer of pale blue tissue paper was a deep teal colored kefta, emblazoned with the familiar gold embroidery, but set differently. Instead of swirls and rays, these were more structured. Like the antlers of some creature.

Like the stag she’d been painting for weeks, from her dreams.

“W-what?” She gasped. “H-how?”

“Animals amongst Grisha are normally signs of an amplifier.” Nikolai explained, rolling up the sleeve of his cabled black sweater. Where his thin band of gold were the bones of a fox had rested, now only a jagged scar remained. He held his wrist out, letting Alina see for just a moment, then slid the sleeve back down. Unlike other Grisha, he didn’t flaunt his wounds. 

“And you believe the Stag to be mine?” Alina asked.

Nikolai nodded. 

Alina longed to tell him of the Apparat, his words to her in the infirmary, but she held her tongue. She’d seen Nikolai’s unease with past mentions of the Apparat in conversation, or when he’d been in the room with Nikolai and any other members of the royal family. Somehow, Alina knew the Apparat had either done something to Nikolai or someone he loved.

Only fear could spark such a response.

Smiling wanly, Alina stepped back into her room and pulled on the kefta. Buttoning it up, she grabbed her winter boots - low heeled in case of ice - and a scarf. The Kefta had a hood, lined in red fox fur like the rest of the piece, and she pulled it over her head.

“Shall we?” Nikolai offered his arm, which Alina accepted.

They were a strange height match, with her only coming up to his elbow and him towering over her. But there was a grace to it all as Nikolai steered her left, away from the ankle-breaking staircases that wound down to the main wing of the palace.

“There’s a faster way down.” Nikolai murmured, his lips close to Alina’s ear. The rush of color to her cheeks was something she attributed to the blasts of cold air in this draughty old palace. Waiting for them was a palace servant, who slid a massive tapestry aside and revealed an iron box with an odd switch on the left hand side of the wall.

“It’s safe, I promise,”

Alina cast him a doubtful glance, but stepped in anyways. Nikolai handed the servant a small bag of gold coins, and stepped into the box as well. The servant slid the metal screen and tapestry over, covering them from prying eyes.

“You might want to hold on to the railing.” He offered, and Alina did. Nikolai cranked the lever and they descended down slowly, the sound of gears buttery smooth. Very few places in Ravka had an elevator, and the fact that Nikolai had one in the Great Palace made her curious. “Who built this?”

“Me.” Nikolai grinned as he knotted his scarf. “Despite what everyone wants to say about me not being able to have an education, I do… actually. Masters in Civil Engineering from the University of Ketterdam.”

“A masters?” Alina squeaked, amazed and somewhat shocked. “What was your undergraduate in?”

“History with minors in Law and Shu.” 

“Why not become a lawyer? Or a historian?”

“Seeing what’s happened to Ravka in the here and now made me want to do something tangible.” Nikolai stopped the lever and effortlessly slid the screen and door aside. They emerged in the servants’s quarters below the palace, and with a few swift footsteps and several turns, emerged outside.

What they stepped into was the Queen’s rose garden, now blanketed in several feet of powdery white snow. Over their heads, clouds created a stormy covering and blocked out the sun. Alina was glad for it, because she was beginning to reach a point where even seeing the sun reminded her of her own inability.

“Did you ever..” She blurted out. 

“Hmm?” Nikolai paused, and noting Alina’s hat was crooked, adjusted it. 

“Struggle with summoning? Everyone else I’ve talked to said it was hard in the beginning but then Baghra did something and then they could summon. She’s threatened to do things to me, and yet, it does nothing.”

“My summoning came easily, because I’ve always been a boy in the shadows.” Nikolai replied softly. “Besides…” 

He fell silent and squeezed her hand.

“Nevermind.” He turned his head up to the snow falling down from the heavens and smiled boyishly at her. Alina’s own grin could rival the sun, and he hoped that more than anything, she’d found a friend in Genya and him. 

“Ah, Genya’s here!” Nikolai waved his gloved hand excitedly at the massive lake separating the Great and Little Palace from one another. Along the glassy surface, Genya glided on a pair of fabrikated skates, effortlessly moving across the lake in a lazy series of figure eights. Her face was bundled up in a deep red wool scarf and her green eyes glimmered in the low light.

By the bench - swept clean of snow - rested two pairs of skates, a tea service in a wicker basket, and bundles of furs. Strangely enough, a gramophone sat atop the bundles of furs. 

“Ah, Genya spoils me.” Nikolai helped Alina sit and knelt before her. He effortlessly unlaced her boots and slipped them off, then paused.

”Have you ever skated before?”

Alina shook her head. She couldn’t tell if it was the cold, but her cheeks felt strangely warm with Nikolai’s hands gently holding her little feet. “Most skates couldn’t work with my tiny feet.” She murmured.

”Thankfully, Grisha on the whole, don’t have that problem.” Nikolai murmured. He carefully laced up her skates, and then did the same to his own pair. 

“If I fall, don’t you dare laugh.” Alina grumbled.

”Oh I’ll be right along with you.” Nikolai smirked, and stood effortlessly. He gently clasped Alina’s mittened hands in his own, and walked her onto the lake’s surface. 

“And, step-“ Nikolai pulled Alina onto the ice, and she yelped as her balance went under her. 

“Ah!”

Before she could land with a sickening thud , Nikolai caught her, and Alina’s blush only deepened. He held her like that, his hand on the small of her back, for a good long minute. Upon realising his misstep thanks to Genya’s loud cough, Nikolai straightened and helped Alina stand properly.

“Apologies.” He blushed and righted them both. Alina laughed, the sound like church bells. Nikolai paused, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the softness of such a sound. He and she were used to the horrors of war, the nightmares. He had a doubt that such sounds existed in this cruel world. 

“So.” Nikolai asked as he helped Alina learn the proper foot placement to skate along the glassy surface. “What’s been holding you back in your summoning? I know Baghra’s been grumbling. We have tea once a week.” He gave a crooked grin. 

Alina gave him a dark look. “I don’t know. She says I’m not trying, and with the Darkling planning to get the stag’s antlers for me…” She trailed off. “I just…” She thumped her fist against her thigh and bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

“A mental block, perhaps? Something holding you down or back?” He hedged, twirling her. “I know you could summon it when you first got here… but it’s faded.”

“My work with Botkin and Baghra just… it’s not going well. Food doesn’t even taste right anymore.”

“Doesn’t taste right?” Nikolai lifted her chin with his mittened fingers, glancing into her eyes. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the limpness of her dark hair. Her sallow skin, yellowed with the beginning signs of jaundice frightened him. She wasn’t getting enough nutrition, and the sickly pallor on her face signalled beginnings of illnesses too severe for even a healer. 

“Is there anyone that you’re pining for?”

“Mal.” The name came easily to her lips, and Alina sniffled. “I’ve sent him letter after letter and yet… no response. He’s healthy and yet… no note.” Pain shone in her eyes. The pain of betrayal, of hatred. Nikolai’s breath hitched. Baghra had suspected that Alina was holding herself back to protect Mal, to protect the girl she’d been. He leaned forward, wanting to see what goading would do. But carefully. One wrong step and she’d never trust him again.

“No note?” He hummed, blinking at her. “That sounds most unlike him. How does it make you feel?”

“Angry. Mostly. Or prone to long periods of grief and loneliness. I have you and Genya, but…”

“It’s not him.” Nikolai chewed his lower lip. “You always did everything together, didn’t you?”

We did. Alina thought hopelessly. And now I’m here and I can’t even summon and it all is just so, so wrong!

The rage of weeks, no months bubbled up in her, something inside her snapping. The door hiding her powers, that rusty old thing, broke under the pressure. Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched. Nikolai’s face broke into a smile. 

“There she is.” He cupped her face in his mittened hands. “Genya, go get Baghra!”

Genya, who’d already slipped off her skates, turned and bolted through the heavy snow to Baghra’s cottage on the eastern edge of the lake-path. Within minutes, she’d returned with the old woman leaning heavily on her arm, looking seemingly younger by the second. Alina’s eyes widened again as she realized that too, Baghra repressed her powers. The powers within her were straining at their bonds, and with a jolt, Alina realized Nikolai was hardening those bonds.

“Why?!” She cried suddenly. 

“For your own protection. Now…” Lifting his hands, Nikolai skated back a few feet, and called over his shoulder: “Genya, wind that bloody gramophone and let's see the Sun Summoner at her best!”

The bonds snapped , and light, holy and heavenly poured out of Alina’s hands in one long, spontaneous blast. No heat, thankfully, or the ice under her feet would be boiling water. The light arced skywards, exploding out in a shockwave that rivaled the auroras of Fjerda. She couldn’t control, couldn’t rein it in, but it came to her lovingly . Like she’d been starved of such hunger from birth, it filled her.

Opening her eyes, she saw Nikolai looking at her in awe. Not with fear or hunger, but love. At his side, Genya had fallen to her knees on the ice and gripped Nikolai’s hand. Her other hand was splayed over her chest in prayer. 

Sankta Alina . 

Alina raised her gaze to rest on Baghra, and gave the old woman a smile. She may have been hard, but she looked proud now. For all of her prodding and cajoling, Nikolai had been the one to pull Alina’s powers from deep within her. Looking up to her own creation, Alina fisted her fingers and the light dimmed. The rush of such an explosion made her legs wobble as she pressed her hands to her knees and bent over at the waist. Her hair had thickened and darkened, while her flesh had become a babe’s pink. No more circles adorned her eyes, and the only signs of her past illnesses were the smallpox scars along her chest. But those were hidden. The scar on her hand, too, remained. She looked up at the gathered group, and finally noted the tune the gramophone rang out with.

Summer by Vivaldi. A tune of hope, of new light. 

“Well done, girl. It seems you were correct, Milaya. ” Baghra nodded her head to Nikolai, who beamed at her. “Now, make sure she sees me as soon as this blasted snow-storm abates.”

“Of course, Baba.” Nikolai inclined his head. Alina stiffened in shock. A shake of the head from Genya silenced her wagging tongue, and Alina turned back to Nikolai as he skated towards her. 

“I knew you could do it!” He said excitedly, pulling her into a waltz. Alina, who’d never waltzed in her life, blinked and let out a cry of alarm.

“Oh come on!” He groaned comically. “Don’t all living saints get waltzes from handsome princes when performing miracles?”

“No! And I’ve never waltzed before!”

“You haven’t?! Not even in First Army?” Nikolai clicked his tongue and adjusted her hands so that one was at his waist and the other clasped tight in his mittened one. He did much the same with his own, and fell once more into step.

“Tell me how you learned to skate.” Alina prodded as she too began to waltz. While not anywhere as good as Nikolai, it wasn’t too hard. She was just glad they couldn’t crash into anyone. 

“Oh, in secret. Baba, Baghra .” He corrected himself. “Was more of a mother to me than my own. She… gets me. My eccentristies. She used to hide me for days in the Little Palace so I could watch Grisha at work. She was the one who figured out I was a Durast and trained me in secret. In a way, she’s my mother. My grandparents died before I was born and I never met my mother’s parents. Not highly approachable.” He spun her again and they swept another turn around the lake’s surface-edge. 

“She’s so…”

“Callous?” Nikolai laughed. “It’s an act. She’s had a hard life. Her son…” Looking across the lake to the Little Palace, Alina saw Nikolai’s eyes harden. “Made mistakes.”

“I didn’t know she had a son.”

“She does. He’s somewhere else. I’ve never asked. She’s rather cagey.” He rubbed her arms suddenly. “You’re shivering, sunshine.”

“Oh.” Alina blushed. “It’s nothing really.” She didn’t know why he was being so… protective suddenly. Had he seen something? Shaking her head internally, Alina let herself be swept back to the bench and bundled up in furs. Genya came over from where she was examining a hole in the ice she’d been making with David’s awl and undid the scarf over her head.

“The lake squid’s frozen. I’ll get a tidemaker to unfreeze it.” She spoke to Nikolai while he poured them both tea from a thermos and passed around little mincemeat pies. “Hunting food. Picked it up on my travels. The hamper too.” Alina examined the writing on the side, not understanding the letters. They weren’t Cyrillic, so a western european language for certain. 

“Fortnum and Masons.” Nikolai translated, scraping a bit of meat from his lip. “They make hampers. And expensive groceries. Like Muir & Mirrielees Co. in Moscow.” 

“Why doesn’t Ravka have department stores?” Alina asked suddenly, highly curious about this world beyond the Fold’s expanses. As a cartographer in training, these things greatly intrigued her. 

“I don’t know.” Nikolai replied, sipping his tea as he made a miniature figure-eight with his feet. Never content to remain idle. Alina settled back on the bench and tucked the furs tighter around herself. “We have a civil service, a Duma , most forms of government and legislation and yet… we’re expected to buy our clothes from hatters and peddlers' wagons? What is this?” She spread her arms and caused tea to spill on her kefta. A quick press of a napkin from Genya prevented staining. “I know, yes, travelling merchants are a common part of rural life, but this is Os Alta, and for a city…” Her cup tilted dangerously again.

“It’s tiny .” Genya finished. “I know, Alina. Caryeva isn’t anything more than a small town and the race-courses. Stables yes, but this isn’t…” She grumbled. “Consistent.”

“You two are looking at me like I’m somehow the fault of a lack of industrialization.” Nikolai pouted, repairing his chipped teacup. “Sorry, but the Fold and the Volcra have more to answer for.”

“I could open a trade route! If I can’t bring down the Fold…” Her expression soured. “I mean..”

“No, it’s a good idea.” Nikolai examined his gloves. “We need food. And industry.”

“Don’t get me started on agriculture.” Genya buried her face in her hands. “I hear enough from Dominik.” 

“Where is he, anyways?” Nikolai asked. “I thought he was assigned indefienately to Os Alta.”

“Vasily.” Genya groaned. “Moved him to Chernast.”

“That-” Nikolai ground his teeth. “Ass. Saints, I wish I could bloody him.” 

Alina, who would have been horrified to hear anyone speak badly of the royal family, now merely shrugged. She’d met Vasily and thought him to be a far, far inferior son to Nikolai. Besides Nikolai, none of the Lantsovs were anything other than sinful bastards who owed nothing and lauded about their dachas like all of the landed gentry. She glared at her china cup, and summoned a beam of light to heat up the brew once more.

“It’s colder out here than I expected. Shall we head in?” Genya asked as she brushed her hands off. 

“You two go in. I need to try something. And leave the gramphophone.”

Genya’s eyes brightened, and she grabbed Alina’s hand. As they were heading back to the palace, the hamper’s handles in their grasp, Genya leaned closer to Alina. “Oh, just wait for what he does! He almost went to the Olympics!”

“The Olympics?” Alina blinked in confusion.

“They’re these games held every 4 years. One’s the Summer and winter games. Countries compete in a variety of sports and one country always hosts. Ice skating was held at Chamonix last year. Nikolai nearly got to go, but the Darkling forbade him.” Genya grumbled as she explained. They scurried back to Alina’s rooms and looking down on the lake, Genya waved her hand to Nikolai. 

“Watch him go!” She clapped her hands together and watched as Nikolai wound the gramphophone and stepped onto the ice. From his first leap to a quadruple lutz, that piano piece playing out over the cold air, Alina was hypnotized. He seemed almost to fly across the ice, bending and breaking the rules of their world the ways others faltered. He lost himself to the music, to the simplicity of it all, leaping and landing and spinning with such beauty that Alina found herself pressed to the glass.

Nothing could tear her gaze away from those blonde curls as he wove and shifted across the ice like it was little more than liquid water. He reminded her of some sort of bird, graceful and deadly, able to kill with just a touch. Where the Darkling radiated blind obedience, Nikolai radiated charm and chivalry. All of this reminded her of a ballet, but for one man alone. Genya let out a cry of alarm as Nikolai tore off his gloves to reveal his inky black claws, and shadows tinged purple and gray spilled from him.

“Oh Saints!” She gasped.

“What?!” Alina cried.

“He’s purging himself of the curse. Of course!” Genya ran a hand through her ginger curls as those shadows dipped and echoed out across the lake. “He’s going-” But she never got to finish, for the shadows exploded out of him in an all-encompassing burst. When the darkness lifted, Nikolai stood on the ice, panting. But the darkness that had once swallowed him was lifted. 

“He did it.” Genya breathed, sinking to her knees. Alina blinked, and leaned forward on the glass once more as Nikolai resumed skating like nothing had happened. She wondered that night as she went to sleep if the both of them had unleashed something within themselves. For what could two summoners do but be consumed by their respective griefs? Nikolai was a boy forever abandoned. Alina was a girl forever relying on another. 

But both of them hungered for who they really were and for someone to show them the way.

End of Chapter 4. 

[z-h-i-e]

Could you write a Galadriel/Celeborn piece about them in Doriath with supportive Lúthien and Melian? (Also I really liked your sympathetic Thingol piece!)

Sure I can! (I can write anything! Proven with that Glorfindel/Balrog piece I can never unsee.)

I have a soft spot for Celeborn–you know it, I know it, his wife knows it (gave me the title of Homewrecker of Lorien, you know). But, because I love Elrond/Celebrian so much, and I know there’s no Celebrian without Celeborn/Galadriel, I guess I’ll go with a schmoopy romancey story for them. Anyhow, I tend to go with a timid Doriath Celeborn with a stutter when he’s nervous, and that is who showed up for the muse casting call today. Enjoy! (Also, no wonder we don’t get Sindarin version of Nerwen from Tolkien – Nerwen was bad enough. Read on…)

---

“Good afternoon, Celeborn.”

“Good afternoon, Princess Luthien.” 

The two happened to come around the same corner of one of the florist stalls set up in the courtyard market.  Walking in opposite directions, Celeborn was intently inspecting the blooms in the baskets that lined the stall; he would have walked right into Luthien, had she not been the more attentive of the two and stepped safely aside. 

“I see you have selected some of the more vibrant flowers they have here today.  What is the occasion?” asked Luthien. 

Celeborn tried not to blush, and failed miserably.  “I happen...to have...a meeting tonight...with a friend...for dinner.”  The words stuttered out, each phrase from the young scribe a little softer than the former. 

Luthien smiled.  “It must be a special dinner if you are bringing flowers.  Or are you hosting a party?”

Celeborn shook his head.  “N-no.  No party.  Just myself...and a...friend.”

Luthien leaned down to sniff one of the orchids Celeborn was clutching.  He had also selected lilies and hydrangeas.  “Your friend must like large flowers.”

“I...do not...know?”  He bit his lip and looked down shyly.  “Truth told,” he whispered, “this is more of a…social engagement…of a…romantic nature.”

“And you have chosen orchids?” wondered Luthien.  “She must like the bright and the bold.”

Again, Celeborn chewed at his lip.  “I am not...not sure?”  His shoulders slumped and he whispered, “I am doing my best.  I d-do not have a sister, and m-my brother said I am...reaching...too high.”

Luthien stepped beside Celeborn and placed her hands on his shoulders.  “I have an idea!  I can help you shop!  I have no brother, so this will be fun–for both of us!  Of course, you will have to tell me who she is, so I can help.”

Red flushed Celeborn’s cheeks again.  “She is j-just about the prettiest g-girl I have ever seen.”  He swallowed audibly.  “D-do you know Princess Dirgwend of N-nargothrond?” 

“Oh, yes!”  Immediately Luthien cringed and looked over the flowers Celeborn was clutching.  “Oh, no.”

“N-n-n-n-no?”  Celeborn frowned.  “You think I am t-t-too far b-beneath her, too?”

“No!  I think, honestly, you are such a gentle person, and thoughtful, and kind, and brilliant–because she is as sharp as a hound’s tooth–I think she is lovely and you would be a lovely match!”  Luthien grimaced and slowly extracted a hydrangea from Celeborn.  “Ah, this, though…”  She caught sight of someone in the crowd and lifted the hydrangea above her head.  “Ulli!”

Melian was only five or six meters away, and smiled at her daughter, standing beside the youngest of the library scribes.  

“Ulli, akaeί akablanditiae tαdιχαόου mūαtheteυόmūeνος” called out Luthien.

“Oh!” Melian approached with a approving look on her face.

Luthien held up one of the flowers.  “akaόχοtte akadίν aū iniðel”

“Ooooh.” Melian clasped her hands together and slowed her steps as she approached.  “I seeeeee.”  She stopped in front of them and appeared to analyze each flower separately.  “May I safely assume this is your first time arranging flowers?”

“Y-yes, your majesty.”

“And may I safely assume you wish to make a positive impression on our visiting diplomat?” 

Celeborn nodded. “I need help,” he said sadly. 

Luthien was already pulling the bountiful bouquet from his hands.  “Are you familiar with roses, Celeborn?  I believe I saw some lovely peach and pale pink varieties around the corner.”

Artanis calmly picked up her gloves from the desk as she heard the knock upon her door.  She made sure to have them on and took one more look at her hair in the mirror and waited a moment more until there was a second knock before she opened the door. 

Before her stood Celeborn, holding an exquisite collection of roses, carnations, and delicate buds, a swirl of white and pastels.  He held them out to her.  “Good evening.  May I...present you with this...small token of affection?”

With lips pressed together to mute her grin, Artanis took the flowers and sniffed them experimentally.  “These are lovely.”

“I picked them out m-myself,” he said, and then added, “With help...f-from some…f-friends.”

Artanis sniffed them again to hide her next smile.  “My brother always says it is a wise man who knows when to ask for aid.”  She peered over the flowers at the tall, lanky scholar who was trying not to appear nervous, but the fidgeting of his hands while they were hidden in his sleeves gave him away.  

Yes, he was as sweet as Luthien had said, and as kind as Melian told her.  Her brother had hinted to her that while his time in Middle-earth would be one of solitude, that he did not see that for her, but no suitor would she find in Nargothrond.  It was part of why Artanis chose to spend so much time in Doriath (though her studies more than filled most of the time).  

There were many occasions when Artanis had asked for assistance from Celeborn when she visited the library.  There were many scribes there, all willing to help, but something seemed to draw her instead to the shy one who insisted on carrying books for her, holding the door, or retrieving more ink for her any time the well ran dry.

She still played coy when he finally gathered the courage to ask her to dine with him.  He nearly took it as a rejection, the poor dear.  She decided he deserved a token himself, for his good behavior.  “Would you like to come in while I put these in a vase?”

“Yes, I would.  Th-that would be very kind of you,” said Celeborn. 

Yet he remained standing on the doormat while Artanis walked to a cabinet. “Are you going to come in, then?” she asked. 

“Y-you only asked if I should like to.  I did not...wish to...assume.”

Artanis smiled with her back turned.  “You may come in, if you like.”

Celeborn took a deep breath and stepped just inside of the suite. 

Artanis turned, and studied him with amusement as she carried the vase with the flowers to a table.  “You have chosen to leave the door open,” she observed. 

Celeborn gave a quick nod, and said, “I shall not have anyone question your honor, and so, in-in lieu of a chaperone, I f-feel it appropriate.”

The vase was placed on the table. While Finrod had encouraged her to seek out true love, her other brothers seemed wary that she might become entangled with a less than savory courier in the kingdom.  Celeborn was clearly anything but. He would more than do. 

“Shall we dine?” asked Artanis as she came to stand beside Celeborn. 

He offered her his arm, which she took, and after the door was closed, the two walked down the hallway together, both a little nervous, both a little excited, neither noticing Luthien spying from around the corner. 

--

Notes:

I had to fuss around with Valarin, mainly ‘making shit up’, because if you think that Khuzdul and the Black Speech are limited, you haven’t met fucking Valarin yet. 

I put my research goggles on, found references about Valarin being a sexy mix of Latin and Greek, so I came up with some words for Luthien and Luthien’s mom. 

Ulluiός : Water Parent (I didn’t think Luthie would be using ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. I also thought about it, and with how the Ainur are, even the mom and dad thing seems not quite right. So I came up with this concept of, there’s a water parent, and a fire parent. In this case, Melian was the water parent.)

Of course we can’t have Luthien using the full ass version, so ‘Ulli!’ sounds way more like a title an Ainu kid would call their parent. 

There are two sentences, and before we get to the ‘what is it supposed to mean’, I have a lot of thoughts about Valarin, and how the sentences are open ended at the start and end, that the Song of Creation at the beginning of the legendarium is a loop, and that language for the Ainur is woven in and out of the song, and there’s no capitalization unless the first word is a proper noun and there’s no punctuation unless there is a question but that does not mean the question mark has to go at the end. A little language chaos. So! Now that you know that, here’s those two sentences, keeping in mind, I spent more time figuring out these two sentences than I did the rest of the story, and yes, it’s shit I made up because Tolkien didn’t leave us a lot of Valarin words, and what he did leave is shit he made up. So let’s all go make up some Valarin words mashing Greek and Latin together until it sounds good or at least looks impressive enough to be spoken by the Valar. 

akaeί akablanditiae tαdιχαόου mūαtheteυόmūeνος - Celeborn is courting your apprentice 

akaόχοtte akadίν aū iniðel - He intends to give her lilies

And I find it perfectly reasonable that Luthien shouts this across a market to her mom because the two of them are the only two people who can speak the language who are in that vicinity. 

[francines-pages]

lingering doubts (susan pevensie x wife!reader)

a/n: requested by @fairy-geek-ackerman!!

warnings: not proofread (many of my fics arent proofread😭)

GIF by theaskywalker

How you were able to earn the heart of the most beautiful woman, or rather queen in Narnia, you didn't know.

This morning, Susan had pulled you along to your first council. You tried arguing with her, but she kissed you on the cheek reassuringly. "You can handle anything, my dear," she said.

"All the lords and ladies dislike me," you protested. The more you spent time with Susan, the more others looked at you. You wanted to fade into the background, not up high on a throne. You loved Susan very much, but you particularly didn't enjoy the attention you were getting. The love of your life shook her head. "They only dislike you because I chose to marry you." She took your hands in hers. "Others marry for power or wealth, but I truly believe in love."

Your cheeks pinked at her words. "What will I contribute to the council anyway? I'm a nobody. You're a queen."

"You're not a nobody," said Susan firmly. "My siblings love you. I know all you need is trust in yourself. Now come on!"

You couldn't help but laugh as Susan dragged you to the main hall, where everyone was waiting. Instantly your jitters came back, seeing everyone's eyes pressed on you. They were whispering amongst themselves, though thankfully Peter managed to silence them. Your hands gripped the arms of your chair nervously.

"Greetings," Peter announced, "lords, ladies, and my fellow kings and queens," he added, acknowledging his siblings' presence and not forgetting to incline his head toward you. Surprisingly, the council wasn't as dragging as you thought. With Susan by your side, you relaxed slightly and none of the guests questioned you, unlike at your wedding. You tried not to grimace at the thought. They ambushed you once Susan went away to find a drink, and pestered you with a dozen questions. Of course, you couldn't understand a thing in the council, only the dryad populations were declining. Suddenly, a lord spoke up.

"Perhaps...the Queen Susan's wife would like to suggest a solution?" he asked and looked pointedly at you.

That's how you were addressed. Queen Susan's wife, not even given a title. You noticed the Pevensies were gazing at you intently, Susan especially. She nodded slightly. "Yes...my lord," you said uncomfortably. "Perhaps, we could...encourage Narnians to grow trees?"

You immediately wished you hadn't said it. Most of the ladies were stifling a laugh, and fanning their faces. The lord who questioned you merely tilted his head. Lucy, Susan's youngest sister, interjected, "Well, that's a wonderful suggestion, if I may. Another may be..."

You silently thanked Lucy for saving you. The youngest Pevensie was so brave and kind. Yet they still looked at you. Embarrassed, you stared at your lap. Susan's hand grasped yours, drawing circles on your wrist to calm you. But you pulled away, feeling that you weren't enough for the Gentle Queen of Narnia.

"The council is adjourned," Peter said at last. Already on your feet, you involuntarily hurried away from Susan, scrambled up the staircase to the chambers you two shared and sighed. As newlyweds you felt uncomfortable sharing a room, much less a bed, so Susan had two beds separated, but close enough.

Sitting down on the your side of the room, you glanced up to see the door open and Susan stepped through it, looking troubled. You immediately knew you worried her and sprang to your feet. "I didn't mean to walk off like that," you stumbled on your words. "I'm completely new to this, I'm sorry--"

"Please don't be sorry, darling." Susan gently took your hands in hers. "It's always hard to start. Believe me," she laughed, "I wasn't so composed in the beginning."

You both sat down next to each other on Susan's bed, and you listened intently to her story, when she doubted Lucy's tale about the wardrobe that had a whole new world in it, namely, Narnia, and trying to warn her siblings against going. Even the most logical person you knew had doubts about herself. You rested your head on her shoulder, letting the anxiety and fear disappear as Susan finished, "And so, it will not be easy, darling. I hardly got used to the paperwork I received after our coronation."

You smiled. "I don't know why I didn't ask you sooner. I just..."

You trailed off, unable to describe in words how you felt about getting involved in royalty. Abruptly, Susan stood and held out her hands, a twinkle in her eyes. Instantly you got the message, letting Susan pull you to your feet. You wrapped an arm around Susan's waist, the other on her shoulder. Slowly but surely, the two of you waltzed in the afternoon light, gliding on the oak floor.

Dancing was how you met, after all. You weren't as timid as before, focusing on enjoying the dance. Although there was no music, you both waltzed to a slow tune in your head, smiling and blushing at each other like young girls.

Being married to a queen does have its benefits.

[anamelessfool]

Maestro (part 3 of 4) p1 p2

It was 1977.

Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, was looking for an apprentice.

@petrifyingpapas Challenge Week 2: Incantation

Sister Imperator & Young Secundo, Young Terzo AO3 Link

tags: dark magic, ritual magic, initiation, family drama, exploration, SFW

Part 3: Secundo and Sister arrive in the catacombs, and the initiation is at hand. Secundo may have f'ed it up.

The warm light from Sister’s kerosene lantern embraced them as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Dusty shadows scattered across the statues and monuments, silvery with dust and web. There was a slight breeze from below, lightly caressing Secundo’s face as they walked through the old crypts.

“The title of Maestro is more appealing to you? A magician leads a lonely life.”

Secundo put his attention towards not tripping in the dark as he carried his things. “I don't need anyone.”

“Of course you don't.” Sister’s voice had a timbre of excited curiosity. “Magician… Not Cardinal?”

“Not for me,” Secundo replied, hiding his true opinion of Cardinals: pencil pushers.

“Ah yes, this one wants to plumb the depths. Can really grasp how Will warps the fabric of reality….at sixteen.”

“Every old magician was once a young magician,” Secundo replied, her intimidating jabs barely scratching the surface. He knew this was another part of the test. Sister always lashed out with her words like a whip, scaring the weak-willed, catching the prideful ones off guard. She would soften up eventually, once she saw how unimpressed and unafraid her prey was.

“I have never been old,” she laughed quietly. The cold walls closed tighter around them as they walked, dampening her voice. It felt like it was right beside his ear, taunting him. “And I never will be.”

They stopped in front of a large statue in an alcove, a profane perversion of the Virgin Guadalupe encased in silken webs, a monument to a former Mother Imperator. Her right hand held a goblet, her left, a small curette blade. There was a perfect empty cube carved where a heart would be. The room itself was a wide, round room with shelves to rest the bones of those who once held the title and the powers of The Dark Mother. Each shelf populated with remains had a wooden stake sticking up, meticulously pounded into the body’s chest.

Sister set down her lantern and rubbed her hands together. She surveyed the space, nodding to herself, deciding silently.

This was the place. Secundo pulled his face into an expression of focused intensity. It was about to begin.

“Maestro, draw a circle,” Sister said, teasing him further with the unearned honorific. He brushed it off as much as he could, steeling himself. He pulled out chalk from the suitcase and sketched a large circle on the stone floor as evenly as possible. He drew an additional smaller circle within, giving him a ring in which to write the specific sigils that supported his incantation. It was perfect. Done. He smiled quietly to himself.

“Very well, that was a good circle, maestro.” Sister cocked her head. “Your journals. Your books. Place them in the circle.”

Secundo stacked the carefully organized journals, the painstakingly collected theory books, the drawings and diagrams drafted in his own private experiments. It was a large pile of work, already, at such a young age. All itemized, labeled, documented and categorized. “It is done, Sister.”

“Impressive pile there, young Secundo,” Sister replied sweetly, a small smile hovering around her face. She tossed two items to him, one sounded like metal on the stone floor. He picked them up, studying them, and as he connected the items to her intentions his heart fell.

It was a matchbox and a can of kerosene.

“Burn them.”

He stared at her in the half dark, fighting the tightness in his chest as it crawled up to grab his throat. All his work…all his things…

It seemed like she could sense the doubt that finally began to crack him. She let out a joyless laugh. “Oh, so a magician who said he would be willing to die can't burn some paper, can he?”

“It was…so much work…”

“Yes. It was, wasn’t it.” She stared at her fingernails, clearly bored. “Now destroy it.”

“How? How can I? I need it.”

“The work has already been done. And it was not done in those books. Burn them.”

He stared furiously at the pile before him, his vision blurring. He clamped down hard on the inside of his mouth, willing himself to be calm, but the agony of destroying what he had lovingly created overwhelmed his carefully constructed walls. He chose silence.

“Secundo.” Her voice was firm, aimed. He finally pulled his gaze up from the pile to meet her own cold stare.

“A magician burns all that can be burnt away, leaving nothing but their unyielding Will,” Sister spat. “All of this is irrelevant. Inhale it. Transform it.”

He let out his breath. He thought of the Void. The nothingness that held multitudes. From the nothingness, came creativity. He had to admit she was right. If he was going to go anywhere, he could not hold anything back.

He said he was willing to die. Destroying these objects…this was like a death. A death from which new things could be birthed.

He watched himself pour the kerosene on top of the notes, the drawings, the books and the objects. He saw himself light a match and drop it onto the pile. There was a painful roar in his heart as he saw his precious items, his identity, become slowly engulfed in flames, but after the raw wound bled an odd calm remained.

The fire crackled. For a few moments, they both watched it in silence.

Sister spoke. “Now put out the fire.”

Secundo reeled, his mind still overwhelmed with the wanton destruction of his precious things before his eyes. He felt like he was falling backwards, slipping before he even got the chance to try. “But I don't even know—”

“You said you read all of these books.” Sister tapped her temple. “Put. Out. The. Fire.”

Secundo screwed up his eyes tight. They stung from the smoke that poured from the accelerated fire. He coughed, and a new realization dawned on him, settled around him like leathery wings.

“This fire…this smoke…” It would not relent. And Nihil had padlocked the gate.

Sister’s expression through the flames betrayed nothing. “Yes. We will both die.”

”You’re putting yourself through this?!”

“I've lived long enough,” she said flatly. “Have you? Now put the fire out.”

Secundo’s heart felt it might burst. All he saw was the flames, all he could think about was the smoke. Any sort of magical theory or prior knowledge had dissipated the moment he lit the match. This was his fate, and it was all his fucking fault. He tried to wall himself back up, return to a proper cool and collected maestro, but merely gulped the air wordlessly.

Sister's eyes glittered in the firelight, her mouth still a thin red line. She seemed to revel in his childish expression of fear. “Maybe I want you to be afraid. Maybe that's part of it.”

There was a coughing echoing within the walls nearby. Sister looked up, her mouth creaking into a smile, the heat from the flames blurring her face. She strode over to the alcove and pulled something out from behind the statue there. Secundo recognized the yelp of surprise immediately.

Sister was gripping his younger brother Terzo by the shirt collar. The small boy coughed, blinking smoke from his eyes.

“Oh my, well this got a lot more interesting, didn't it.”

AO3 Link

Fun, tumblr exclusive fact: a curette is an instrument used by physicians since Roman times. It was used mostly for fine work such as eye surgery.

[cherriecove]

Fine Line Between Duty and Oaths (Part 5)

Gwayne Hightower x Targ!Reader

Summary: The second born daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma is just as brave, beautiful and stubborn as her older sister but cannot deny her growing love for a certain red haired knight who just so happens to be a dear friend's brother. Cherrie's note: She/Her pronouns. WARNING there may be small description of injury but nothing too graphic.

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

As you entered the tent, the scene that greeted you was both troubling and intimate. Gwayne’s squire and a Maester were assisting him out of his armor, their efforts eliciting soft curses from the injured knight. The Maester’s touch was brisk, likely due to the overwhelming number of wounded knights requiring his attention. You cleared your throat to announce your presence. “How is our patient, Maester?”

The Maester looked up, his initial irritation softening into surprise and then respect as he recognized you. “Oh, Princess, I didn’t realize it was you.”

You waved off the formality. “You may both leave now. I can help clean him up.”

The Maester started to object, but Gwayne interrupted him with a firm tone. “By the Gods, man, I’m fine. The Princess is a friend and perfectly capable of tending to some scratches. I’m sure other knights have more pressing injuries.”

With a reluctant nod, the Maester placed a vial of milk of the poppy on a nearby table and gathered his things. He exited with the squire, leaving you and Gwayne alone.

Gwayne’s gaze lingered on you as you took a damp cloth and began to wipe at his cuts. He winced slightly but managed a smile. “Are you trying to get me alone, Ser?”

You smiled softly, causing Gwayne to smirk. “You’re the one who followed me to my tent. I am an injured man and practically defenseless, Princess. Maybe we should question your intentions.”

You met his gaze with a playful smile. “Of course, Ser. I have the most nefarious intentions in my heart.”

Gwayne’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Then perhaps I should question your intentions.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m sure your intentions are far more questionable than mine.”

The close proximity and his intense gaze made it difficult to focus solely on his injuries. As you dabbed at his temple, he asked softly, “Am I still handsome, my dove?”

The nickname and the lack of formal titles made your heart race. “Who said you were handsome to begin with, Ser?”

Gwayne gently took your hand from his face and placed it over his chest. “Gwayne. Just Gwayne.”

You met his gaze directly for the first time since entering the tent, and the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. “Gwayne,” you whispered, testing the name.

His smile widened as he squeezed your hand. “I’m not sure this is appropriate, Gwayne.”

Gwayne sat up slowly, wincing with the effort but pressing through the pain to bring his face closer to yours. “No, it isn’t,” he murmured. “You can go if you wish. I won’t breathe a word of this.”

You shook your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. Gwayne’s hand covered yours before he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. The moment was a sweet revelation, and it felt as though time itself stood still.

After the tourney, the teasing began in earnest. Your sister and Alicent, both clad in nightgowns and sprawled across the bed in a manner unbefitting of young ladies, showed no restraint in their teasing. Alicent broke the comfortable silence with a question that made your cheeks flush. “Do you love him?”

Your hands instinctively flew to cover your blush. “Of course she does,” Rhaenyra interjected, teasingly poking at Alicent, who swatted her away with a laugh. “Absolutely smitten.”

Clearing your throat, you nodded shyly. Alicent’s eyes lit up, and she nearly bounced with excitement. “Marry him.”

The suddenness of her declaration made you choke on nothing, prompting laughter from your sister. “Yes, hāedar, marry him.”

You threw a pillow at Rhaenyra in mock exasperation and turned back to Alicent. “I would, but I don’t think the choice is really mine to make.”

Alicent’s expression shifted to one of determination. “Leave that to me.”

Both you and Rhaenyra exchanged glances before looking back at your friend, who was resolute. “Shall we retire for the night?”

It wasn’t long before you were summoned to your father’s chambers. As you entered the small council room, you saw the council members seated and Gwayne standing beside his father. He offered you a quick, nervous smile as you approached your father and kissed his cheek. “Kepa, how can I help?”

Your father’s smile was warm as he took your hand. “I have decided, after much deliberation, to find a betrothal for you.”

Confusion crossed your face, and you glanced at Gwayne, hopeful but hesitant. “It has been the topic of council discussions, and although you are younger than your sister, I have decided to betroth you to Ser Gwayne Hightower, my hand’s eldest son.”

Joy surged through you as you squeezed his hand, and your father’s announcement felt like a dream coming true. “Of course, this marriage will have to wait for some time, as I am not sure that your mother could stand you being so far from her in her delicate condition.”

Understanding dawned on you as the men began to offer their congratulations. “The Queen is once again with child,” your father stated proudly. “Let us all hope for a boy!”

Tag List: @deniixlovezelda@kieracassette

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three Chapter 17

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 107k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Only one Xiang remains and her name is Merra. She hopes to unite the land by force and plow down anyone in her way—especially the people of Agni who she deems faithless and the native people of Terra who refuse to cooperate with her.

Raine continues to serve his Lord but he has taken to alcoholism to soothe his grief—a fact he keeps out of his letters with Heidi. Baiya has returned to mercenary work in order to keep his family safe while Kira is on the warpath. He, fully, takes on the title of Chaaya and means to defeat the Xiang he sees as false.

And, in a guarded castle in Enlil, a stir-crazy Princess dabbles in the dark arts, setting in motion something even Tiandi cannot see.

Full chapter 17 under the cut

Chapter XVII:

In the throne room, May found herself fighting with every fiber in her being not to throw her parents around with her new strength. Her fingers twitched and curled inward and she imagined the carnage she could cause if she only let it loose. She could bash their heads together, repeatedly, until all that was left were two sacks of flesh covered in their own blood and brain matter. She could picture it so vividly, she almost thought she had done it a few times when she blinked.

“May, are you listening?” her mother’s shrill voice was what caused her to grapple with the fact she was, actually, still alive.

She snarled. “Yes.”

“Good. Sunny?”

“Yes, mother,” Sunny mumbled and kept her head bowed.

May cut her eyes back to her, to check on her, and she could see that she was just as uncomfortable as she had seemed the last few meetings they held. Prince Raiden stood next to her, however, and not beside their parents. He had been doing that in the last two meetings.

In fact, after the last assembly in the throne room, May had sat down with Sunny and asked her about it. Her sister had, surprisingly, dodged the subject at first.

But then she asked, “You still don’t want to marry him, right?”

“Of course not,” May said with a hiss.

“Okay…good. Well, not good but…umm…” Sunny curled into herself and started to rock back and forth as she struggled with speaking. Sometimes, if she was especially stressed, she would lose the ability to talk entirely.

“What is it?” May probed. “You can tell me.”

“Umm…Raiden is nice.” She started to comb her fingers through her hair, one swift motion after the other. “I...I like Raiden. He keeps me company.”

May’s brow arched. Sure, she knew the prince probably spent more time with her sister compared to her since she actively avoided him—between her training regimen and simply not wanting to, she had probably only seen him a handful of times—but she had not realized he had been around her older sister all that much.

“You…like Raiden?” she spaced her words out carefully.

Sunny nodded but would not say anything else. That told May everything she needed to know and it made her even more wary of the prince.

Her fiancé.

It was difficult and sickening to think of him that way. They would not actually be married though, she kept reminding herself. Even if she had to do it herself, she would ruin the wedding and make everyone involved in the planning suffer.

But, if Sunny actually cared for Raiden then she would have to rethink some of her ideas.

Her eyes drifted to the man who listened to the King and Queen intently. May could not understand why—they were probably just repeating the same things they said the day before.

When she was finally allowed to leave, she darted out the throne room but then slowed her steps when she saw Raiden and Sunny leaving together. They were still close, having their own private conversation.

“Princess, ready to head up?” Fujin’s voice reached her but she did not turn to face her guard.

“No…” May mumbled and kept her eyes on the pair across the hall. A few other guards passed by, briefly blocking her view and she pushed them along with the air, making one of them stumble and curse.

“Careful with that,” Fujin scolded, able to notice immediately.

She rolled her eyes. “No one can tell. Look, I need you to take Sunny to her room.”

Their eyes finally met and Fujin’s brow furrowed. “You want to talk to Prince Raiden?” she gathered but was confused about it.

“Yes.”

Fujin sighed and shook her head. “Alright. If that is your wish.”

May smiled and patted her on the shoulder, sending her on her way. She followed behind, slowly, and watched as Fujin parted the couple and took Sunny’s hand to lead her off. Sunny waved at Raiden and the man waved back with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” May barked once she was close enough to grab his attention without alerting potential prying ears.

The prince jumped and spun around to face her. “M-May! You frightened me!”

“I know, it was funny.” She smiled for a second but then dropped it back into a loose frown. “Look, we need to talk.”

“About the wedding?”

“…No.” May turned her head from one side to the other. “Let’s go to the courtyard.”

There was less of a chance of someone overhearing them there and May also just wanted some fresh air. She took a deep breath as they passed through the threshold into the small bit of nature she was allowed to indulge in. After a long exhale, she set her sights on the man beside her.

“I need to ask you about Sunny.”

“What about her?” Raiden asked, “She is a sweet girl.”

“Woman,” May corrected, “But, yeah, she is nice. I heard you two have been spending a lot of time together. Is that true?”

“Umm, yes? I suppose that is true.” He started to fidget with his hands. “Does that bother you? I wanted to get to know my future sister so…”

She shook her head. “That is fine. I suppose I wanted to ask what you thought of her.” She mulled the next words over in her head for a second before asking, “If she was the one you were set to marry instead of me, how would you feel?”

“About the same as I feel now?” Raiden frowned a little. “It is not a ceremony of love but of necessity. Whether it was you or her, the result would be the same.”

“Cut the political shit for a second, alright? If you had to marry her would you be upset? Would you prefer a different bride?”

He recoiled at the bite in her voice. “I do not think so? I cannot be sure. I have never considered being able to choose my bride.”

May rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Alright then, you said she was sweet and you like her. What do you like about her then?”

Raiden’s eyes darted about as he started and stopped a few times. Just before May could, not so gently, encourage him, he finally spoke, “She is very smart. I-in the subjects she is passionate about. Sometimes she is hard to reach but when she does talk to me, it is as though she sees me as a person and not just Prince Raiden. It is sort of a relief to talk to her in that way.”

It was not a perfect answer but it was better than the fear May had—that Raiden would openly mock Sunny or bemoan her behavior the second he was given room to do so. Instead, he seemed to genuinely like her company which was more than could be said for their parents.

She supposed she did not have to kill him after all. Sunny would be upset.

“Alright…good talk.” May sauntered past him and back to the living quarters. Thankfully, he did not chase after her with any follow-up questions so she was free to skip along to her room.

But, as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she glanced back to the hall. She bet the Xiang was in Kaz’s room and he was who she really needed to talk to.

She hurried along and tried to let herself in but the door was locked. With a frown she pounded on the wood. “Hey! It’s me!”

It took a second too long for anyone to unlock and open the door. Pangu even seemed surprised to see her as she walked in.

“Can you two stop sucking face for a second so I can talk? And do not lock me out during the day—it’s rude.” May put her hands on her hips.

Pangu and Kaz exchanged a look before a third person appeared from the shadows. “I can assure you they were not ignoring you on purpose, princess. I was having a talk with the Xiang.”

“Oh, Parvati.” May grinned and her voice lightened. “It has been a few days since you were last around.”

“I had other matters to attend to; my apologies.” The woman graced Pangu’s shoulder with her hand before glancing around the room. “I actually must be off again. Unless you need me?”

“Not especially,” May said with a shrug.

She looked back to Pangu who wordlessly shook his head. With that, she stepped back into the shadow and disappeared.

“What did she want?” May asked.

“Just checking on me,” Pangu replied before switching the subject back and reminding her of why she came over in the first place, “What is it you wanted to say?”

“Oh!” She bounced up on her heels. “My parents say the King will be here in a few days so we need to do something tonight. Are you ready?”

“Sure. Will it just be us?”

“Fujin and Kaz will guard the room and stand on alert but we will be the ones going in.”

Pangu nodded. “Okay. Just tell me what you need and I will do it.”

***

Like May, the King and Queen had their own personal guards but, with everyone’s new abilities, they were not even able to scream before they were knocked out. Fujin and Kaz propped them against the wall and took their place at the door, prepared to take down anyone else who stumbled upon the room although there was a slim chance of that happening at all.

Pangu kneeled in front of the door and picked the lock with the air, letting himself and May inside.

If May’s room was large then her parents’ was huge. There was an entire other hall before coming onto their bedroom and another set of guards. May took them out by knocking their heads together and then Pangu pushed them each to the side, clearing their path.

Muffled talking could be heard from beyond the threshold and he and May glanced to each other. Her eyes told him to stay still for a moment—to wait and listen.

“I cannot wait until this is all finalized and done with,” the Queen sighed.

“Me too,” the King agreed, “May will finally calm down, I wager.”

“She had better. If she does anything that reflects poorly on this family…I just do not know what I will do.”

Pangu saw anger flash in the princess’s eyes and he readied himself for action.

“Do not worry. As long as we can make King Ferdan understand what it takes to keep her under control then he will have no problems.”

The Queen chuckled. “Yes. Keep her locked in a tower, for the love of Tiandi.”

May’s face darkened and she ripped around the corner before giving Pangu the signal but he followed behind her quickly anyway. “You maggots!” she seethed and threw them both against the far wall, away from their beds where they had been settling down for the night.

“May!?” they both gasped—her father in surprise and her mother in horror.

Pangu stood behind the princess, ready for instruction, but so far he was impressed with May’s display of strength. Her anger, surely, was aiding her or, perhaps, she had been slacking off in training. Both seemed just as likely.

“You were planning on shipping me off to the mainland after the wedding?! I should have fucking known!” She kept her arm out but her parents were not tossed around any further. After a moment, Pangu realized why as he caught them both struggling to move. She was using her energy to keep them still. “I will NOT be marrying Raiden and I most certainly will NOT be spending the rest of my life locked in some other castle!”

“I-It is for your own good,” her father croaked out.

May growled and then looked back to Pangu. “Make him suffer! Just make sure he does not bleed out—I do not want this to be over too quick.”

“What does that mean?!” The Queen shouted, “Who is this man?”

Pangu almost found it funny that it took them so long to notice him but he was more concentrated on his task. Make him suffer, he repeated in his mind as he looked at the King. His arms were at his sides, gripping at the stone for any purchase and he stared at them with a hanging jaw.

He sent his energy through the stone and opened up a crack in the floor, causing the King’s arm to slip down, to the elbow. He yelped in surprise but Pangu knew he was about to scream much louder. When he clamped the stone around him, he was proven correct and May grinned with delight.

“Keep going,” she encouraged. “I want to see the bone.”

Pangu would have done as she asked no matter what but, when she spoke so directly, he felt a compulsion take over, deep in his being. It was in his muscles, propelling him forward—even in his bones.

He pressed harder and the King’s screams grew more and more ear piercing and distressing. His wife tried closing her eyes but May forced her both to turn her head and keep her eyelids peeled so she could see everything.

The stone started to cut the skin and blood spurted out, mostly upward, as the earth pushed and crushed. Bone was harder to sever but, with enough energy, Pangu was able to snap the arm and swallow everything below the elbow. A rush of blood pumped out once the amputation was complete so Pangu shot out a flame, cauterizing the wound in one agonizing second.

That, naturally, brought about more screaming.

“Calm down,” May huffed, “You are not on fire, it is fine.”

The flesh around his elbow was burnt but it was no longer bleeding at least. Pangu looked to May for what he should do next but she did not meet his eyes. She was focused on her mother.

“Did you see that, your majesty? Do you want a matching arm?”

The woman turned her head back and forth while sobbing. “N-no…please…”

“Will you do anything to make me stop?” May kneeled down in front of her. “Anything at all?”

A few more tears streamed down her face. “Yes. Your marriage is canceled—we will tell them you died and then you can leave and do whatever you want!”

May lips pulled upward, slowly, until her smile encompassed most of her face. “Good. But I have some specific demands, if you do not mind.”

“Please, go ahead.” The Queen gulped while the King moaned incoherently at her side, probably slipping in and out of consciousness both due to the pain and the shock.

“I do intend to leave and, obviously, I am not marrying Raiden.” May chuckled under her breath, “But Sunny will be in charge after I go. She is to inherit everything and you will teach her how to run a country. Do not refer to her as a child or treat her as one. Got it?”

She nodded and her lip quivered.

“Great!” May hopped up onto her feet. “Well that was, finally, a productive meeting, mother and father. Thank you.”

As she turned on her heel, the Queen glanced back to Pangu. Some of her strength returned but only so she could ask. “Who are you…?”

Pangu did not blink. “I am the Xiang.”

“The real one,” May interjected and grabbed his arm, pulling him along with her. She looked over her shoulder one last time to add, “The other one, the one you both met with, she’s a fraud.”

“A…fraud…?” her mother’s meek voice faded behind them.

May snickered under her breath and patted Pangu’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

[more-than-a-princess]

Something between a snort and a huff was her response to Mikey's assessment of women. On one hand, it was almost a marvel that a man could come to that realization on his own. On the other, girls simply "having it tough" barely scratched the surface of what women endured, some more than others depending on their circumstances. Subjugating themselves to men, well, that likely often came from both of their walks of life: crime, organized and unorganized. It was why the Borghese Family was an oddity in the black market: an organization where women, and only women, held spots of power and authority were pretty much unheard of.

"We women do have it 'pretty tough,'" She assured him, once she was able to wipe the smirk off her face. He was looking to find common ground with her, someone who for all intents and purposes led the Japanese outfit of the Family and had been directly responsible for the death of his friend. It didn't suit either of them for her to take offense or sarcasm in his words.

And besides: he had a sister, and one he cared for at that. Perhaps that helped him look upon women fondly, or at least more so than most men would. Sonia wondered what Mikey would want his sister to do, in the imaginary situation he now placed Sonia herself in. She had a feeling it would be different than her own answer. "If a man attempted to assault me, he would not be alive for very long," She muttered. Even if they were on the way to a ride that thrived on creeps and haunts, it wasn't the sort of conversation one had at an amusement park. Or most places, unless one wanted to present a very clear ultimatum. She didn't take pleasure in such things, not the way her mother did. "That is the rule in my family. Assault towards women is already frowned upon heavily, but against the heir? That is basically declaring war, and that's not a decision most are comfortable making."

One she hoped Mikey could agree with, even if they couldn't agree on an appropriate nickname. Sonia pouted as they passed the giant fictional castle, home to a young woman who wore ballgowns and fell in love and had happily ever afters. Things that she likely wouldn't be allowed to experience, so why give her the Princess nickname anyway? Big dresses and big loves took away from power, from making the decisions no one else could. It also gave someone else the ability to control you, or so her mother had impressed upon her: always be the one who loves less, and never show the full depth of your heart to anyone. Sonia's heart had always been deemed too soft, too gentle, despite the fact it had been that heart and those hands that had saved her mother's life when no one else could.

"Well, I still do not like it, the Princess name," She huffed in response, "Would you prefer it if I called you 'Gang Leader' all the time? Or would you prefer Sano-san, or Mikey-san, instead? I rather prefer calling you the latter, myself." There was common ground they shared, of course, but perhaps the most precious was how little they were seemingly allowed to be themselves, responsibilities and titles aside. She smiled at his assessment of her preferences, and chuckled at his distaste for the fake gravestones. Expressions she couldn't often wear in front of members of The Family.

"They may be bad jokes, but if you smile, then I think they have done their job," Sonia said, before nodding with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. "And yes! There are many haunted homes where I am from in Europe, many of which are abandoned and therefore can be bought for cheap or simply take over. They make decent safehouses and storage areas, once outfitted with proper security precautions, but I simply like the atmosphere the most. So many ghosts, so many stories!"

She knew there were some haunted locations in Japan, but it wasn't quite the same as Europe: different belief systems and opinions of what happened after one died. Just like there were different opinions on necessary protection, though Sonia shook her head at his assessment. "With a firearm, maybe," She whispered as they entered a large room, the first attraction of the ride. "Or negotiations. I think you have me rather beat where hand-to-hand combat is concerned. Just as well, we all have our strengths."

But the portraits stretched, the lights turned off, recorded screams echoed and when Sonia looked up, an apparent corpse hung from the tallest rafters of the ceiling. She grinned, perhaps far too amused by faux-murder that had taken place. And the dark hallways with dingy furnishings and upholstery. And the fleet of black ride cars, as they were ushered into one for their tour of the Haunted Mansion. "Look, a library of levitating books! And a piano played by spirits!" She exclaimed as their car moved through the various scenes. Guests trapped behind doors, a candelabra that floated in the distance, a broken grandfather clock that turned backwards. Sonia sat up, even more intrigued by the fortune teller whose head was immersed in her crystal ball.

"Sano-san!" She whispered eagerly, "Listen, she is summoning spirits to join us! Is that not wonderful?" Maybe it wasn't truly haunted, but she was happy to play along as the car turned again to look down over a spiderweb-covered ballroom: a ghost blew out the candles on a birthday cake, two more appeared in front of their portraits with pistols to duel, one sat at an organ playing a melancholy tune, and several more pairs, in evening dress, twirled and waltzed around the dance floor, disappearing and reappearing into thin air. "Oh, this is so beautiful," Sonia sighed, a bit dreamily and uncharacteristic of the future leader of an organized crime family. She couldn't afford to dream or wish for much, not when real life asked so much of her already. But a ghost ball...she wanted to attend one, one day.

"My Grandpa taught me. I've lived with him for most of my life in his dojo. He taught me martial arts, along with his students, but I kinda surpassed them really fast..." He couldn't quite explain it himself, whether it was genes, or he was simply a prodigy. He'd started training from a young age, but he quickly outshone everyone else in the class. Soon enough, boys twice his age had cowered away from being his sparring partner in matches.

Being at the top could be lonely, when there was no one around that came close to matching his power. He learned this fact at a young age, and it eventually shaped him into the leader of Toman, one who stood atop and kept a good distance from a lot of his men, yet one who possessed the strength to protect them, always. At least.. he thought he had that force, until he'd lost Baji, and then Satori.

"I see... that's shitty. Never really thought about it before. Girls sure have it tough don't they?" That's not to say that men couldn't be abused in those types of way, but Manjiro had never felt that type of fear that many women felt on the daily. He knew it was much more likely for a woman to get raped or assaulted, and he did worry about his sister a lot. "Something tells me if a guy tried something with you, they wouldn't have a certain body part for very long."

The leader of Toman gazed thoughtfully at the Beauty and the Beast castle floating dauntingly above the pathway. "It bothers you that much? Hmm... guess I could try and think of something else. But until then, it's still gonna be 'princess'." He didn't think she would prefer to be called heiress, but what else could he called a badass, female mafia boss, next in line to take it all?

He laughed softly as he stood from his bow. "You've got good taste then. It can go a lot faster than this slow ass chariot too." It seemed that Sonia would not be distracted, and before he knew it, they had already made it to the back of the queue. "I'm not sure if I'd go so far as to call this funny. They're just bad Dad jokes if you ask me." He hung out over the railing, looking across the graveyard, trying his best to ignore the clowns staring at them.

"You've been to 'real' haunted houses? I can't say I believe in ghosts and stuff like that. But I do think it would be fun to experience at least once. Guess we'll both be experiencing this kind of haunted house for the first time together at least." It made him feel a little better, to know he wasn't the only one trying this kind of ride for the first time. He didn't want her to find him anymore immature than she likely already did.

"I don't need a girl to protect me." He immediately retorted, even though after he said it, he looked a little guilty. "Though.. I'm sure you could, since you do seem really strong and cool." The blonde looked away, suddenly feeling awkward. "I feel like this is something I need to face head on though. They're.. just clowns." It half sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but he continued to move forward in the line. Being scared of anything didn't sit well with him, so it was high time he conquered this phobia of his once and for...

His inner thoughts were cut off abruptly, along with the lights. He stiffened, his mind going on high alert, as he looked around, his senses keen. The portraits were... stretching, but the room was thankfully devoid of clowns. An animatronic skeleton ushered them into a cart of sorts. "Looks like it is the start." He agreed, taking a seat next to her.

They were off, going through various rooms with different scenery. It appeared that the walls were moving in the hallway, and there were many faces staring at them. The cart moved into the kitchen, where there were pots of suspicious looking goop cooking, as well as some type of furry chefs that were cutting up some very suspicious looking meat. So far, it didn't seem like there was anything too scary or crazy.

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

A Sister Like You

Inspired by this post in which Elsa her 8yo self and Anna is her 18yo Frozen 1 age at the same time, AND @themountainsays ‘s tags about how it could make an interesting bastard!Anna au.

Special shout out to @like-redhead-probably and @daughterofhel for your encouragement! And pssst @jabs-wocks this one is much cuter and fluffier, I promise <3

Edit: Ao3 and FF.net

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The king and queen had a terribly kept secret: their firstborn was a bastard.

It was a terribly kept secret because, well, everyone loved her.

Anna of Arendelle was too much like sunshine on a cloudy day for people to hate her. The cooks loved her because she wasn’t a picky eater like her father, and the maids loved her because she always helped mend the sheets she ripped during her playtime. The gardeners and stablemen loved Anna because she talked to the ducklings and horses and goats, and even the flowers weren’t ignored. The people loved her because she was a bright child who walked among the crowds in the market and bought pastries from the local baker with a smile full of missing baby teeth. Anna danced with the town’s children during the festivals and chased after ships until the end of the dock as they set sail.

And perhaps most importantly, her parents loved her - one of blood and one of adoptive heart. They promised to care for the little red-headed baby as their own, regardless of what people said. 

Truly, Anna was a light in the dark, even as a toddler, a fire in the midst of winter during her childhood years, and that warmth only soared to bonfire heat with the birth of the first true princess, her little sister, Elsa.

Anna’s love for Elsa was similarly earned in the way it was passed to her: instantly, freely, and without hesitation.

Elsa was born in the midst of a terrible winter storm that ended as soon as Anna was let into the birthing room. The king was right behind her, kissing his wife’s head sweetly as they peered down at their second daughter. The question was asked if Anna wanted to hold her little sister and Anna nodded furiously, already getting a leg up on the bed. They laid Elsa in her arms and Anna's eyes filled with wonder at the tiny bundle. She sat completely frozen, not wanting to move or change her position lest she disturb Elsa. The babe fussed and grabbed Anna’s small finger in an even smaller fist. Everyone in the room fawned over the action.

“She’ll be queen, right?” The king and queen exchanged a glance, hesitant. Anna had not seemed put out by the fact that she would never officially rule, but she was only ten, and they weren’t sure if that would always be the case.

The king cleared his throat. “Yes, darling. She will.”

Anna looked back down at her baby sister. Looked at her like she was her whole world. Elsa hiccupped a little and Anna smiled her blinding smile.

“I can’t wait,” she said, wiggling her trapped finger back and forth so Elsa turned towards the motion. “She’s gonna be great! And I’m gonna help her!”

The mood shifted instantly and everyone relaxed, rejoicing. Elsa’s forehead wrinkled at all the noise and she began to wail until Anna soothed her, shushing all the adults with a serious tone. They did, but not without some laughter.

And then Elsa sneezed.

Frost dusted Anna’s twin braids and bangs. She blinked. Everyone stared in complete shock. A small snowflake fell delicately from nowhere to land on the tip of Anna’s nose. In her arms, Elsa made little noises of satisfaction and nestled herself further into Anna’s hands before falling asleep.

“I take it back,” Anna whispered excitedly while the room found their tongues. “She’s going to be the best!”

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

In the middle of the night, Anna crept through the darkened hallways of Arendelle castle, easing the door of her parents’ room open. She lifted, with some effort, the door from the bottom with her toe so it wouldn’t squeak and give her away. She closed it just the same, sidling over to the crib along the far wall. Voices came from the opposite side of the room, in the connected bathroom.

They were arguing. Again.

She couldn’t remember them arguing when she was little, but Anna wasn’t sure that was because they hadn’t, or because they’d not had a reason to.

Because now they were always arguing about Elsa.

Anna dragged the stepstool up to the side of the crib. Elsa was deeply asleep, mumbling vague syllables as Anna rocked her bed gently with her knee. Half a year had passed and Elsa kept getting bigger everyday. Her hair was growing out, her cheeks were soft and pudgy (“Just like yours!” The staff would often remind Anna), and she had started to laugh and laugh and laugh at all of Anna’s antics. Anna was utterly enchanted by her, her little sister was genuine magic.

And of course, Elsa was literally magic, too.

Raised voices rebounded around the walls as the king and queen found new ground to battle over. Anna saw Elsa’s lower lip wobble and put her hand down into the crib so Elsa could hold it. With her other hand she touched the bandages around her head.

“It’s okay,” Anna murmured, “I know it was an accident.”

They’d been playing Peek-a-Boo.

Anna had surprised Elsa for the hundredth time with a joyful, “Here I am!”, only this time Elsa had placed her hand on Anna’s temple as she giggled and there was a flash of white. The next thing Anna knew she was on horseback, jostled back and forth in the king’s lap. They rode hard, to a clearing she didn’t recognize. Creatures rolled out of the mist and popped open, revealing themselves to be trolls. Anna would have been excited under normal circumstances, but the looks on the king and queen’s faces, and the fact that Elsa was crying her tiny lungs out, had her clamping down on any questions.

The adults talked, human and troll alike, but Anna was having a hard time paying attention. Elsa was so far away, upset, and she couldn’t reach her. Her body felt stiff and cold, especially her head. She couldn’t stop shivering. One of the trolls saw her reach out from the king’s arms and told everyone that Anna was awake.

The old troll informed her gravely that her life was in danger, that Elsa’s power would only continue to grow. He showed her images with his magic: a figure in blue turning water to ice, then being pounced upon by figures in red. They were beautiful, and frightening, making Anna’s heart pound sluggishly in her chest. The queen and king said the troll could do whatever he needed to save Anna’s life and protect Elsa from such a fate. The troll approached Anna, with more magic shining in his rocky palm, and said that everything would be fine, that it was just her head and not her heart. He chuckled humorously.

“Much better to lose a few memories than your life.”

Anna refused.

The adults sputtered.

“Will I remember Elsa?”

“Yes, of course but-”

“Will I remember her magic?”

“The magic is what did the damage, and to remove it I would remove-”

“Then no.”

And she wouldn’t hear it any other way, even as her body grew colder and the vision on her right fractured and split. A frozen headache pulsed at her temple, spreading rapidly across her skull. Still, Anna sought out the sound of Elsa’s voice, even though others were getting in the way. She couldn’t tell who was who. Some of them wanted the troll to do it anyway, that Anna was just a child, only ten, and didn’t know better. Some wanted Anna’s wishes to be respected, that perhaps there was another way. Even more worried about the future, the kingdom, what it might mean to have a queen with powers… or a bastard without memories of them.

What were the consequences of hiding Elsa’s powers from the public? What were the repercussions of making the same mistake over and over, if Anna was literally unable to remember the danger?

So many questions, so many voices.

All of them wanted her to live.

Anna took air into small lungs embedded with ice shards, speaking softly but clearly even as fatigue stole over her.

“Elsa’s powers are a part of her. Forgetting them means I’m forgetting part of Elsa. I don’t want that. How can I help her if I don’t know her?”

--

When Anna next awoke she was in her room back at the castle, wrapped solidly in blankets. Summer sunlight filtered through the curtains, bright and cheerful. She thought perhaps it had all been a dream, and she’d been allowed a rare day to sleep in.

In fact here was Gerda, thankfully with breakfast, walking through the door. Anna sat up to make space and shot her a cheerful, “Good morning!”

Gerda dropped everything she was carrying in one huge clatter and rushed to Anna’s side, burying her in a deep hug.

“Oh, my little Princess!” She always called Anna that, even though she wasn’t really. “We thought we were going to lose you!”

Anna went to protest but spied her reflection in the mirror over Gerda’s shoulder. Her hair was it’s usual post-slumber mess, but this time instead of it being held away from her face by sheer luck, it was by bandages.

Gerda set about getting her dressed and fed and ready for the day. She did Anna’s hair last of all, delicately peeling away the strips of cloth. It hurt a little, but not too bad. Anna wasn’t sure what she expected to see as the source of the pain, but that wasn’t it.

“Did I get some of the powdered sugar in my hair?” She asked.

Gerda looked sad, gazing at Anna through her reflection. “No my dear, that’s…” She paused, deliberating. Anna touched the white streak at her temple, following it back where it disappeared behind her ear.

“I don’t know all the details,” Gerda finally continued, “but I’m told you were very brave.”

Anna watched Gerda comb the white streak into her braid and remembered.

And to her everlasting relief… she remembered everything.

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

Anna and Elsa grew up, little by little, leap by leap. Space was cleared out in Anna’s room for Elsa’s bed and things, but by that time they were already inseparable. From the moment Elsa could walk she followed Anna everywhere. Laughter was common, and anyone in the castle who caught an earful of it drifting and caterwauling through the halls always gave a smile. Unless it was followed by the sound of something breaking, then it was usually a kickstart to a sprint.

As Anna edged into her teenage years things got… a little silly. Now at ages fifteen and five, the girls could get into all kinds of mischief. Nothing terrible of course, mostly playing knights in the hallways with the armor and freezing their tutor’s inkwell after a particularly difficult day of study. But then of course, there was the time Elsa made sleeping versions of them to fool people into thinking they were tucked away for the night, only to get caught sneaking into the fjord waters for a late night swim. Or the time Anna pretended Elsa was sick and was only taking requests through the door - requests that included chocolate cake, chocolate chip cookies, hot chocolate (in summer), chocolate mousse…

The future that the king and queen feared never came to pass; Elsa’s powers indeed grew as she did, but they were tempered with the practice that came along with frequent use, namely entertaining herself and her older sister. Anna never got tired of watching Elsa, “Do the magic,” and Elsa never got tired showing her.

Anna’s sunny disposition never wavered even when others thought it might, when, despite their closeness, familial bonds, and education, Anna’s status as an out of wedlock child started to become more frequently pronounced. If anything, Elsa took more offense to her sister being addressed as, “Lady Anna,” while she got “Princess Elsa”, than Anna ever did.

“But you are a princess!” Elsa protested one night. They were both in their respective beds, across from each other, flat on their backs as they watched the hues of the Northern Lights waver over their ceiling.

“I’m technically half adopted,” Anna clarified.

“What does that mean?”

“It means one of our parents isn’t my flesh and blood parent, even though I call them Mama and Papa just like you do.”

“That’s so weird,” and Anna could hear Elsa’s frown from her side of the room. “Which one?”

Anna shrugged. “I dunno. It’s not like I haven’t wondered, but it just, never seemed to matter enough to ask.”

“I could ask.”

“No, sweetheart, you don’t have to.”

“But I wanna know!”

Anna sighed. She watched the lights dance a moment before saying, “I don’t.”

“Oh…” Elsa went quiet. “Can I ask why?”

“Sure you can.”

A few seconds passed before Elsa huffed irritably and Anna grinned in the dark. “Why don't you want to know?”

“I want to be mysterious,” Anna teased.

“Anna!”

“What? If you get to be queen, then I want to be the spooky, strange older sibling!”

She expected a laugh but was met with silence.

“...Did you wanna be queen?”

Anna opened her mouth to reply how she always did, but stopped. This was her sister, not some dignitary in a hushed tone or some drink toting duchess at a dinner party. She deserved a real answer.

“No,” Anna said finally, “not really anyway. Even when I was little I didn’t dream of holding Papa’s scepter or wearing Mama’s crown. I felt like that was their thing, and you had your thing! And I was… am, happy just being me.”

“Is that because you really never thought about it, or because someone told you it would never be yours?”

Anna’s brows knit together and she sat up quickly. “Hey,” she smirked, “who said you could be a five-year-old philosopher?”

“Sorry!” Elsa sat up too, her arms hugging her bed sheet covered legs. “I just think you’d be really good at it!”

“Good at it?” Elsa nodded, the Lights roaming through her hair. “What makes you say that?”

“Well…,” Elsa began rolling her hands in a circular motion. A small ball of twinkling snow appeared between her hands, rotating gently. She did this whenever she was thinking. “You’re smart and patient and kind. You’re always explaining things to me, and telling me stories. You help me when I’m mad at my homework or miss a stitch while sewing. You’re always thinking of new games to play, you read me books and take me out into the town for a day of fun! And you always save some of your peas from dinner for the ducks in the pond. You claim it’s because you hate vegetables but really it’s because you know it’s their favorite snack.

“But as much as you teach,” Elsa continued, the snowball spinning and sparking, “you also listen. You know everybody in the whole castle’s birthday. A sailor told you that he always missed the baker’s lun epleterte when he was out at sea, and now the baker always has extra when he sees that ship come home. Kai mentioned once that his favorite flowers hadn’t bloomed yet in the garden so you staked out the hedge for weeks. The moment they bloomed you ran to go find him, a few flowers already in your hands. You’re very-,” Elsa paused, her hands stopping too. Her lips twitched in annoyance. “I don’t know the word. But you know people and you care about them, and I think that would make you a great queen.”

The little snowball shrunk and disappeared, returning the room to the flickering patterns of pinks, blues, and greens of the Lights. Anna propped her head and elbow up on her thigh. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not really interested, and even if I were, I still couldn’t.”

Elsa waved her hand dismissively. “When I’m queen I’ll just make you queen too.”

Anna scoffed, though not without humor. “That’s not how it works.”

“Says who? I’ll be queen! Who’s gonna say no?” Elsa barreled on, not waiting for Anna’s response. “It’ll be perfect: I’ll be Queen, you’ll be Royal-Big-Sister-Queen, and then you and I can both do whatever we want! We’ll be perfect together!”

“‘Royal-Big-Sister-Queen’? That’s not a thing.”

“It will be,” Elsa replied confidently. Anna exhaled heavily, a smile on her lips. Elsa noticed her lack of enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll work on a better title but…, I just don’t want people thinking that you’re not part of my family.”

Anna’s eyes softened. “C’mere you.”

Elsa kicked off her covers, grabbed the stuffed penguin Anna had made for her fourth birthday, and ran on bare feet to Anna’s bedside. She lifted her arms and Anna picked her up, nestling her close. “It will never matter what other people say about me, because I know that the family that chose me, and that I choose right back everyday, loves me very much, and just wants me to be happy.”

Anna ran her pinkie softly down the bridge of Elsa’s nose. Her little sister blinked drowsily when Anna did it again. “What do you think about that?” She asked quietly.

“I think… you’re my best friend-older sister,” Elsa said softly as sleep dragged at her, “who tries to put her cold feet on my back when we sleep together, always forgetting that I can’t feel the cold.”

Anna chuckled low in her chest. “And I think you are my sweet-but-silly little sister,” she replied, tweaking Elsa’s nose which made her giggle, “who is always stealing the blankets despite claiming she’s never cold, leaving me to freeze to death.”

Elsa cuddled closer to Anna, yawning fiercely. “I promise I’ll share them tonight. Pre-Queen’s honor.”

Anna put a hand to her chest. “That’s a big promise, your Almost-Majesty. How do you know you’ll keep it?”

Elsa already had her eyes closed and her head on Anna’s pillow. “Because I love you.”

Anna smiled warmly. She scooched lower and drew the covers up over her shoulder, planting a kiss on Elsa’s forehead as she got settled.

“I love you too. And I still will, even when I wake up tomorrow and all the covers are on your side of the bed.”

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

Elsa never did come up with a better title for Anna’s rise to royalty. Not that she didn’t have time; to most people three years is quite the span, but for children and young adults it may well have been the blink of an eye. And it certainly felt like no time at all when Kai knocked on their door, parchment in hand and tears in his eyes, to deliver the news that their parents had died at sea.

Anna was eighteen, and Elsa, heir to the throne, only eight.

The funeral was delayed until proper mourning attire could be fashioned for such young women. The headstones were grand but simple. After the rain and the prayers, Anna and Elsa walked back to their room, silent. Anna worked on autopilot: helping Elsa disrobe, comb out her hair, put her in sleepwear. Until she felt the ghost of a memory, not long past, of her hugging the queen and king around the waist, expressing her wish to see them soon. The last time she’d ever touched them.

She heard Elsa sniffle beneath her hand, and caught sight of their reflection in the mirror. Tears dripped out of red-rimmed eyes as Elsa’s hard fought composure (already so heavy for a child) fell apart at Anna’s momentary lapse in normality. Then they were holding each other close, fingers digging into clothing and faces pressed close together.

They slept in the same bed for months.

But during that time an uncomfortable question arose. One that, out of respect for tradition, should have waited, but realistically speaking, couldn’t.

Who was in charge now?

Obviously no one expected an eight-year-old to be officially running a country, especially since her Coronation Day was over a decade away. And while Elsa had already Ascended to ruling status, legally she wasn’t making the rules, and it couldn’t be advisors forever. Especially not after the period of mourning, which at max placed Elsa at twelve. She would be involved in ongoing diplomatic and national matters of course, as she would have been anyway, though now to a larger degree, but the fact of the matter was that Elsa was a child.

She still had a bedtime.

And it couldn’t be Anna… could it? She had the training, the disposition. Even if she’d never desired it personally, could she be persuaded to step up, even if it was, in the end, invisibly? The advisors knew that generally speaking, the people of Arendelle would not turn their backs on Anna being their ruler in Elsa’s place, but politically, they felt the pressure of putting the correct outward face on their country.

Anna walked past two advisors, picking holes in the same arguments she’d heard for weeks, and closed her ears to it all. If they --the crown, the staff, the castle-- needed her help, she’d do it in a heartbeat, but right now, she was more concerned with the remaining family she had left.

Namely, finding her before her upcoming royal duties.

They were starting slow. A few of the old guardsmen had retired, and today was their replacement’s first day on the job. Elsa, as queen, was supposed to formally greet them and thank them for their service. Fairly straightforward, all things considered, but Anna had seemingly lost track of Elsa after breakfast and between a few meetings of her own, and now was looking for her little sister.

Well, she was pretending to look. Anna knew exactly where to find her sister, but she gathered that, with all the fuss over dress and ceremony, Elsa may want just a few extra seconds to be alone, not being touched by people’s hands or her hair pulled by combs or set in tight braids and buns along her head.

But they couldn’t delay forever. Anna tapped a special rhythm on the door to their room, hearing a muted, “Come in!” from the other side.

As she entered, Anna’s breath caught in her throat.

Elsa was dressed like, well…

She looked just like Mama.

“Gerda says if I keep my steps high, I won’t trip on my cape,” Elsa said, spinning to show off the purple floor length cape. “But I can’t walk normally if I do that, I look like a puffed up frog!”

A little tiara nestled in her snow-blonde hair bounced light around the room as Elsa shifted. A fleck caught in Anna’s eye and she blinked harshly, bringing her back to the moment.

“Good thing you only have to walk a few feet,” Anna agreed, closing the door behind her and striding up to her sister. “You’ll be the best dressed frog in the room.”

Elsa folded her arms and scowled, looking very queenly indeed. “I’m surprised you’re the one saying that, considering what you’re wearing today,” and she gestured up and down at her sister.

It was true, Anna was wearing a dress that was almost entirely green from top to bottom, excluding the bodice which was black. The pleats of her skirt were alternating shades of green, the only spots of color otherwise being the rosemaling against the black silk on her chest and abdomen. Anna looked down then back up, and grinned. “I guess you’re right. You’ll have to teach me how to walk then. Does it look something like this?”

She marched dramatically in place, all high knees and right angled elbows, a look of comic determination on her face. To her delight, and relief, Elsa burst into giggles. She held her two gloved hands up in front of her mouth.

That was the Elsa she knew.

“You’re going to embarrass me, Anna,” Elsa laughed.

“Lucky for me, that’s the older sibling’s job.” Anna put her hands on her hips. “Ready to go?”

Elsa’s smile dropped, looking down at her outfit. “I look like I am.”

Anna crouched down to be level with Elsa. “You certainly do,” she said softly. “You look beautiful. But I asked if you were ready.” Elsa didn’t meet her eye, instead fidgeting with her hands and wringing the soft blue leather of her gloves.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be,” Elsa confessed, downcast.

Anna acknowledged that with a little hum. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a long time. But I think that’s okay too, it just means you’re still willing to learn. And you know, you’re not alone. You’ve got Kai and Gerda and all the staff, you’ve got the tutors and experts and all the other adults that know what to do. And, you know,” Anna shrugged, “you’ve got me, too. So I’m pretty sure it won’t be a complete disaster.”

Elsa looked up. “Really?”

“Positive,” Anna winked. She pinched her pointer finger and thumb close together. “Just a little one.”

Elsa laughed again and shoved Anna’s hand away. “Okay, okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“After you,” Anna said grandly, opening the door wide for Elsa with a sweeping bow. Elsa shook her head, then squared her shoulders and tilted her chin back, adopting the posture she’d learned over many lessons of how to walk like a queen. Anna sheltered the little spark of pride inside her heart, and the flicker of sadness that came along with it.

They started to make their way down the long hall, Anna a step behind to Elsa’s right, as was expected. As they neared the halfway point, Elsa’s pace slowed, and Anna noticed immediately.

She tapped Elsa on the shoulder and gently took her hand.

Elsa glanced ahead and behind furtively. “I… shouldn’t.”

“I know but, you don’t have to be ‘Queen-queen’ until we turn that corner, so…” Anna ran her thumb across the back of Elsa’s gloved hand, “You can keep holding my hand until then.”

Elsa squeezed back. “And after that? Where will you be?”

Anna beamed.

“Right next to you. And after that? Wherever you need me to be.”

[giggly-squiggily]

Demon slayer fanfic lee tanjiro getting attack by his siblings ;)

Cute!!! I've gotcha covered, friend! :D

Cloud 9 (Taglist):

@myreygn, @thatbigbisexual29, @duckymcdoorknob, @wolfyeatstacos, @gladdygirl18, @baby-tickles2022, @cupcake-spice13 @backy-san

“Tahahahhanjiro, dohohohohn’t!” Takeo squealed as he twisted and turned beneath his brother, slapping at his hands weakly. “Sthahahap tihiiihihckling mehehehhe!”

“Are you gonna be nicer to Hanako?” Tanjiro asked, grinning when Takeo nodded vehemently. Finally satisfied, he stood back as his brother collapsed, gasping for breath. “There- now; be nice.”

“Shehehee started it!” Takeo grunted with a weak glare, letting his brother help him up. “Why do you always take her side?”

“I don’t. The other day I got her for giving you a hard time. I’m just balancing out the scales.” Tanjiro hugged his brother, ruffling his hair. “I love all of you equally- and I’ll gladly tickle you all just as so.” He gave his brother’s ribs a scratch, making him squeak and duck away.

“One day we’ll get you!” Takeo declared as he stood, pointing determinedly at Tanjiro. “We’ll get you back for all the tickle attacks!”

“Sure you will.” Tanjiro puffed out his chest, raising his chin gleefully as he wiggled his fingers. “I’m the best tickler of all the Kamados! No one can stop me!”

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” Nezuko’s teasing voice called out from the back, Shingeru and Hanako smiling on either side of her when Tanjiro turned around. “Last time I checked, I’m the best tickler in the Kamado family.” Her eyes danced with playful challenge, making her family giggle. “Are you sure you want to keep that title, brother?”

Tanjiro weighed his options. It was true Nezuko could be rather relentless; but in their own tickle fights he’s had his fair share of wins against her. “I would, actually.”

“Ooooooooh.” The younger siblings gasped, smiling behind their sleeves as they waited for their sister’s response. Nezuko made a show of rolling up her sleeves, eyes dancing.

“You’re brave, brother. Very brave. But completely reckless.” Nezuko grinned before gesturing Takeo over, gathering all their younger siblings and whispering to them. Tanjiro watched their little huddle fondly, mentally preparing for all the chaos coming his way.

“Prepare yourself!” Nezuko didn’t hesitate, immediately charging at her older brother with the intention of winning. Tanjiro, having years of practice, was prepared. As she came into arms length, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down, fingers finding the ticklish spot just beneath her ribs. “Ah! Nohohoohohohoho waiihihihihiit!” She squealed, crumbling instantly.

“What was that about being the best tickler of the Kamados?” He teased, grinning when she tried to swat at him.

“Kihihihihihids, gehehehehet him!” She cried through her giggles, the swatting turning into a wave as she called upon their siblings.

“Here we come!” Hanako led the pack, running towards her brother and hugging him around the shoulders. Takeo let out a roar as he grabbed an arm while Shingeru grabbed a leg, giggling softly.

“Ha! You guys really think you can take me?” Tanjiro teased as he twisted around, grabbing Hanako and giving her sides a squeeze, making her squeal.

“Nohohohoohoho! Sahahahahhave mehehehehehe!” She cried.

“Hang on Hana-Gah nohhohohot agahhahahahahin!” Takeo yelped when Tanjiro got both of them, pulling them into his lap as he scribbled into their bellies. “No fahahhahahahir!”

“Yes fair! You two wanted to play, so let’s play!” Tanjiro grinned cheekily, reaching out a hand and giving Shingeru’s neck a wiggle, making him duck away and laugh. “Get ready!”

“Gotcha now!” Nezuko shot to her feet, sliding behind him like an athlete as she squeezed his sides, making Tanjiro yelp. He twisted around to get her back, but that only left him open for more tickles from the others.

Recovering quickly, Hanako hugged his middle, her small hands clawing at his belly the way he did to her. “Take this!” She giggled, grinning when he started to laugh. “We can do it! Tickle him!”

“Obviously!” Takeo grunted as he maneuvered around jerking elbows, pushing one up so he could go for his brother’s armpit. “Looks like I found a good spot!”

“Ah! Nohohohoho! Wahhahait no hold ohohohoohohohn!” Tanjiro squirmed, trying his best to fight back. It wasn’t long before he was overpowered, falling to his side as the three poked and prodded every spot on him. “Ehehehehehehehehhe! Shhihihihiihihngeru! Hehehehehehelp mehehehehehe!” He cried, reaching for his brother weakly.

“Hm…nope.” He decided, grinning at the other. “This is what you get, big bro.”

“Trahahhahahahahihihiihihihitor!” Tanjiro cackled, sinking further when Nezuko’s nails found his upper ribs. “Geahahhahahhaahha, not theehehehhehehre!”

“He’s way more ticklish than all of us!” Hanako giggled, delighted.

“To think we’ve been letting him win all this time?” Takeo sounded almost disappointed.

“Now now, don’t fret- he’s quite the beast.” Nezuko grinned, giggling when Tanjiro squealed. “You just gotta find the right spot to disarm him! Like…here!” She reached around and dug into the left side of his belly, making him shriek. “See? Instant defeat!”

“GUUHUUHUHUHUHUHUYS!” Despite how loud he laughed, Tanjiro did in fact give up. He no longer squirmed, opting to just curl up and laugh. His cheeks were bright red with mirth, eyes squeezed shut as tears threatened to spill. “I GIIHIHIIHIHIVE!”

“Okay!” Nezuko and the others immediately retracted, watching him gasp for breath. “Still think you’re the best tickler in all the Kamado family?”

“Heheheck yeah…You just cahauaght me ohohohff guahahahrd.” Tanjiro gasped, making his siblings laugh.

Just then, Rokuta shuffled in, rubbing his eyes as he yawned. “What happened?” He breathed, still waking up.

“Roku! Good morning.” Nezuko stood and shuffled to her brother, gathering him up with a kiss to the forehead. Hanako and Takeo joined her soon after, beginning to bicker about something new while Shingeku crawled over, petting Tanjiro’s head. “Are you okay, Tanji?”

Tanjiro smiled, reaching up and squeezing his hand gently. “Never been better.”

I hope this was good!

[myherowritings]

PART 5. THE INHERENT EROTICISM OF BUTTONING SOMEONE’S CLOTHES

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 3.0k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. sexual tension !! and umm sexual frustration ;p, not explicit but prob rated 16+, just read the title of this chapter BAHAHA

A/N. sorry this is coming a little later than planned ! :( but i hope the dressing room scene can make up for it u.u tysm for reading and for all the feedback! enjoy :3 xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

What were you supposed to wear to a shopping date? you asked yourself. Not that today was a date or anything. Though maybe you sort of wished it were… 

The Naruhata Charity Gala was in a little over a week and Shouto would be coming over to pick you up in less than one hour and you still sat in your room with nothing but a towel on feeling more and more hopeless. 

It was a strange dilemma. He met you in your work apron wearing an unflattering work shirt and work pants. And when you met up over the weekend previously, you never paid too much mind on what you would wear. In fact, you were positive he wouldn’t even care how you looked. So why was it such a big deal to you now? 

Probably because of your recent admission of your growing feelings towards him, you thought crossly. 

In your defense, it wasn’t like it was your fault! Right? Seeing someone everyday… Wanting to see someone everyday… Texting regularly about the most random things, having the most banal objects you saw throughout the day remind you of something Shouto did or said… With all those occurrences it would’ve been practically impossible to not start crushing on him! 

Time passed as you stared at your ceiling blankly. If you kept this up, he was bound to show up in your house and find you half-naked. (Now that you mentioned it, that didn’t sound like the worst idea. But it wasn’t something you’d randomly spring upon someone.)

“Get up, Y/N!” you scolded yourself, rolling off your bed and heading towards your closet. 

In the end, you ended up settling for another variation of your usual go-to outfit and called it a day. It happened to be perfect timing since, by the time you finished getting ready, you got a new message on your phone. 

Shouto: Parked in front of your place

Shouto: Sorry I’m a little early. You can take your time getting ready :)

Y/N: it’s okay i’m ready now!! 

After hitting send, you put your shoes on, gathering your belongings you wanted to bring with you, and headed out the door. Excited to hang out with Shouto again, you walked with a skip in your step down the path until you reached his car. 

“Hi!” You waved through his half-opened, tinted window. To no one’s surprise, his car was a sleek black color with dark, tinted windows, and gold details along the sides. If it didn’t look so oddly sexy you would’ve laughed at how cutely dorky he was for matching his car with his credit card. “This is one hot car.”

He turned his head to the side when you entered the passenger’s seat. “Should I turn the AC higher?” 

“Huh— Oh!” You stifled a giggle when you processed the pun he made. “You’re funny, Shouto.” 

He only looked a little confused. “Thank you.” 

The interior of his car was no less—for lack of better term—sexy than the outside. Leather seats, a large screen for the radio and carplay, and the dashboard and side doors lit up a nice blue color. 

“Pretty!” you complimented, poking at the colorful light.

“Want to pick a color?” 

Your eyes widened. “It can change colors?!” 

Shouto nodded.

“Can it be pink?” you asked intently. 

“Light pink or hot pink?”

“Light.”

He swiftly obliged and with a hit of a touchscreen button, the interior lighting changed from blue to pastel pink. 

“Green!”

It turned green.

“Orange!”

Cue the orange. 

“Purple?” 

Purple. 

Once you were thoroughly satisfied with Shouto showing you the whole color selection (you were almost embarrassed to admit it kept you entertained for a good ten minutes), you settled on a bright turquoise that reminded you of the color of his left eye. 

“Ooh, this color! My favorite,” you said simply, giving him a wide smile. 

A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he developed a sudden interest in adjusting his rearview mirror. “Hm.”

Shouto drove the rest of the way in a comfortable silence, occasionally asking how your week was outside of work and what type of outfit you wanted to wear so he could have a better idea on where to take you. 

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asked when he hit the next stoplight, one hand holding the wheel and the other resting comfortably on the gear shift. 

His hands looked nice and slender and soft to the touch. Pretty hands, you thought but shook yourself out of it because you could go down a rabbit hole of examining his hands and going into detail about them. 

You remembered the single, measly granola bar you had due to your rush getting ready. “I didn’t really eat yet, no. Did you?”

He shook his head and pulled into a food plaza with lots of stores to choose from. The two of you agreed on a noodle restaurant that apparently had some of the best cold soba (once you learned it was his favorite food, you wanted to be able to have some with him and today was the perfect opportunity to do just that) and promptly headed to the location. 

In the shop, a waiter sat the two of you down at a dimly lit booth with the perfect amount of ambience that if someone were to casually look over, they might even mistake this outing as a date. 

You grinned at the thought. 

“Excited for the soba?” asked Shouto, examining the smile on your face thoughtfully. 

That’s not why you were smiling, but it was close enough. “Mhm. And the udon. You can never go wrong with noodles!” 

Yes, you got both udon and soba. But in your defense, where else would the fun in life be if not in sugary sweets and carbs? 

As the two of you waited for your main dishes, you ate some fish cakes and edamame while talking about the ways in which capitalism could be dismantled. Rather sexy of him, if you did say so yourself. 

Before you knew it, you were done with your meal and headed back into his car to go fancy-people shopping. On the remainder of the ride, you asked yourself what color you should pick that would match well with both you and Shouto. After all, nothing said a cute couple who totally liked each other going on a totally real date to a gala like color-coordinated outfits, right?

He parked in front of a street of buildings with a dark glass reaching from ceiling to floor with security guards at the door. Just standing near it made you feel fancy. 

“This is a place my sister told me she liked,” he said, leading you to the store front with his hand on the small of your back to guide you. “I hope you’ll find something to your liking.”

You tried your best not to pay too much attention to the warmth you felt both on your back and your stomach from the fuzzy feelings that spread. 

“Hello, welcome!” the both of you were greeted as you walked through the doors. The interior of the store was lined with designer dresses, some long, some short, and all incredibly stunning. There were only a few other patrons in the store, but all of them looked so elegant as they tried on their dresses. “It’s so lovely to see you again Mr. Todoroki.”

Shouto nodded subtly. “Hello. This is Y/N, my date to the gala who’ll need your assistance today.”

“Hi!” you chimed in at his cue. “Nice to meet you.” 

The worker smiled and made her way over to you. “And you as well. I’m Masuda and I’ll do my best to make sure you leave the store satisfied with your purchase! Did you have a particular style or perhaps color in mind?”

“Umm,” you said sheepishly, looking around the wide variety of clothings and unsure where to start. “I’m not too sure. It’s my first time going to one of these things so maybe something comfortable, but also still...fancy?” You scratched the back of your neck. “Does that even exist?”

“Of course— Just have to find something that feels comfortable to you.” She told you to hold on one moment as she disappear into the rows of fabric. 

As Masuda collected some starter dresses for you to try on, a customer walked by with bags of clothes in her hands, her gaze lingering on Shouto, though neither of you paid her much mind. 

“In this setting, you look almost fit to be a sugar daddy,” you said jokingly, looking around in awe at the sophisticated yet lavish dresses. “You take all your sugar babies here?”

“Only the ones I really like,” he teased back. His voice was deadpan but there was the telltale hints of a smirk on his face to let you know he was only messing with you.

The door chimed to signal that a customer left and by then Masuda had returned with bundles of fabric draped on her arm. She led you away in a hurry and you hesitantly looked back at Shouto who followed in a safe distance. Seeing your moment of panic, he gave you an encouraging smile that somehow was enough to ease a significant fraction of your nerves. This may be new and confusing territory, but at least he was here to help you through it. 

Masuda set a dressing room up for you—it was one of those rooms in the middle of the store with curtains that reached the ceiling and mirrors all around—and placed a bunch of outfits she thought would suit your taste. It reminded you of when a bride would go wedding dress shopping with their family. When you had enough outfits for the first round, she told Shouto to sit down on a leather seat in front of your dressing room while he waited for you to try the different dresses on. 

In a way, it felt oddly intimate: Shouto sitting just a few feet in front of you as you undressed, only separated by the veil of a curtain. Would he offer to help button the back of your dress up, fingers brushing against your bare skin? The thought made you feel almost hot inside as you changed out of your street clothes and into the first dress. 

Unfortunately for you, this dress had no such difficult buttons to reach. 

“How’s it look?” you asked shyly as you emerged from the dressing room. 

The dress was pretty and didn’t feel uncomfortable to walk in, but there wasn’t any sort of attachment you felt towards it. In other words, it was simply...meh. 

Shouto looked up from his phone to take in the sight of you. He smiled. “You look amazing as always.” 

“You think so?” You spun around and curtseyed jokingly and he chuckled. “I don’t think it’s bad, but I’m not sure if it’s the right one.” 

“We’ll be here until you find the right one you want, then. Take your time, Y/N.” 

His voice was normally on the deeper side, but it sounded even more sensual and gravelly at this very moment. You felt goosebumps on your arms and it wasn’t just because of the sleeveless dress you currently had on. 

“T-Thanks, Shouto,” you murmured, turning around and walking back into the changing room to hide the look on your face. You didn’t even know what kind of look you had on your face, but you knew it was one that might give too much away. 

It wasn’t fair that he had to be so sweet and caring and thoughtful and handsome and rich… Most guys you met barely fit into one of those criteria, let alone all five. (Sure, the last two weren’t necessary in your opinion, but you couldn’t deny they were a nice bonus.) It was too bad you had no clue how he felt about you. 

There were moments where he felt flirty and teasing, like maybe he viewed you in a more-than-friends way. But other times he was so polite and proper and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just being nice because that’s simply the sort of person he was to everyone. 

While you were trying to sort through all your thoughts, you completely forgot to change into a new dress the whole time you were in here. 

You saw a shadow at the floor of the curtain before a voice said, “Y/N? Are you okay in there?” 

Jumping at the sound, you scurried to put the next dress on, a blue one with almost translucent fabric and a delicate neckline. Judging from the proximity of Shouto’s voice and the shadow of his shoes, he was right next to you as you changed. 

“I’m okay!” you managed, hoping you didn’t sound as wobbly as you felt. You held the dress closed at the back, fumbling with the fastens. “I just, ah, needed help buttoning this one up.” 

A light ruffle on the curtain then a pause. “Should I...come in and help?” 

Your eyes widened, not expecting him to actually offer to button it up like you fantasized earlier. You fully thought he might called the worker to aide you just so he wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable. (Not that he would’ve. At all.) 

“I apologize,” he said somewhat tensely after you didn’t respond. “That was indecent of me—”

“No, no!” you said profusely, poking your head out of the curtain while holding the fabric at the front of your dress to your chest. You tilted your chin to meet his gaze with a determined one of your own. “I’d love your help, Shouto.” 

With a dusting of pink coloring his cheeks, he nodded and entered your dressing room. “This dress is a nice color on you.” His voice was loud against the silence. 

Shouto ran his hand down the length of your spine and then up to unfold the column of buttons on your dress that curved inwards at your movement, his knuckles grazing against your skin like lightning striking water. You jolted at the sudden feeling but he didn’t remove his touch when he felt it.

“Sorry.” His voice was low, almost like a whisper. “Was just getting the buttons out.”

“N-No worries!”

His fingers began working on the bottom-most button at your lower back as he applied a steady pressure on the base of your spine to control the motion. Shouto slowly began his way up, fingertips cold to the touch. But you knew that wasn’t the only reason you felt yourself shiver. As he fastened the dainty buttons with immense concentration (much more concentration than was actually needed to fasten buttons, you were sure), you felt the heat of his breath tickling the back of your neck. You almost couldn’t keep yourself from arching your back in a mixture of anticipation and delight at his constant touch. 

When he finished the last button, Shouto let one hand rest on your hip, grasping the fabric between his fingertips to examine its silken texture. Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped back and bumped into his chest, but he was already there to steady you. 

With his arm on your waist and your back leaning against his chest, you made eye contact through the mirror in front of you. You weren’t sure if the pounding you felt was from your heart or his or a combination of both. 

There was something almost erotic about holding each others’ gaze in the mirror after Shouto just helped you dress, the two of you still not letting the other go despite the task being complete. 

“The dress… You look gorgeous,” he said, not taking his eyes off you for one moment. 

You nodded slowly. It did look amazing on you. And it was breathable and soft. (Plus, Shouto liked it, which made you happier than you’d care to admit.) “The only downside would be I need help getting into it.”

“We could get ready together so it’s no issue.” 

“I’d...also need help getting out of it.” 

You held your breath as his eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly in a way that made you curve your back before you remembered you were flush against Shouto and he could feel even the most subtle of movements coming from your body. But by the time you stopped yourself, it was too late. He already felt it and you wanted more.

His voice was hoarse. “I could help you with that too.”

Instead of beginning to unbutton the dress like part of you thought he would, he surprised you by spinning you around to face him, your shoulder blades pressed against the cool glass of the mirror and your palms lingering on the muscles of his warm chest. The contrast of the cold glass and Shouto’s body heat left a shiver down your spine.

“And how do you plan to help take off my dress when you can’t even see the buttons?” you said challengingly, a smirk on your face despite knowing full well your body was showcasing just how affected you were by this situation. By Shouto.

He tilted his head to the side in response to your daring tone, hands swiftly finding their way to your back and unbuttoning the top five buttons. It wasn’t enough to completely expose your breasts, but it was enough to loosen the fabric at the neckline in a way that made you gasp. 

“Seems doable to me,” he commented. 

You tugged him down slightly by the collar of his shirt. “I don’t quite believe you. Maybe you should prove it.” 

A guttural noise sounded from the back of his throat as he cupped your jaw and leaned in closer. You inched forward, eager to meet his lips. But before they could touch, a knock came from the wall next to the curtain, causing the two of you to freeze in your spots, bodies pressed against each other in an intimate flush.

“Hello, Y/N?” said Masuda cheerfully, blissfully ignorant about what was about to happen in a public dressing room in the middle of the store. “How are the dresses coming along? Did you like any?”

“Ah, actually…” you trailed off, exchanging frustrated but amused glances with Shouto. “I think we’ll take this one.”

a/n: so...mirror sex/sex in a dressing room as a bonus chapter? u.u why yes of course. i’m one step ahead; did u even have to ask? LMAO and hm i wonder if y/n’s fEeLiNGs~ are reciprocated skfkfkdg ALSO THEY WERE SO CLOSE TO KISSING BUT DIDN’T I CRY hopefully the wait will be worth it ;3

what to expect in the next part:

GALA TIMEEEE

yes y/n finally gets the fancy candy they so desired

we get to see shouto’s sexy penthouse

shouto says eat the rich >:c

[jroycethethird]

He chewed over her comment for a quick second before quipping, “I’d agree if we were doing something else right about now.” It was in Royce’s mind the best hour to be rolling in the sheets, and he thought he’d have her there if they both weren’t recovering from frightful experiences. “Semantics,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, if it weren’t real then it wouldn’t be your official title. And I like calling you things like your majesty and highness. A reminder you are above me,” Royce paused before adding, “Well, I wish you were above me.” He smirked and allowed that comment to sit in the air between them for a lingering moment. He was a shameless flirt when he wanted to be, and he fancied himself a purveyor of beautiful things. It gave him a knowledge to point them out wherever he went, and this moment he felt was no different. She was attractive, he’d mentally noted that at many a council meeting that he felt droned on and often times sloppily with less than satisfying results. At least he got a chance to see her pretty face at them, or whatever. “Yes, but I have many ulterior motives,” he replied, not even bothering to hide it or be coy. He did just say he wanted her on top of him, after all. “But I also came here because you tripped my alarm system, and I guess I’m supposed to be concerned when that happens. At least it came with a pleasant surprise. Unless you are here to rob me blind? In which case I’d like the record to show my clothes cost just as much as some of the offerings here.” Another cheeky bastard grin slipped out once more. “But I also would rather not electrocute you before I’d had a chance to really get to know you, so maybe don’t try to steal from me.”

Home was difficult. He had purchased a townhome of his own when he returned from school all those years ago with a wife on his arm. It remained his home since, even after she left him, and became his quintessential bachelor pad. But since the accident, his family had tried to keep him back at the large home they owned. The one he stood to inherit once his father passed from this life, the one they called Verdant Vale Hall. That hadn’t felt like home. A futon in his office here felt far more like home, had less hovering blonde heads and heated arguments between his stubborn father and bratty little sister. “And miss an opportunity to see you? Please,” he scoffed, “This is practically home.” His smirk returned as he replied, “Even if you’ve heard better, I doubt they came from a more charming and attractive package.” He was ever arrogant, not even an accident such as one that happened at Starlight and left him slowly healing and with gruesome wounds would stop Royce from peacocking and trying his best with someone. He felt particularly sure of himself in that regard. It did help he could read minds too, and he listened intently to what he could glean from hers. The horror of what happened to her was instead more prevalent and he fought from allowing the knowledge of it to show. For one, very rude to be thinking of such dreadful things when he was there looking this good despite his accident. Though, and he hated to admit this to his own egotistical self, he could get it.

He listened to the words she wasn’t saying, caught then off guard by her voice filling the space. Twirling the cane in his hand he nodded, “Oh, yes, I did. Though my assistant is… slow to get things to me. New kid, takes some time to break in so to speak.” If he hadn’t felt some sort of responsibility over Todd, or found him and his face too infectious like he did, then the guy would have been out so fast. Luckily for him, Royce had a secret penchant for poor little things. And he had a nice face. “I quite enjoyed it, though I think some important things were missing from the basket. Your number, namely.” Did he already have her phone number? Probably; Royce only appropriately named important business contacts on his phone, and threw relative caution to the wind with anyone else. “Or maybe just you, in general,” he tacked on. He was laying it heavy, but it wasn’t like he would have brought her to bed in this state he was in. He just wanted her to think about it, plant the seeds for come harvest.

He flashed a wide grin, all pearly white teeth and completely not innocent intentions. “Who’s to say I don’t have one on the way? Though, now I could give it to you in person. But whatever I have to offer for a get well basket wouldn’t be here,” he waved a hand around the dark gallery, “We could skip all the pretense and just go back to my place. I do have a wine cellar with far too many bottles for one man to enjoy, some incredible chocolates and cheeses from my last visit to Switzerland, some other high quality creature comforts…” Royce mused before shrugging a shoulder, “The best thread count as far as sheets go, which you’re more than welcome to test out if you fancy.” His eyes flickered over to her sordidly, but his smirk melted into something friendlier after a moment. Yes, he was coming onto her but he also cared that she went through something. Or tried to, whatever. “Are you going to invite me to sit with you, or would you rather an injured man stand for you?” He asked after a beat of a moment, his smile amused more than anything. “I’ll suffer for you if you want, you just tell me which you like more, your majesty.”

"The best hours," Aiyla replied without looking at him immediately. She wanted a moment longer before she needed to smother all the terrible things that made a storm of her once calm interior. It was only a few beats of her heart before she turned to smile up at him, "You do know I'm not a real queen?" She said, smiling at the antics. However, she never grew tired of the implications many in the town made. It was like some inside joke that meant she belonged. "I only wear a tiara on special occasions." Usually, it was her birthday, but this year, it had been celebrated with a bottle of wine and a book she wouldn't read in public. She shifted over to make room for him beside her should he choose to sit, "Did you come here just to tell me I'm pretty?" She asked, not at all bothered by the flirtation. It was a welcome reprieve from the fretful worry and pity. She would rather not have anyone look at her as if she were about to break down at a moment's notice. Maybe she was, maybe she'd screamed bloody horror when a nurse tried to adjust a pillow at her back and clawed out nearly clawing the mans face. They made a note in her chart and Aiyla checked herself out of the hospital the very next day.

"I thought you'd be home." She answered honestly, "But I do welcome your company. You can try your lines on me, and I'll tell you if I've heard any better before." She teased, tilting her head towards him, her eyes flitting back towards the art once he had mentioned what happened. Her body stiffened a bit. She could still feel the iron burning, sawing, and tearing at her wings, which she had now hidden away for the first time since arriving in Lunar Cove, coming up in a decade. She shivered her fingers curling into the fleshiest part of her thigh as she took a deep grounding breath. She wondered if they'd meant to kill her as they had her mother? The thought spiked her heart rate, and Aiyla stared so diligently at her photographs that the images blurred into a swirl of shadows, light, and hidden silhouettes of her muses.

Her body was healed as much as it could have been; she had taken the vampire blood when usually she wouldn't have, but the idea of sitting there while the slowness of healing fractured her more was not a reality she could face. A small nod as she blinked was all the acknowledgment she could muster. She tore her eyes away to look at him, "Did you get my get-well basket?" She asked. It was rather personable, and she had spent a great deal of time picking a nice basket and filling it with handmade treats and art. Aiyla raised a shoulder, punctuating her question with a dazzling smile that betrayed all the internal aches and wound-up traumas she'd bury if only she had the right distractions. "If you were really sorry, you'd have made me one." She teased, making light of her suffering was easier than the sorrow that threatened to pull her under the tempestuous waves.

[graniairish]

Walking on eggshells

So this is my first own story here. I hope it is written in an understandable way. (Please ignore any grammatical errors. English is not my mother tongue.)

Title: Walking on eggshells

Words: 6761

Warnings: language (some explicit words), harassment and insults, heartbreak

Summary:

Daryl and reader have been close friends since the early days in Atlanta. They are deeply in love with each other but have no clue about it.

At some point new people join the community, including a young woman who is immediately after Daryl.

Reader is not exactly thin, no size zero, but also not fat, rather curvy, feminine. Even in this apocalyptic time. (you are just the way you are.)

Daryl has withdrawn more and more from reader, avoids contact. Reader believes he does that because he now has a perfect woman by his side.

However, Daryl avoids reader because he does not know how to deal with his feelings.

One day reader goes on a run that goes wrong. To save their group, the reader does a suicide stunt, that can cost her life.

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

"Ya even know what ya're doin’?"

Those were the first words Daryl Dixon had ever said to you.

It was still at camp in Atlanta. Daryl stood over you, the sun behind him, as he looked down at you as you made a stew from a basket full of leaves and mushrooms.

“Believe it or not, I know what I'm doing here. My mother taught me as a child which mushrooms and plants are edible, and which can be used as medicine."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

"If ya say so."

With that he dropped something in front of you.

"Maybe the whole thin’ tastes like somethin’ with that," he said before he turned around and made his way back to his brother.

Your eyes followed him - confused. Only then did you notice that he had thrown about a dozen freshly hunted squirrels in front of you.

Maybe the grumpy redneck was not that bad after all, you thought to yourself with a smile as you started to skin and gut the dead animals.

It was not long before a friendship developed between you. You were the only one he really let near him after the disappearance of his brother and Sophia's death. And after the farm was overrun by Walkers, he was by your side to comfort you.

He was always there for you, just as you were for him. You cared for each other.

But you only noticed how deep the feelings really were on your side when Daryl - after the incident with Woodbury - had turned his back on you and everyone else and disappeared into the woods. Just to be with his brother.

The realization that you were infinitely in love with the withdrawn redneck hit you hard. And just seeing him walk away hurt you so much that you could not breathe.

Without knowing it, Daryl had broken your heart into a million pieces.

It felt like he took a part of you with him.

More and more you withdrew from the others. From time to time, you even slept in the old management office of the Prison, far away from the cell block, from everyone else, from your family. You just wanted to be left alone in your grief and heartbreak.

In the first time you had gone through hell emotionally and a psychological breakdown would not have been long in coming. And if it had not been for Maggie, you probably would not have found your way back.

She had been your solid rock and, without you really noticing, had become your best friend - your sister.

And after a while it got better. It did not hurt that much anymore. Although it was not quite true. It still hurt - hurt infinitely - but the distances that those waves of grief hit you grew larger.

And then suddenly Daryl was back.

It was a shock to you.

And the moment he moved back into his cell in the cell block, you moved out. There was no trace of you or your belongings in the whole building anymore.

Quietly, and without anyone noticing, you moved into the management's office - permanently. The thought of being so close to him - physically - without actually being able to be close to him was just unbearable for you.

And so you had retreated.

Daryl did not seem to mind. It almost seemed as if he had not even really noticed it.

You hardly had any contact with each other. He rarely talked to you, and if he did, then only what was necessary and as monosyllabic as possible. He even seemed to be avoiding you.

But that's how life works - hard and unfair.

And you cannot choose who to fall in love with.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return. But it only worked like that in movies and love songs, right? It did not work that way in real life, at least not for you.

As time goes by you had devoted all your concentration to your small farm. Your mother taught you how to handle plants as a child. In your previous life - before the apocalypse - you also had a vegetable garden with which you mostly tended yourself. So you knew the job and it was easy for you.

You lived in your own little world where you worked side by side with Rick and spent your meager free time with Maggie. Sometimes Carol would join you, but you had already noticed that she somehow always dropped a few comments about Daryl.

You did not want to talk about the redneck, let alone think about him. So, you ignored her as best you could - or at least her suggestions.

But it was not that easy. Your whole prison family knew how deep your feelings were for Daryl. No matter how hard you try to hide it, hide yourself from it.

Then Woodbury fell. New people came to the Prison and with them a young woman - Michelle. Probably only in her mid-twenties, model type, blonde, pretty. A typical homecoming queen.

To you, she made it seem like she had never worked hard in her entire life. She was the type of person who always muddled through, for her own benefit.

And just a few days after moving in, she was permanently on Daryl's heels. She asked questions, talked to him, spent most of the days near him.

But worst of all, she was openly flirting with the man you loved, and he did not seem to mind. Your stomach cramped painfully at the sight, and you had not been able to eat for two days.

Your heart, painstakingly patched together, broke one more time. After that you had avoided Daryl and his blond girl for almost a week, avoided them like the devil had shunned holy water.

But it could not go on like that. And at a certain point you realized: as long as Daryl was happy, nothing else mattered. At least for you.

To make matters worse, there was that cruel little voice in your head that kept whispering to you why Daryl was interested in Michelle and not you. It kept talking to you, all the time.

And then the little wheels in your head started spinning until you were caught in a vortex of thoughts.

She was thin and delicate; you were rather well built.

Her shoulders were narrow; yours were broad.

Her stomach was flat; but you had unmistakable love handles.

She had a firm, shaped ass; you childbearing hips - as your mother used to call it.

Her golden blonde hair always fell in gentle waves down her back. You always had your y/h/c ones in a messy bun. And after hours of hard work in the gardens, you always looked like a half-plucked chicken.

You would never have any chance of comparing yourself with this beautiful, gorgeous woman. Michelle was perfect.

You were just you.

But the worst part of this whole thing was that this woman could not leave you alone. She had won, the man was hers. What else did she want from you?!

Every now and then she dropped small comments, out of the earshot of others. But so that you could hear them very well.

"Hard to believe how one can be so well fed.”

“Are you secretly eating your way through our supplies?"

"Given your size, a whole bunch of Walkers could get fed up with you for a week."

It hurt, hurt infinitely. But you were willing to endure everything. You did not want to make a scene. Did not want to get upset, maybe to draw more unwanted attention to yourself.

In the depths of your heart, you only wanted one thing. You just wanted Daryl to be happy. Everything else does not matter to you.

But what you failed to notice in all your self-doubt and self-sacrifice was: Daryl was not happy.

You were both blind to each other's intentions, had no idea why the other acted the way he was doing.

But the inner circle of your family, especially Maggie and Carol, knew what was going on. And having to watch the two of you - while you did not notice it yourself - slowly but surely drove everyone to despair.

The whole thing was like a fucking soap opera!

You and Daryl had barely spent time together and avoided each other as best you could, so you had not noticed all the little signs that spoke volumes to all the others.

How his ears turn red when you have been near him.

How he sometimes looked at you a little longer than others.

How he changed his shifts in the guard tower just so he could take care of you when you were near the fences during your work.

The moment Daryl faced you for the first time since his return, the floor was torn from under his feet. When he saw your y/e/c eyes looking at him, he felt his heart swell. Warmth spread in his chest and he had thousands of butterflies in his stomach. The redneck had never felt anything like that before and it terrified him.

It was something he could not handle.

He knew he screwed up when he left you because of his brother. The way you behaved towards him was unmistakable. Daryl did not want to endanger the little friendship that was still between you. He could not risk losing you for good.

So he gave you your freedom and just adored from a distance - without you noticing.

But from a certain point in time all his thinking was focused only on you. Or rather, to hide what he really felt about you - how much he loved you.

Daryl was so busy hiding the love he felt for you that he did not even notice how much this young woman from Woodbury was constantly flirting with him. Of course, it had not escaped him that she ran after him like a lost puppy; and yes that annoyed him.

But weren't all of these newcomers a pain in the ass?

He was not interested in this blonde woman, not a little bit. Daryl does not care about her; he does not even listen to her most of the time.

If he was honest, he did not even know her name.

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

In the last few weeks, it had become routine for the redneck to be on guard duty in the early hours of the morning. Not just because he was an early riser- and finally got some peace up here from the intrusive people from Woodbury - but because you went to work in the vegetable gardens shortly after sunrise every day.

And from high up there he had the opportunity to watch and admire you unnoticed.

You have always been used to working hard, and everyone who saw you knew that you had no problem with it and that you could lend a hand. Rick once joked that you could overshadow any Amish when it came to your work ethic. You just shrugged your shoulders and replied that you had no problem with that as long as you didn't have to pray for hours.

So you and Daryl spent the mornings together - without your having a clue about it. You, lovingly watching over the plants in the vegetable patches, he on the guard tower, lovingly watching over you.

As the sun rose higher and higher on its way across the sky, it made the sweat shimmer on your skin as you patiently devoted yourself to each of your tasks without taking a break. The black tank top you wore on that hot summer day stuck to your body and framed it perfectly. Your figure was like an hourglass, and each of your curves came out sensually.

At least as far as Daryl could tell. For him you were perfect, just like you were. He could watch you for hours without getting tired of it, could watch you for the rest of his life.

Only when the crotch of his jeans became uncomfortably tight did the redneck look away from you. His thoughts had taken a suggestive course, and the images that emerged in his head were by far no longer suitable for minors. Daryl would surely spend this evening in his fist again - dreaming of how you would feel lying under him, how you would smell, how you would taste, and what sweet noises would come over your lips if he would touch you where you needed it most.

"Everything's okay," he heard a familiar voice next to him.

Damn it, did the time really go that fast? Was his shift already over?

"Are you okay? You seem a little distracted to me."

Carol had come to relieve him. But Daryl, in his fascination for you, had not even noticed her.

"’m okay."

"Yes, of course, and your thoughts were on the task in front of you the whole time."

There was unmistakable amusement in Carol's voice. With a knowing smile, the woman leaned on the railing and watched you work for a while.

"Can you please finally tell Y/N that you love her. So that we can finally all get on with our lives? It's really not nice to see you two walking around each other on eggshells."

Daryl was embarrassed. He was caught with his hand in the cookie jar by Carol. Still, he tried to stay as cool as possible.

"I have no idea what ya're talkin’ about."

But the woman was not easily fooled. She knew very well what was going on in the man in front of her. Just as she knew how you felt about him.

"I hear what you say, but your ears say something else.”

Daryl flinched. Sometimes he hated the way his body betrayed him.

“What the hell,” Carol had to keep from laughing “I didn't even know that they could get so red."

"Stop it woman."

Again and again, Carol tried to get her friend to finally confess his love to you. Because in her eyes you were both wasting valuable time. And being able to spend time with loved ones was the most important thing now.

You had not noticed any of this. You were too busy tying up the tomato plants and removing the leaves so that they brought the greatest possible yield. After all, many mouths had to be fed, and you all needed supplies for the coming winter.

And it was precisely these necessary supplies that prompted Rick to ask you to go on a run the next day with others. Of course, you immediately agreed, after all, everyone went on these runs at some point. It wouldn't be your first time, and certainly not your last time, that you would take part in something like this.

But who could say that in these uncertain times?

What you did not know at the time was, that Michelle would be there too. Maybe then you would have refused. But now you sat in the back seat of the pickup truck in silence, staring stubbornly out the window.

Michelle just a few inches away from you.

It had been clear to Maggie from the start that this constellation would not bring any good. However, even the young woman would not have expected what dimensions the whole thing would take. And in what a heartbreaking catastrophe it would end.

During the entire journey Glenn and Maggie tried to break the mood. The four of you sat in the truck and drove a few hours until you finally arrived at your destination.

It should be a simple thing - in and out, quietly, quickly, unseen.

But what no one had expected was the behavior that Michelle had displayed when it came to doing her part. She had absolutely no desire to be actually a part in this job.

And Michelle let the three of you feel that very clearly.

She neither wanted to help find the necessary supplies nor carry them; even found it outrageous that she had been asked by Rick to join in and risk her life. She had never had to do this before, why now?

It took you so much strength to stay calm and not yell your opinion on Michelle's face - or beat her across the street.

You did not like this woman, not a bit. For you, she was a narrow-minded, self-centered, selfish slut who cared about only herself. And what Daryl saw in her was incomprehensible to you.

But when Michelle began to risk all of your lives because of her loud behavior, even Maggie's patience ran out. The eternal insults in your direction were just the cherry on top. Maggie would have liked nothing more than to give this snotty brat a huge slap in the face.

But to make a shitty day even more shitty, that was unfortunately your smallest problem.

Michelle's loud complaints drew the attention of more and more walkers, and at some point, you had difficulties getting back to your car.

You had just successfully cleared a pharmacy when you saw the horde slowly approaching on the street.

That was by far the worst scenario, and your greatest fear.

It was all happening so quickly, and the only thing you thought was that Michelle had to make it back to the Prison alive. You could not risk Daryl losing someone he loved again. No matter what a fucking bitch she was. You knew it would destroy him.

The way back to the pickup was long and the Walkers unfortunately closer than wanted. The heavy backpacks did not make it any easier to escape them quickly. So you stayed back when Maggie, Glenn, and Michelle started running back towards the truck. You knew your partners needed a distraction to make it through.

And what could be a better distraction than you.

"Come to me you damn motherfuckers! Here I am! Come and catch me you bloody bastards! You ugly fuckers!" you screamed on top of your lungs, tried to make as much noise as possible.

The walkers slowly turned to you and came to hunt you down - to kill you. You would be their lunch. Scared to death your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you thought it was about to pop out.

From that point on, you could not remember anything. Your brain just shut down, went into survival mode. You only ran on instinct, no more active thinking.

In a way, like the Walkers you tried to escape from.

Maggie turned when she heard your voice, and the blood froze in her veins. She thought you were right behind her, but you were still near the entrance to the pharmacy and the horde of walkers was on the way to you.

"Y/N!" her voice was desperate.

She was about to turn back to you – to help you - but Glenn could not and would not let that happen.

"Come on Maggie, we have to get the car. We'll come back for her; I promise."

Glenn took his girlfriend's hand and pulled her forcefully with him.

Michelle had not noticed anything of that, she was the first to take a seat in the pickup and firmly locked the passenger door behind her.

When Glenn finally started the engine and Maggie - now in the back seat - turned her eyes back to the pharmacy entrance, you were gone.

Your best friend was in a panic.

"Where is she? Oh my god, where is she?"

Only then did she see you on the canopy of the building - the backpack with the bandages still firmly strapped around you.

"On the roof, Glenn, she's on the roof! We have to get her!" the young woman screamed in desperation.

She could not and did not want to lose her friend. Not now and not like this.

“and preferably before these things figure out how to climb”, was Glenn's addition when he turned the truck and drove towards the pharmacy.

"Are you crazy," squeaked Michelle, "do you want to die just to maybe save her life?"

Maggie's eyes darkened, and Glenn realized immediately that she had now reached the limit. Another word from Michelle and his girlfriend would feed this woman to the Walkers with no trace of guilt.

"You shut up now, bitch! You're to blame for all this shit. If you’d shut your damn mouth and done what we've all done hundreds of times before, none of this would have happened! These fucking things would never have noticed us."

Michelle gasped to give Maggie a neat answer, but Maggie was faster.

"If I hear one more word from you, if you just beep, I'll feed you to these Walkers!"

Michelle's reply was interrupted by the gruesome sound of breaking bones as Glenn brutally drove through the horde of walkers who were now confused and trying to understand what was going on around them.

You were still standing on the roof. Your gaze was focused on the scene before you but not fearful, as if your self was not there at that moment.

"You have to jump," Glenn called to you when he brought the pickup to a stop right under the roof.

And with that you jumped onto the back of the truck. The fall was higher than expected, and there was a thump as you hit the flatbed. Immediately Glenn had accelerated the car again and drove away as fast as he could in the direction of Prison.

Desperate, Maggie kept calling your name, but you just did not answer. Maybe you were in shock. After all, it was not common practice to voluntarily sacrifice oneself as a meal for these monsters.

A few miles out of town, Glenn finally stopped the car, and Maggie was by your side in an instant. But she was not prepared for what she saw. You were passed out and a small pool of blood had formed under your head. The thud she had heard - when you landed - had been your head when it hit the loading wall.

"Oh my God."

Immediately Maggie was at your side, looking for your pulse with trembling hands. And there it was - weak - but she felt it.

"Please open your eyes Y/N/N", the young woman pleaded as she lovingly brushed the hair off your face.

"Maggie?" Glenn's voice was timid, almost frightened, as he stood next to the pickup and stared at your broken body.

"We have to get her to my father as soon as possible!"

Maggie's harsh words seemed to loosen Glenn from his stupor.

"Okay, no problem, I can do that."

And with that Glenn was back behind the wheel and gave full throttle. Maggie stayed with you on the flatbed, took off your backpack and trying to stop the bleeding on your head.

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

Rick and Daryl were in the courtyard of the prison, discussing the next runs when the pickup truck drove through the gates with screeching tires. It was immediately clear to both of them that something bad must have happened.

Without wasting time, the two men ran towards the car.

"What happened", Rick called out.

But Daryl could not hear Glenn’s answer. Everything around him fell silent and vanished when he saw you - bleeding, passed out - in Maggie's arms.

Without thinking further, he jumped on the flatbed and leaned over you. He caressed your pale cheek with trembling fingertips before desperately looking for a pulse on your neck.

Frightened, he held his breath until he felt it, your heartbeat.

Even but so weak.

"We have to take her to my father."

Maggie had not even finished the sentence when Daryl had already taken you in his arms - bridal style - and was on the way to the infirmary with you.

With a lover's desperation, he clung to you as he ran all the way.

“Don't do this to me. I beg ya, please don't die to me."

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

Daryl never left your side for a moment. He sat like a statue and held your hand. He did not say a word, did not move. Neither when Hershel examined you, nor when he sewed your laceration.

He listened quietly to the vet's diagnosis and what he thought might happen in the next few hours or days.

Only when Maggie came with a bowl of water and a cloth to wash off the dirt and blood did he break free.

"Let me …" Daryls voice cracked, and the knot in his throat made it difficult for him to say anything else.

He took everything from Maggie's hand and put it on the little table next to your bed.

The redneck looked broken. The young woman could clearly see how much he loved you. And she knew that if you died, Daryl would vanish. He would just cease to exist.

“I'm so sorry,” Maggie said quietly, and a tear rolled down her cheek, “I thought she was right behind me. But … but she wasn't."

"It's not ya’ fault." Daryl's voice was barely perceptible.

Slowly he dipped the cloth into the warm water and began to carefully wash the blood off your face.

"Daryl I’m ... I’m"

"I know."

“Y/N is strong, she is tough. She will be okay."

Daryl just nodded absently while he concentrated fully on washing the blood off your temple.

And so Maggie left the redneck alone with you in the infirmary.

With trembling hands, he began to clean your neck. Little by little he washed your whole body- took care of you quietly and lovingly- making dirt, blood and sweat disappear, made you as clean as he saw you before you went on that fucking run.

Then he sat there, hour after hour, just looking at you, holding your hand. You looked so fragile. You lay there injured and pale, almost like a corpse. Only your quiet, even breathing told Daryl that you were still with him.

Inside Daryl, everything contracted painfully at the thought that you might not wake up again. Slowly he leaned towards your face. He looked at every birthmark, every wrinkle, every freckle, as if he wanted to burn them into his memory.

“I don't know if ya can hear me,” he finally began with a trembling voice.

“But I ... I ... I “, he had to laugh bitterly.

“’m a bloody coward. Why can' I jus’ say it?"

Daryl took a deep breath, he had to get his fear under control somehow. He had to tell you. He would never forgive himself if he did not do it now.

What if you died.

"I love ya Y/N. 've been in love with ya since ... I actually have no idea how long. But I love ya. I should have told ya much earlier. I don' know why I didn't. But I love ya."

Daryl fought back tears but lost.

"Oh God please, I beg ya, please come back to me. Give me a chance to show ya how much I love ya. Just one chance to prove myself to ya." and with that Daryl collapsed on top of you, crying and sobbing.

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

It took you two days to open your eyes again. Two days in which Daryl had not left your side. Two days of going through hell and back again. In which even he had sent a quick prayer or two towards heaven.

It was as if you had been awakened from a deep sleep far too abruptly. And it took a while before you knew where you were. You felt dizzy and tired. Your head hurt like hell. And you were confused.

First, why you were in the infirmary, and second, why Daryl was sitting next to your bed looking like he had not slept in days – your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispered, "how are ya feelin’?"

"Tired", your voice was scratchy from not using it for a long time, "my head hurts."

“You hit ya head bad. Hershel had to patch ya up."

"What happened?"

"Can't ya remember."

"No ... Yes …. but not ... not really ... only up to a certain point."

You were nervous, were not used to Daryl being so close to you. You did not want to make a fuss about yourself, and yet you liked the attention this man was giving you.

“I can still remember the horde of Walkers who came up to me, but then … nothing ... I can't remember what happened then."

You had not noticed that tears had started to run down your temples until Daryl lovingly wiped them away with his thumb.

"Hey ... shh ... take it easy. Everythin’ is okay. Everyone’s fine. Please don't get upset, ya have a concussion. Hershel says ya need a lot of rest now."

And suddenly you were silent. Never before had Daryl spoken to you with such a loving tone in his voice or had touched you in this way. You did not understand what was happening here.

But he said you had a concussion. Perhaps it was to blame for this filter through which you noticed this whole interaction.

“I'll let Hershel know that ya woke up. I'll be right back; promise."

Confused, you looked after the redneck. Something had happened that you had no idea about. But you did not want to worry about it now. Your head hurt too much, and you just wanted to sleep.

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

When you opened your eyes again, Hershel was sitting in the chair on which you had previously seen Daryl.

"It's nice to see you again with your eyes open Y/N," said the older man with a friendly smile, "you worried us very much."

"‘m sorry. "

"It's okay. How do you feel?"

"Okay. Tired, head hurts."

"Something else?"

"No, except that I feel like I'm wrapped in cotton wool."

Hershel sat and listened to you before nodding.

"Daryl said you can't remember what happened."

"Not really."

"Don't worry, that's nothing unusual with this type of head injury."

He patted your shoulder encouragingly.

"Will I be able to remember one day?"

"You know kid, sometimes it is really good not to be able to remember some things."

"Probably."

“But now you should rest first. I know you have questions, but answers will come later. After all, you have to regain your strength."

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

You knew you had slept, but not for how long. Because the next time you opened your eyes, Carol was sitting on that same chair. But there was something else. Could it be that it smelled of her venison ragout?

"How are you, Y/N/N?"

"Still tired, but the headache is almost gone."

"Good to hear. You gave us all a real scare."

"I'm sorry."

"Especially Daryl. I've never seen him so frightened."

You looked questioningly at the older woman next to you. You were used to it that she kept dropping allusions about Daryl - at least when she talked to you. But you just did not understand that statement at all.

Daryl was never afraid of anything. Why would he ...

"Well. Are you hungry?" Carol had a friendly smile on her face when it broke your train of thought.

At that moment, your stomach made a loud rumbling noise.

“I'll take that as a yes,” smirked the gray-haired woman, “Daryl went hunting so that I could cook this. He knows it’s your favorite."

Unsure you looked at Carol before you took the bowl from her hand and slowly began to eat. It was true, that was your favorite food - if there was such a thing at all in times like this.

"You know that he loves you," she suddenly began out of nowhere

"Of course, we are family," did you try to belittle the matter.

“Okay, let's reformulate the whole thing again. Daryl is in love with you, absolutely and one hundred percent madly in love with you. A 'you're the only one for me' love. Without any misunderstanding."

When she said that, you choked on the stew right away and now you sat in front of her, coughing and snorting.

“And I know you love him too. So don't try to deny it at all. Everyone here knows that. Or how blind do you think we are? Although ... apart from Daryl. He has no idea. He probably wouldn't even understand if it bites his ass.”

At this picture you had to laugh.

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith in order to reach their goal. You two really have to start talking clearly to each other. You two belong together like pepper and salt Do you actually notice how much you waste your precious time? Neither of us knows how much of it is left. You should know that now, because honey it was damn close."

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

Sleeping was your main occupation right now. A concussion took time and a lot of rest to heal. So it wasn't uncommon for your life to consist of short scenes at the moment.

With a sound - like a purring cat - you stretched in the hospital bed before opening your eyes. You no longer had any sense of time, and only the sunlight falling through the barred windows told you that it was probably afternoon.

"Hey."

Only now did you notice that Daryl was with you again.

"Ya feel better?"

"Yes."

Daryl seemed kind of nervous. But that wasn't possible, why should he?

"I've been here before, but ya slept and I don't want to wake ya", his words just gushed out of him.

Could it be? Was he nervous?

"Okay ... yes ... uhm ..."

You were easily overwhelmed with this situation, and somehow your head just seemed to have been swept clean. You could not find any words.

"We take turns. Hershel thinks there should always be someone with ya. Because of the concussion. Rick has already been here, and Maggie of course."

"And Carol."

"Yea."

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For the food. Carol said you went hunting especially for it."

"No problem."

“I still appreciate it. And for ... that you are here ... with me."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

And then there was silence. The conversation with Carol kept going through your head. What she said. Could it really be true?

You knew that Daryl has always been more of a man of action than a man of words. And it was clear to you that if you did not take the first step now, you two would probably never get anywhere.

"Carol spoke to me", you started when you sat up

The man across from you was obviously nervous now. You could tell all too clearly by the fact that he was starting to chew the inside of his cheek.

"With me too."

"Apparently something like an intervention is going on here, could that be", you smiled, trying to loosen up the mood a bit.

"Seems so."

Daryl looked at you for a few moments. You could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I'm a coward, Y/N," he finally began.

You had expected a lot, but not a statement like that.

"No, you’re not. How did you come up with such an idea?"

"I was a complete idiot and too cowardly."

"What are you talking about Daryl."

In your opinion, this was going completely wrong right now. You actually wanted to tell him you loved him, and now it seemed to end in a vortex of self-doubt.

"I love ya, Y/N.”

And with that your thoughts became silent.

“I am terribly in love with ya. And out of fear I didn't say anything. But then I saw ya lying on the flatbed of that fucking truck, covered in blood and passed out. At that moment, my heart stopped. And I swore to myself that when ya're okay again, when ya've got throu’ this, that I'll finally tell ya what I feel for ya. Y/N I love ya. "

During Daryl's monologue you forgot how to breathe and just listened intently while thousands of butterflies fluttered around in your stomach like they're having a bloody party there.

It took you some time to realize that Daryl was waiting for a reaction from you as he gnawed his thumb in fear.

"I love you too," it gushed out of you before you even realized you had said something.

And then there was silence again. You and Daryl just looked at each other. Unsure what to do now. After all, you were both in uncharted waters.

"And ... and now," you asked uncertainly.

"Don't know," Daryl just shrugged.

"I mean ... um ... are ... are we ... together now?"

You carefully ventured out of cover.

"Um, yea ... if ya ... if ya want that."

"Oh my god, yes please", you replied in one breath.

Suddenly the tension between you had dissolved and you both had to laugh. It was so surreal. Two adults acted like teenagers in love who had no idea what to do.

But then Daryl slowly leaned in towards you. Your heart was pounding when you could finally feel his breath on your face. But before your lips touched, he stopped. He wanted to give you the opportunity to evade him if you did not want this.

But you wanted it, wanted it more than anything else in your life. And when you had overcome the last few inches, you finally felt his lips on yours.

The feeling was amazing. As if at that moment an electric shock had run through your whole body, and at the same time it was like coming home.

Everything around you no longer existed, was no longer important. Here and now, it was just you and Daryl. The way his lips moved with yours, how his fingers slowly ran up your arms until they were in your hair.

Everything was so intense. And when you finally parted to take a much-needed breath, Daryl leaned his forehead against yours.

"Ya have no idea how long I've been dreamin’ about this."

"Probably as long as me."

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

When Rick was about to visit Y/N in the early evening hours, he saw Carol and Maggie standing in the door to the infirmary.

"Everything's okay," he wanted to know.

The two women turned around with their index fingers over their lips.

"Shhhh."

Both did at the same time.

"Be quiet and come here," Carol whispered, "you really have to see that."

Rick approached the two women curiously. What could be so interesting that Carol and Maggie were half-hidden behind the door, staring into the infirmary?

He was confused, but when he saw what fascinated them so much, his heart swell. A satisfied smile played on his lips, as he was seeing what was going on less than five paces away.

Daryl was lying - half sitting - on the bed. His back supported on the wall behind him. Y/N was snuggled close to him, head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him. Absently, the fingers of his right hand traced patterns on her upper arm as he read to her from an old paperback.

Everyone could see the love that bound these two people. And thank God the two finally understood that.

"Seems like we finally have a happy ending," said the former deputy with a broad smile.

"Thank God", Maggie exhaled, "nobody wanted to watch this puppy love shit anymore."

“Yes,” laughed Rick, “but you have to admit there was something exciting about the whole thing. As if it had been our very own little soap opera."

"You're right, but I prefer my best friend happy."

"And what do we do now. I mean this seemingly endless heartbreak theater has come obviously to an end."

"Gossip- Rick is afraid he'll get bored?"

Maggie's voice was teasing.

"No, that's not how it was meant."

"Don't worry, Rick," said Carol with a smile, "I think the whole thing has a sequel anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, has someone told Michelle yet?"

All three looked at each other with big eyes before they having to resist laughing convulsively.

This story could get really interesting after all, they agreed.

part two

[madrigaljail]

In-Laws Apocrypha

AUGUST 2023 EDIT: The scene is canon now as the fifth chapter of the same boy you’ve always known, so for the correct version look there!

Sooo before Turn of the Hourglass A Prophet In His Own Land started being posted I was struggling with a scene of twenty-year-old disaster Bruno giving Jose Guzman a vision, because I couldn’t stop writing it. And because I was writing backwards the next scene would have been the 20th anniversary of the Miracle (which ended up being WAY different when it finally got written), and then there was going to be more El Brujo Loco nonsense probably into infinity. It was quickly hijacking the story and I had to drastically course-correct but I didn’t want to lose all that work, so I did the logical thing and posted the vision scene under the title ‘intermezzo’ for instant gratification/to get it out of my system. When I finally got around to posting chapter 1 of Prophet I decided I had STILL screwed up, deleted ‘intermezzo’, and decided EBL would get his own fic. 

A zillion words and a bunch of plot development later the original no longer works and needs a rewrite, but I’m still fond of chunks of it, so I’m popping it here for posterity. Behold the original unfiltered dumpster fire when he’s pretty much at the end of his rope, in ~1800 words:

~*~

The fact that Bruno did not like being surprised should not have been…well, surprising, given his Gift. But by age twenty he’d twisted that bit of trivia into a mythology that he literally could not be surprised. His sisters and few remaining friends rolled their eyes at this notion, but for the rest of the Encanto it was one more spooky facet to add to the stories of el brujo loco.

It gave him more material to work with, let him test his improvisational skills any time he got unexpected news or shocking events came to pass. He’d respond with a cryptic, knowing smile, waggle his fingers, lift his eyebrows, and declare that he knew this would come to pass. His not-acting hobby of being something of a social voyeur helped with this, keeping the real surprises to a minimum.

(Around this time Félix took to sneaking up on him with intent to startle, just to knock him off his insufferable pedestal.)

So when he rolled out of his hammock one…time of day to discover Doña Mercedes’ oldest son  Jose Guzmán sitting patiently outside his vision cave it was only an artful heartbeat before his lips curved into a feral grin.

“Ah, there you are, poca Señor Guzmán,” Bruno said with a bow, arms spread wide.  “I’ve been expecting you.”

Jose, brow slightly furrowed, watched his performance with an expression annoyingly close to pity. “I’ve been waiting an hour. Good evening, Señor Madrigal.” The title momentarily paused Bruno in the act of reaching for a bottle, but he covered it by changing his mind and snagging the last arepa from the basket Pepa had brought up…sometime. There were teeny tiny bites already taken out of it. “I have an important decision to make, and I’m sorry but I need to trouble you for a vision.”

“Trouble me?” Bruno repeated, took a bite of the arepa, grimaced, and grabbed the bottle as well. “My dear old friend, it’s not trouble, my Gift is freely given to support the Encanto and strengthen our community.”

Ah, no, that sounded a bit too much like Mamá. He popped the cork with his thumb and cast around for a glass. Finding none worth using - and having decided to lay his hopeless degenerate act on a bit thick - he took a long pull directly from the bottle.

It was more vinegar than wine. He hoped the dim light kept his watering eyes from notice. 

“Then I thank you for your generosity, señor,” Jose said with a  gracious nod and got to his feet. No, yes, Bruno realized that look in the older man’s eyes was definitely pity and it rankled him. “Do you…ah, need some time to prepare?”

He could only imagine the state he was in and hoped it was like the mural and not- well, no, he actually didn’t care. Probably. Bruno waved off Jose’s concerns(?), set down the bottle and the arepa, and wandered over to remove his ceremonial ruana from its hook. His nose wrinkled as he burrowed into it. It needed to be laundered. He’d thought that the last two times he’d put it on as well.

The door to the cave proper was flung open and Bruno bowed again with a flourish of fringe, gesturing inside. “Your future awaits, Señor Guzmán.”

Jose inclined his head and stepped inside while Bruno followed after, stifling a yawn and instructing the other man to sit within the circle. He gathered the herbs, grimaced when he only found half the salt he’d like, then kicked together the five little sand piles before adding leaves.

“Now, I can do this blind, of course,” he said and settled down across from Jose, fumbling around for his matches. “But if you’ve got a specific query…I’ll need to hear it.”

Jose nodded and watched him fail to light one match, a second, and then he reached out and took the box from Bruno’s hands, igniting the third on the first attempt before handing it back carefully. “I understand.”

Bruno gave him a look which he hoped was more contemptuous than petulant and set about lighting small fires. Possibility wafted around him, the familiar tug toward what should be unknown, unknowable, and he finally shed all his pretenses. He’d debase himself, mock the miracle, embrace the scorn of others because it all made more sense than to let it hurt him. No prophet is welcome in his own land, after all, so it all had to be the joke he treated it as.

Right up until Time surged through him and made his eyes blaze like foxfire, until his hands stretched before him in entreaty because more than anything else he longed to See. 

The wind whipped around them, and Jose’s hands slid into his own. “What do you wish to know?”

“When I leave the Encanto, will you come with me?”

Bruno gawped and tried to pull away but it was too late, the sand swirled up and Time swallowed him whole.

Short answer: no. Jose will trek through the mountains alone, meet missionaries in the first town he comes across, and go to Medellín, to the monastery, and he will supplicate himself before his brothers, and spend his life contemplating the words and actions of God. And Bruno…

The church ravaged by a storm. Julieta smiling and handing him a small bundle. Casita at sunset. A pair of rats nestled in his hands. Doors glowing with untapped potential. The familiar feel of a tambourine in his hand, his own laughter. A view of the dining room; from the perspective he must be standing behind his mother, indistinct faces are lining a much longer table. Riding on horseback through the forest-

The vision tore back to Jose at the end, him alone in a monk’s cell with hands folded in prayer, and that was what got put to glass.

Bruno snatched the plate from the air as the sand collapsed around them, panting for breath. He shook his head.

“I stay, you go,” he muttered and offered the panel to the other man. “You…you get to seek out your brothers and- and Jose what the fuck was that?” He never intentionally looked into his own future, he’s much too much of a coward for that, and having part of a vision of it  accidentally teased out of him had him rattled.  “Why would you ask that? How could you even think I’d leave here?”

Jose finished studying the panel, set it aside, and reached out to grip Bruno’s shoulders. “Because I hoped you would, because staying here, doing this, is killing you.”

“Oh for-” Bruno surged to his feet and started pacing, laughing. Ah, he hadn’t heard that concern for what felt like ages. “My good dear señor, Time is killing me, is killing you, is killing us all!” He spun in place with his arms in the air, a parody of a pirouette. He pointed at Jose, his smile a snarl. “That- that is what no one understands. None of us can control it, no one among us can change it, sand falls, clocks tick, why bother to fight it?”

Slowly, Jose got to his feet until he was looking down at him - to Bruno it felt like everyone looked down at him - and then he sighed, sadly.

“Because there are more things in heaven and earth, Bruno, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” He folded his hands before him and looked around the cave like it was a holy sanctuary. Finally his eyes met Bruno’s again and he shook his head. “And because you’re not the masterful actor you think you are. If you care so little, why put so much effort into making sure everyone knows it?”

There would have been a denial if the afterimages of peaceful, mundane moments to come weren’t still floating in his mind, taking him off-script. Though… “Speaking of acting,” he snapped and this time jabbed Jose in the chest. “Since when do you have any concerns about my well-being? D’you know what my earliest memory is?”

“Which one?” Jose drawled, and that gracious pity finally slid into familiar irritation.

Bruno ignored the question and held up his left hand. “You and your little brother holding my hand in a fire ant’s nest, telling me to stop crying because my sister would be able to make the pain stop!”

“Lo siento, lo siento, I’ve said it dozens of times before and I’ll pray for forgiveness for that and all the other awful things I did as a child for the rest of my life.” That, that was sincere. “Jesucristo, Bruno, people grow up, they change. You can’t live like this forever.”

“Watch me,” Bruno muttered and stepped back, turning to kick the evidence of the ritual away. “Ah, no, that’s right: you won’t. You’re leaving. Here.” 

He stooped to pick up the vision plate and handed it over with a final bow. “Go on, get out. Get thee to a monastery. And show this to your mother, I can picture the look on her face and it’s priceless.”

Jose did as he was told and pushed the vision cave’s door open, then paused on the other side as he came to a decision of his own. “Señor Madrigal, if you want to call yourself the man of this house, you’d do well to start acting like it.”

Bruno cackled. “Oh, Señor Guzmán, you sound just like-”

Wait.

I’ve been waiting an hour.

Who would have let him in? Who would have spoken to him about getting a vision? Who would know he didn’t look into his own future? Who would know how to manipulate a question so that he’d be forced to?

He turned and ran through the door, past Jose, picking up speed as he passed those tortured images of himself in stone. 

“Casita! The quick way!”

Bruno hit the ledge and leaped, ruana billowing behind him and Jose crying out in shock, then a makeshift swing flew toward him and he grasped the rope in his hands, feet planted on the wooden plank, and he spiraled downward. The post-vision headache was starting to pound but it was nothing compared to the roaring fury in his ears, the burn against his palms when the swing came to a sudden stop and he let himself tumble into the sand.

Dimly, he noted that the trip took a little longer than expected. More stairs, then. Good.

He picked himself up, brushed himself off, and stalked toward his door.

“Where’s Mamá?”