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lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

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Royal

Request 1: techno x reader fluff? maybe something to do with a castle and warm summer days... I don’t have a full idea but as a vibe know?

Requested by: @theoneandonlyyeti

Simple and Sweet *MUAH* Hope you like it!

Scarred hands clasped onto delicate soft ones, a wedding ring shimmered in the sunlight of a wondrous garden. It was full of vegetation and trees that seemed to stretch far into the heavens, far beyond the castle’s outer walls. Your tea was steaming from where it sat in a porcelain cup, the white cup was decorated with blue flowers spanning the sides. Earl Grey with a hint of honey, your favorite. The hand across from you gave your own a tight squeeze, it snapped you out of your stupor and a smile made its way onto your lips. Your husband was the king of the Antarctic Empire, he had loyal knights and followers worldwide, and he was known for his brute strength and honesty. However, he loved you, treated you like you were some sort of Goddess, spoiling you rotten every moment he was able to. Right now you residing in a neighboring kingdom for the summer, Technoblade has promised you warm summer days filled with flowers and sunshine, and that’s what you were gifted for your anniversary.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” You spoke tenderly, the warm sun had stained your nose and cheeks a lovely red. Your dress was also a soft pink, the neckline was deep as it dipped past your collarbone. The dress was sleeveless and it seemed to be littered with gold speckles, that part was Technoblades doing. His ears twitched as he leaned back in his chair,

“Can I ask what about? Not having second thoughts are you?”

“About our vacation? Never.” You laughed resting your cheek on your fist, “I’ve forgotten how much I’ve missed the sunshine.” Technoblade let out a little grumble, his white sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

“It’s certainly...hot.” You smiled over at him and snickered, his hair was tied back in a long braid a few stray pieces of hair framed his sculpted face. “I’m certainly missing the cold, and my weaponry.” You gave him a fond eye-roll in response of course he was missing his weapons the man truly didn’t know how to relax.

“Well you know I appreciate you going out of your way for little old me,” You said voice dripping his sarcasm as he sent you a look,

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He eyed you carefully as you stood up from the little table, your light pink dress trailing behind you as you walked into the garden. You turned around sending him a gentle smile his way, holding out your hand, Technoblade reached out and took your small hand within his own. “Seriously, you know it makes me happy to see you happy.” Technoblade brushed your hair behind your ear, and you kissed his wrist softly.

“I know my love,” You reached up to adjust the crown on top of his head, he smiled softly at you. “I’m just happy to spend the summer with you, with no fighting and no political nonsense. Just the sun on our face and flowers all around,” You giggled pulling him along the cobblestone pathway. He hummed fondly as you pulled him along, flower petals from the nearby trees spilling around the both of you. Technoblade pulled you flush and pressed a tender kiss to your lips,

“Ew gross!” A loud voice called from behind the both of you, Techno growled under his breath and you let out a small laugh. A small figure ran up to you and you scooped him up in your arms,

“Cringe. Don’t know why we had to bring him along,” Technoblade grumbled and you stomped on his foot,

“He’s your son.” You scolded covering Aether’s ears, “Of course we have to bring him along!” Technoblade clicked his tongue as you uncovered Aether’s ears, he huffed a little swatting your hands away from his head. He had pink hair just like his father, it was a curly mess that you desperately attempted to tame but to no avail. A soft speckle of freckles was across his nose and cheeks, and he had your striking (e/c) eyes. A flower crown was on his forehead, he also had two in his hands “How’s it going, my little Prince?”

“It’s so much fun here! I love hanging out with Uncle Tommy and Tubbo!” He gushed bouncing in your arms, “Tommy said he and Uncle Wilbur are going into the town soon to visit Miss Sally and Niki. Can I go with them, please?” He turned to look over at his father as he placed a hand on top of his head to ruffle his hair,

“Sure kid. Just don’t cause your uncles too much trouble alright? Unless it’s Tommy, you have explicit permission to fuck with him.”

“Techno.” You scolded harshly as Technoblade rolled his eyes, “That’s a bad word. Do I need to make a swear jar?”

“Mom no,” Aether whined falling against your shoulder, “Uncle Tommy curses all the time.”

“Uncle Tommy’s a little shit.”

“Seems like your mother needs a swear jar, heh kid?” He nudged Aether with his arm, Aether nodded a smile on his lips. You glared harshly at your husband who had a smirk on his lips.

“Agreed, come on mom. Fifty cents, pay up.”

“Trouble makers the both of you.” You teased kissing the top of Aether’s head, before putting him down on the ground. A smile spread across his lips as he wrapped his arms around Technoblade’s legs,

“Bye papa oh wait!” He held out his flower crowns one for each of you, you bent down and took them gracefully. You placed one on your head and one on your husband’s head as well, he scoffed lightly.

“Stay safe kid, remember what I taught you.”

“Go for the knees!”

“That’s my boy.” Technoblade gave him a stern thumbs up, he gave his father a similar gesture and ran back down the cobblestone pathway. You smiled fondly at the sight and Technoblade wrapped his arms around your waist. “God, I can’t believe kids making me soft, who am I?”

“My beautiful husband who loves his son that I carried for nine months.” You mused looking up at him to press a kiss to his chin. He hummed a smirk on his lips,

“Yeah, I am, and I do.”

“You ruined it, get off me.”

“Ah come on,” Technoblade groaned as you wiggled free from his grasp only to cross your arms in front of your chest, “My lovely queen, please.” You crossed your arms with a little huff of your own, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You sighed with an eye roll “But you gotta lose that cocky attitude when number two comes along.”

“Yeah right, number two.” He chuckled interlocking your hand within his own, your eyebrow twitched as he pulled you along.

“What’s so funny about that?” You piped up as the both of you walked, your head held high. The flower crown on your head slipped a little as you adjusted it,

“I just don’t know if I can picture it, having two kids.”

“What about a little girl hm?” You tilted your head to the side as he followed alongside you like a puppy.

“A girl?”

You nodded watching two little birds fluttering along in a birdbath, you smiled softly, “Yeah a little girl. Maybe one with bubble gum pink hair and your cute little nose.” You poked his nose sweetly and he smiled softly, “maybe one with your fighting spirit. You could chase off any girls or guys she’s interested in.” He chuckled a little at that one, he would, he’d use his ax too.

“What if she had your hair and eyes though? A stunning little goddess just like her mother.” He mused brushing his fingers against your cheek, you giggled,

“You’ll have to swat the suitors away with a fly swatter.”

“Or an ax.”

“You can’t kill children Tech!”

“Eh says you.”

You shot him a look pressing a nervous touch to your stomach, Technoblade raised an eyebrow. He looked like he was connecting dots, “wait hold on a minute you’re not-” You flushed under his gaze and his jaw dropped, “HEH? You’re not serious! Are you serious? You’re- HEH? Baby!? DAD?! ME?!” He pointed to your stomach as to which you gave a nervous nod.

“It’s not for certain! But, I’ve been having the same symptoms I’ve had with Aether and-” He pressed a kiss to your lips hands hovering over your stomach.

“I’m two for two.”

“TECHNOBLADE! YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD!” You hissed out hitting him on the top of his head, he let out a roaring laugh taking you in his arms and spinning you around.

“You know I love you, you and Aether and baby number two. I always will until the end of time. King or not, all of you will always come first.”

“Love you too, more than anything.” You responded pressing your forehead to his own, “My king.”

“My Queen.”

“Your dad’s going to pass out. Wilbur’s going to go completely pale and Tommy’s going to scream his head off.”

“You know my family well. I can’t wait.” A bright smile appearing across his face, you laughed fondly pulling him close his flower crown almost falling off his head.

“You just like chaos.”

“You know I do.” He cupped your cheek with his hand and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

“You’re lucky I do too.” You purred sharing another kiss with your husband, flowers fluttered around both of your bodies. As the King and Queen of the Artic relished this rare peaceful summer day, at his family home.

~~~ Tag List: @theoneandonlyyeti, @iamsuchasimp @victory-is-here

@pastelmoonwitche @gnat1usaquar1us

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bakingandbooks3 · 3 years

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A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

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everythingthemoontouches · 3 years

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⛈️🌹☔

Rain Pick A Card 👆

This reading answers the following questions :

1. What purpose does rain serve in my life?

2. What feelings does it bring to the fore?

3. What do my spirit guides want to convey?Water is known for its mystical properties, quenching thirst and enhancing intuition.

4. What emotional aspects need healing or a little bit of extra care?

Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.

Pick a Card List 🔮🌹

Please don't Repost passing it off as your work. There's a lot of love, hope and meditation that goes into sharing these messages. I'm happy to be tagged if you wanna share the messages with a friend/ your community @everything_the_moon_touches is my instagram handle.

Pile 1

What does the rain bring you? ☔

It brings you a storm of angst. Either petty squabbles with your friends / peers. Or, it could enhance the feelings of turmoil you have within you. If you are considering leaving and starting over, hopping on to a venture or anything that brings you the recognition, love, adoration you feel you rightly deserve, the rain just heightens this sense of ' I need to do something. To get out.' Spirit could quite literally knock you out to get you to do the things you're meant for. You're bigger than your current rock pond. There's a strong sense of you needing to claim your spot in the sunshine/ limelight.

💙How do you feel when it rains?

Passionate. Energetic. Driven. Like you're meant to conquer the world. You could daydream about success and what having your ideal life would look and feel like. Inspired to start a whole new life. Don't just dream Pile 1, make a plan and get moving. Start now. Rain changes up the ionic balance recharging your body to get up and take action. Channel this burst of energy for your greatest good.

😇Spirit Guides Messages

10 of wands, baby. Things are coming full circle. They wnat you to finish what you start. To see things through the end. Think for yourself. In traditional tarot, it's a lone man, carrying all his wands home. The road is long but he is almost there.Your guides want you to channel all your energy into building something for yourself. Wands represent the fire element. Passion, confidence, self expression are the key traits they wish yu would embody. They just wanna remind you that it's not selfish to work towards your best interests.it's oajy to cute yourself the biggest slic eof pie wheen you're the one who spent hours baking it. And at the risk of sounding a little mean, I've got to add : it's okay to let some people fall to the side if they slow down your progress. The people who truly care for you would cheer for you from afar. We all have our individual paths to take-some roads we must walk alone, so we can meet our highest self. ( and then have your friends over once you have built that palace on the top of your hill) there's a hindi song that goes ' Kar Har maidan fateh'(loosely translates to conquer every field) which basically shows the lead climb up a hill as part of drug addiction and winning his battle with addiction. You might find it inspiring. Feel free to hmu if you want me to translate 📞😊

❤️Healing around water houses 💚🌹

Queen of Cups Reversed : I feel like you give too much to people who don't care for you the same way. Sometimes your feelings can be a bit too much for you to handle. You need to spend more time and love yourself a little more. One can't pour from an empty cup. For others of you, I feel like it's just the opposite. Maybe you need to step out of your bubble and think about how your actions can impact others?

It's all about finding the right balance between taking care of and allowing yourself to be loved and cherished by those around you. I'm hearing ' we accept the Love we think we deserve' and I am being told to remind you that you are enough. If you are a mom, you need a break from baby duties for a while. Let your mom / husband / friends pitch in to help.

Please reblog if this resonates 🧿✨

Pile 2

What does the rain bring you? ☔

Inspiration. Divine Guidance. Love. Happiness. Joy. Hope.

New beginnings. Inspiration. Gifts and blessings.you could literally have people ask you out or admit to having a crush on you when it's raining out. In India, monsoon is heavily romanticized : there are a number of songs pictured around couples either getting frisky, or old been together forever couples making fritters to go with a warm cuppa Chai ( tea). If you've applied for any new roles, you may receive positive outcomes. College acceptance letters or anything that bolsters your faith in life. Money. Spiritual clarity makes its way to you. Please listen when it rwians. If you're a creative, the muse could really send you some extraordinary works of art. Please create your music when it rains, I promise your audience will go absolutely bonkers over any art taht you realize that was created while it was raining outside.

💙How do you feel when it rains?

You wanna start new things. There's a sense of ' I could do this if I tried'. It's a good time for you to start a project, initiate conversations and work on a new way to make money. Wands are more about creative inspiration than actual material wealth so what I mean by this is you could have an idea on how to monetize something. Or you could just create art that gets you noticed which in turn gets you brand deals. For some of you this could also be a good time for you to make a baby? It's a good time to plant seeds you wish to harvest int he future. The timing is right and you could get a bountyful harvest if you just do the right thing at the right time. Get moving. Dancing could be a great way to utilize this burst of inspiration. If you have a message you want to put out that you really hope would be well received, this is a really good time to do it. If I were you I might schedule a meeting if I wanted to propose some kind of revolutionary idea to my seniors.

😇Spirit Guides Messages

No need to cry over spilt milk, darling. Just focus on what you've got. The door that just banged shut in your face lead to a crappy broken world. Look ahead for the fairytale portal that is lining up for you. There's greater things to come. Life is all about what you want to make of it. Some say that would make you a dreamer, an optimist, impractical. If you ask me, it's stupid to wallow in what could have been. Take your lessons, keep the gifts if you want to, but always, remember to look up and ask yourself : what's the best I could do with this? Like Ariana says, ' I've got so much love, Ive got so much patience, I've learned from my pain' and it's gonna turn out amazing for you. Ace of wands, love, it's all about starting afresh. To treasuring those moments that spark the start of something new, something that's gonna change the world, regardless of scale... Even if you get just one thing right, it could signify a mammoth shift. For example : Matt Le Blanc landing Joey's rope ON friends. Pretty much made him a household name world wide. Don't give up.

❤️Healing around water houses 💚🌹

Learn to wait and watch. Trust in the work you have done. Fruit doesn't grow in a day. It takes time. Keep adding fertilizer, weeding it periodically and pruning wayward branches. Some of you could lack faith in your skills or efforts. Either you may feel liek its not good enough or just give up because you're underestimating the effort it takes. Nobody posts their failures on Instagram. Do you know how many selfies it takes to get that one good picture that makes it to the feed? Sometimes it takes me two separate days of dress up, hair and makeup. ( I don't want any mean comments about this, k) Good things cost discipline and tenacity. I saw the page of cups as I was shuffling so you guys might really need to start believing in your gifts / talents long enough to persevere and see actual results in the physical plane. You could identify with the starseed community, and be used to just manifesting with thoughts alone. That's not quite how it works here. Just stay focused and don't out your tools down just yet. It's gonna be a really good harvest, just stay dedicated a little longer...

Please reblog if this resonates 🧿✨

🖤Pile 3

What does the rain bring you? ☔

Memories of past hurt. There could be a real sense of panic that washes over you when it pours outside. Over time you may have learned to treat rain as a bad omen. Some if this may not have nany basis in your current reality that the fear us so deep rooted that it's almost impossible to penetrate. I felt a lot if resistance before channeling this Pile, it was almost as if spirit didn't want me to touch upon these.

Either you wronged someone terribly or had something horrible happen to you in the past. Your conscious mind may have buried this to protect you. There is also a sense of picking at your old wounds and making it worse in the present day. I would really recommend keeping a journal kr speaking to a trusted professional about this.

How do you feel?

Trigger warning :

if you feel griefs so profound it just makes you wanna block out how you feel, please don't read further.

A sense of trepidation. Like there are forces beyond you pushing you in a certain direction. You wnat to dig your heels in but feel like you need to trudge on. There's fear. There's hesitation. There's a a lack kf trust. The knight of cups usually shows an offer if love but your energy tells me that you may not be so open to it. You may have been betrayed or stabbed in the past. The people that's hould have loved you did not care for you as selflessly as one would expect. You could have an active 8th or 12th house. May have seen the ille effects of addiction or infidelity early on.im so sorry, Pile 3, this reading is not meant to hurt or offend but to . Guide those of you who may be seeking help in lowering your walls.

😇Spirit guide messages

Some of you may have a real fear around money, kr doing things on your own if it deviates from what your family values were. Could have grown up poor. Or taught to see money as evil. You may be working to release this sense of guilt and pain. There may be some fear around turning into the people you swore you'd never be like as a child. You're worried that you'd repeat the mistakes your ancestors made. The apple doesn't fall from the tree. But coconuts can make there way to an entirely new continent. You're not a tiny apple on a rotten tree. You're a buoyant, old coconut and you could float far away, someplace safe. Someplace that allows you to grow. You could be in the middle of a dark spiritual Awakening, recognizing your a shadow aspects, seeing your parents as people, accepting that they could ha e had flaws even if they were trying their best and learning to cahrt your own course. You don't have to be the same . Or be a certain way just because of those negative early /past experiences. Like the Phoenix, you have the ability to rise from the doom and gloom of burned wings .

I keep you in my prayers.

❤️Healing around water houses 💚🌹

Some of you need to meditate on the judgement card. Keep lists. And journals. Play the real or not real game. Question every toxic / hurtful thought you ever have about yourself. Let go of shame. Release the pain. You may feel guilty about a lot of things, I feel liek there is a grandma or some ancestral figure who was devoutly religious and could have severely admonished you for being a rational thinking child. This figure could have put fear into you. I felt so. E really heavy scorpion IC energy when I was reading for you guys. Like a spiritual shield around you. You could be naturally psychic or spiritual aligned but had to suppress that part of yourself because of the fear mongering at home. Now that you're older you're free to explore your sexuality / tarot / wicca or other occult practices without being branded as evil / ungrateful.

Of all the piles I've read for, yours feels the most sacred / private energy. Almost as if you have some kind of a Guardian angel trying to protect you from the truth / pain unlocking this could cause. There are some truths you need to uncover for yourself, by yourself. I wish you all the very best in your spiritual journey

Please reblog if this resonates 🧿✨

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thehierophage · 3 years

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Atu XX: The Aeon

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Correspondences:

Hebrew Letter: Shin (c) Numerical Value as Letter: 300 Numerical Value as Word: 360/1010 [nic(Shin + Yod + Nun)/ ]ic(Shin + Yod + Nun fin.)] Meaning of Letter: Tooth Thoth Card: The Aeon (Atu XX) Alternate Title: The Spirit of the Primal Fire. Tree of Life Path Association: Path 31/31-bis, links Hod to Malkuth (8 & 10)

Astrological Sign: N/A Element: Fire / (31 bis.) Spirit (BA) Egyptian Godforms: Thoum-Aesh-Neith, Horus/Mau/Kabeshunt, Tarpesheth; (as 31-bis) Asar

Geomantic Figure: Those of Fiery Triplicity (p t q)

Gemstones: Fire Opal; (as 31-bis) Black Diamond Perfumes: (as 31) Olibanum, all Fiery Odours Plants: (as 31) Red Poppy, Hibiscus, Nettle; (as 31 bis) Almond in flower Animals: (as 31) Lion (Cherub of Fire); Sphinx (if sworded and crowned)

Colors (For Key 31 / 31 bis.):

King Scale – Glowing orange scarlet / White, merging Grey

Queen Scale – Vermillion/ Deep purple (near black)

Prince Scale – Scarlet, flecked gold / The 7 prismatic colours, the violet being outside

Princess Scale – Vermillion flecked crimson & emerald / White, red, yellow, blue, black (the latter outside)

The Secret Instruction of the Master:

Be every Act an Act of Love and Worship!

Be every Act the Fiat of a God!

Be every Act a Source of radiant Glory!

Mnemonic:

Nuit, Hadit, Ra-Hoor-Khuit! The Aeon

Of the Twin Child! Exult, o Empyrean!

Liber CCXXXI

Then also the Pyramid was builded so that the Initiation might be complete.

Holy Book Reading: Liber LXV, Ch. IV

1. O crystal heart! I the Serpent clasp Thee; I drive home mine head into the central core of Thee, O God my beloved.

2. Even as on the resounding wind-swept heights of Mitylene some god-like woman casts aside the lyre, and with her locks aflame as an aureole, plunges into the wet heart of the creation, so I, O Lord my God!

3. There is a beauty unspeakable in this heart of corruption, where the flowers are aflame.

4. Ah me! but the thirst of Thy joy parches up this throat, so that I cannot sing.

5. I will make me a little boat of my tongue, and explore the unknown rivers. It may be that the everlasting salt may turn to sweetness, and that my life may be no longer athirst.

6. O ye that drink of the brine of your desire, ye are nigh to madness! Your torture increaseth as ye drink, yet still ye drink. Come up through the creeks to the fresh water; I shall be waiting for you with my kisses.

7. As the bezoar-stone that is found in the belly of the cow, so is my lover among lovers.

8. O honey boy! Bring me Thy cool limbs hither! Let us sit awhile in the orchard, until the sun go down! Let us feast on the cool grass! Bring wine, ye slaves, that the cheeks of my boy may flush red.

9. In the garden of immortal kisses, O thou brilliant One, shine forth! Make Thy mouth an opium-poppy, that one kiss is the key to the infinite sleep and lucid, the sleep of Shi-loh-am.

10. In my sleep I beheld the Universe like a clear crystal without one speck.

11. There are purse-proud penniless ones that stand at the door of the tavern and prate of their feats of wine-bibbing.

12. There are purse-proud penniless ones that stand at the door of the tavern and revile the guests.

13. The guests dally upon couches of mother-of-pearl in the garden; the noise of the foolish men is hidden from them.

14. Only the inn-keeper feareth lest the favour of the king be withdrawn from him.

15. Thus spake the Magister V.V.V.V.V. unto Adonai his God, as they played together in the starlight over against the deep black pool that is in the Holy Place of the Holy House beneath the Altar of the Holiest One.

16. But Adonai laughed, and played more languidly.

17. Then the scribe took note, and was glad. But Adonai had no fear of the Magician and his play.

For it was Adonai who had taught all his tricks to the Magician.

18. And the Magister entered into the play of the Magician. When the Magician laughed he laughed; all as a man should do.

19. And Adonai said: Thou art enmeshed in the web of the Magician. This He said subtly, to try him.

20. But the Magister gave the sign of the Magistry, and laughed back on Him: O Lord, O beloved, did these fingers relax on Thy curls, or these eyes turn away from Thine eye?

21. And Adonai delighted in him exceedingly.

22. Yea, O my master, thou art the beloved of the Beloved One; the Bennu Bird is set up in Philæ not in vain.

23. I who was the priestess of Ahathoor rejoice in your love. Arise, O Nile-God, and devour the holy place of the Cow of Heaven! Let the milk of the stars be drunk up by Sebek the dweller of Nile!

24. Arise, O serpent Apep, Thou art Adonai the beloved one! Thou art my darling and my lord, and Thy poison is sweeter than the kisses of Isis the mother of the Gods!

25. For Thou art He! Yea, Thou shalt swallow up Asi and Asar, and the children of Ptah. Thou shalt pour forth a flood of poison to destroy the works of the Magician. Only the Destroyer shall devour Thee; Thou shalt blacken his throat, wherein his spirit abideth. Ah, serpent Apep, but I love Thee!

26. My God! Let Thy secret fang pierce to the marrow of the little secret bone that I have kept against the Day of Vengeance of Hoor-Ra. Let Kheph-Ra sound his sharded drone! let the jackals of Day and Night howl in the wilderness of Time! let the Towers of the Universe totter, and the guardians hasten away! For my Lord hath revealed Himself as a mighty serpent, and my heart is the blood of His body.

27. I am like a love-sick courtesan of Corinth. I have toyed with kings and captains, and made them my slaves. To-day I am the slave of the little asp of death; and who shall loosen our love?

28. Weary, weary! saith the scribe, who shall lead me to the sight of the Rapture of my master?

29. The body is weary and the soul is sore weary and sleep weighs down their eyelids; yet ever abides the sure consciousness of ecstasy, unknown, yet known in that its being is certain. O Lord, be my helper, and bring me to the bliss of the Beloved!

30. I came to the house of the Beloved, and the wine was like fire that flieth with green wings through the world of waters.

31. I felt the red lips of nature and the black lips of perfection. Like sisters they fondled me their little brother; they decked me out as a bride; they mounted me for Thy bridal chamber.

32. They fled away at Thy coming; I was alone before Thee.

33. I trembled at Thy coming, O my God, for Thy messenger was more terrible than the Death-star.

34. On the threshold stood the fulminant figure of Evil, the Horror of emptiness, with his ghastly eyes like poisonous wells. He stood, and the chamber was corrupt; the air stank. He was an old and gnarled fish more hideous than the shells of Abaddon.

35. He enveloped me with his demon tentacles; yea, the eight fears took hold upon me.

36. But I was anointed with the right sweet oil of the Magister; I slipped from the embrace as a stone from the sling of a boy of the woodlands.

37. I was smooth and hard as ivory; the horror gat no hold. Then at the noise of the wind of Thy coming he was dissolved away, and the abyss of the great void was unfolded before me.

38. Across the waveless sea of eternity Thou didst ride with Thy captains and Thy hosts; with Thy chariots and horsemen and spearmen didst Thou travel through the blue.

39. Before I saw Thee Thou wast already with me; I was smitten through by Thy marvellous spear.

40. I was stricken as a bird by the bolt of the thunderer; I was pierced as the thief by the Lord of the Garden.

41. O my Lord, let us sail upon the sea of blood!

42. There is a deep taint beneath the ineffable bliss; it is the taint of generation.

43. Yea, though the flower wave bright in the sunshine, the root is deep in the darkness of earth.

44. Praise to thee, O beautiful dark earth, thou art the mother of a million myriads of myriads of flowers.

45. Also I beheld my God, and the countenance of Him was a thousandfold brighter than the lightning. Yet in his heart I beheld the slow and dark One, the ancient one, the devourer of His children.

46. In the height and the abyss, O my beautiful, there is no thing, verily, there is no thing at all, that is not altogether and perfectly fashioned for Thy delight.

47. Light cleaveth unto Light, and filth to filth; with pride one contemneth another. But not Thou, who art all, and beyond it; who art absolved from the Division of the Shadows.

48. O day of Eternity, let Thy wave break in foamless glory of sapphire upon the laborious coral of our making!

49. We have made us a ring of glistening white sand, strewn wisely in the midst of the Delightful Ocean.

50. Let the palms of brilliance flower upon our island; we shall eat of their fruit, and be glad.

51. But for me the lustral water, the great ablution, the dissolving of the soul in that resounding abyss.

52. I have a little son like a wanton goat; my daughter is like an unfledged eaglet; they shall get them fins, that they may swim.

53. That they may swim, O my beloved, swim far in the warm honey of Thy being, O blessed one, O boy of beatitude!

54. This heart of mine is girt about with the serpent that devoureth his own coils.

55. When shall there be an end, O my darling, O when shall the Universe and the Lord thereof be utterly swallowed up?

56. Nay! who shall devour the Infinite? who shall undo the Wrong of the Beginning?

57. Thou criest like a white cat upon the roof of the Universe; there is none to answer Thee.

58. Thou art like a lonely pillar in the midst of the sea; there is none to behold Thee, O Thou who beholdest all!

59. Thou dost faint, thou dost fail, thou scribe; cried the desolate Voice; but I have filled thee with a wine whose savour thou knowest not.

60. It shall avail to make drunken the people of the old gray sphere that rolls in the infinite Far-off; they shall lap the wine as dogs that lap the blood of a beautiful courtesan pierced through by the Spear of a swift rider through the city.

61. I too am the Soul of the desert; thou shalt seek me yet again in the wilderness of sand.

62. At thy right hand a great lord and a comely; at thy left hand a woman clad in gossamer and gold and having the stars in her hair. Ye shall journey far into a land of pestilence and evil; ye shall encamp in the river of a foolish city forgotten; there shall ye meet with Me.

63. There will I make Mine habitation; as for bridal will I come bedecked and anointed; there shall the Consummation be accomplished.

64. O my darling, I also wait for the brilliance of the hour ineffable, when the universe shall be like a girdle for the midst of the ray of our love, extending beyond the permitted end of the endless One.

65. Then, O thou heart, will I the serpent eat thee wholly up; yea, I will eat thee wholly up.

Love is the law, love under will.

#Thelema #Thelemic Holy Season #Tarot #Holy Books of Thelema #Magick

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rinharu-purple · 3 years

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Relationship Goals: Ch 15

Flows of tears being wiped away by the fingertips of love- dreamless night skies full of stars - a heavy heart washed clean by the rain - hot sweat and cold droplets of water- a simple “good night” and a “good morning” - that all too well known scent - the excruciating pain of yet another “goodbye”- a blood drenched jacket that’s long lost its owner’s warmth...Name of Faith

Being the solidifying chapter of my Gavin stanness, chapter 15 has a very special place in my heart. On the other hand, the whole chapter is the very embodiment of “relationship goals”, ensuring that in the MLQC universe MC and Gavin’s relationship is the most harmonious, mature and loving one. The chapter is about an hour-ish long so you could guess how long this analysis will take to read but it surely will be much less than it took me writing it, I promise ;)

At the end of chapter 14 MC had to say goodbye to Kiro without knowing if he would survive the fight against tens of BS men and carry the burden of being the key individual who can put an end to the out of control EVOL outrage. She was heartbroken about Lucien’s betrayal and was worried as hell about Victor’s whereabouts. She was still struggling under the overbearing weight of having to play the role of the “Queen” all the while being one of the last remaining people who still bear to think about the whole TV- tower incident. She’s found herself doubting the meaning of her existence and couldn’t help but feel as though she wouldn’t belong there. At the beginning of Ch 15 we find an MC that hit the rock bottom and is therefore deeply depressed. This is the first time she’s shown such a distressed psyché. So this is how the chapter starts...MC wakes up in her room after being hospitalized for a while, lost in thoughts and looking for reassurance in the gingko leaf bracelet on her wrist.

To have and to hold...

While she is buried in negative thoughts Gavin shows up at her place to give her the good news that there are no more signs of EVOL fluctuations and that STF’s investigation ends as of that day. This results in a real smile blossoming on MC’s face and then her concern switches to Gavin’s well-being. This first dialogue between them is already an embodiment of the foundation of their relationship. Gavin and MC’s main concern is always the well-being of the other. Sure, Gavin and MC always put others before themselves so they both have an altruistic character, however if protecting any other person would mean their s/o getting hurt, then they prioritize each other. We get to see what it means in the second half of the chapter. MC is worried about Gavin’s injuries, Gavin is worried about MC’s emotional state, MC is worried that she makes Gavin worry about her, Gavin is worried that MC worries about him worrying about her, thus keeping her real thoughts inside- not- opening up about them to him. That’s a vicious cycle which needs to be broken and that is exactly what our best boi does by reassuring her that she doesn’t need to put up a front and that she could tell him whatever is eating at her...anytime at all. That guy is already 3 steps ahead of her when it comes to worrying so he pulls her out of her self-agonizing overthinking bubble with those simple words which work like a charm. MC feels as though her heart was slowly lifted up by two hands out of a ravine. So she finally tears down the walls surrounding her agony and lets her tears flow and Gavin wipe them away and he brings the sunshine back into her heart.

Ever since her father’s passing MC didn’t much have anyone to open up to about her most bothering concerns or a shoulder to cry on. Gavin sees this crystal clear and encourages her to tell him about it all, cry it all out and also manages to lift her spirits up. He knows instinctively what she needs at that moment. She is broken, she is lost and she is stripped of her self-worth. Gavin can relate to this state all too well, because he too has been there when his mother died. He knows that she doesn’t need any encouraging talks or sweets or a scientific explanation to her feelings. At that moment, all she needs is warmth and a safe space to process what she is going through thoroughly. Which is why Gavin simply offers her to share what’s eating at her with him and cry all she wants. He doesn’t do anything beyond that. He NEVER EVER PUSHES HER TO DO ANYTHING! He just stays by her side in silence, giving her space...a warm space and the rest unravels from itself. GOAL #1 Find someone who can feel your troubles, address them with care and share your burden with you. Someone who gives you a safe space to feel down without feeling ashamed of yourself. Someone who makes what’s yours theirs.

For better, for worse...

Gavin is aware of the fact that his words can give her comfort, but he also knows that she hasn’t told him the whole story yet. She needs to feel self-worthy again and go back to her true, kind and brave self. So he arranges a Ferris wheel ride in the middle of the night to show her the bright side that she fails to see at the moment. If MC had been asleep then he would’ve just tried another night but much to his luck she was standing on her balcony, lost in her thoughts, gazing at the bracelet he gave her and confiding in it. So he sweeps her off her feet once again and takes her to the construction site. He shows her from the cabin the world she succeeded in saving and that the world which is still turning thanks to her. She is the savior and not the burden and most certainly not a burden to Gavin. Neither with her negative feelings nor with her presence. She belongs there where she is and Gavin appreciates her existence. Because she didn’t only save the world but also him, many times, she caught him while he was falling. However, MC believes that its always been Gavin who was always there to catch her from falling. Their feelings and thoughts are again mirroring each other. Both of them are invested equally in their journey together, both have saved the other. Hearing this, MC finally opens up about her true feelings and lets the tears flow, and those tears are again wiped away by Gavin. When the wheel reaches its zenith, MC and Gavin are in a tight embrace and MC is finally almost back to her usual self: “With it, he took all my tears, all the unsaid words, all my worries and regrets. At that moment, it felt like the walls around my heart had fallen, letting in countless rays of sun. All the unease, suffering, doubt, pain and hesitation just evaporated”. Once they get off the wheel and they run/fly hand in hand under the summer rain, MC feels like Gavin has always been by her side all over the past years and her heart’s worry and gloom is washed away by the rain. This is a very crucial thing for their relationship, because they were separated for six whole years and yet now MC feels like he were always by her side, watching her from afar, accompanying her in her journey.

On a side note, Ferris wheel and the gingko bracelet have become the main symbols of their relationship. The bracelet represents their bond with each other regardless of the distance separating them and I am certain that the bracelet doesn't have any tracker on it to be honest but it helps MC to cool down when feeling upset or sad by reminding her of Gavin, her precious moments with him, his love for her, and that he will always be there for her. The Ferris wheel on the other hand is their journey. Each time they ride the Ferris wheel together their spirits are lifted up alongside with the cabin. Once it reaches its zenith they consummate their love for each other once again, no matter if it's on a date with a kiss or in CH 15 when MC tells Gavin her true feelings and Gavin addresses them directly resulting of them reciprocating their importance for each other. GOAL #2: A relationship is much like a Ferris Wheel. It goes up, it goes down, then goes up again. It's not always a bed of roses, there are many thorns during the ride. The important thing is to go through both phases hand in hand.

This whole episode names Gavin as the source of MC’s sense of safety, courage and faith. MC feels herself the safest and most serene around him. Their night together at MC’s home is a strong evidence to this. Up to CH 15 and in the following episodes, MC has constant nightmares almost every night. But when she sees the faint ray of light from the crack of her bedroom door, she finally enjoys a night’s sleep without nightmares or worries. Knowing that Gavin is on the other side of her door gives her the deepest sense of peace. This happens again in CH 26 btw. and I think the original idea was for them to sleep in the same bed in CH 15 but then abandoned due to obvious reasons... As far as I know Gavin is the only LI who sleeps in MC’s apartment so it shows the level of trust she has towards him. No matter what’s happening during the dates, in the mean story MC is not canonically that close with any of the guys, so it truly shows how safe she feels around Gavin, knowing that he wouldn’t overstep his boundaries. And she couldn’t be more correct, since Gavin leaves before she wakes up, making sure that none of them feel awkward in the morning and leaving the place as he found it, but not before leaving a note which gives her a reassurance that he is going to send somebody to keep an eye on her and ends with a simple “good morning”. Gavin is a very considerate guy, who doesn’t miss any hint thrown at him. After hearing MC not being able to sleep without wishing him good night, he realizes how important this simple wish is for her. So he makes sure to wish her a good morning, whether he is there to say it face to face or not. GOAL #3: Be with someone, with whom you can fell safe and be yourself around them. Someone whose presence chases your fears and nightmares away . Someone who knows what your values are and respects them.

In sickness and in health...

Not long after having a heart to heart conversation, MC and Gavin find themselves in a dispute over Perry. MC wants to stay by Perry’s side with the hopes of being able to help him but also come closer to the truth about her father. Gavin is not happy with the idea since he’s lost his EVOL and is dubious about Leto’s intentions so if any danger were to strike, he might not be able to protect MC. Despite this he agrees with MC’s wish in terms of her not putting herself in danger and that he would stay by her side. The second time the topic comes up, Gavin outright forbids her to get involved with Perry and MC in return, for the first time ever, tells him that she is going to do otherwise. This dispute arises because Gavin doesn’t tell her full story, that he’s lost his EVOL and that the STF is executing the Evolvers. MC on the other hand fails to see the situation from Gavin’s perspective or to trust him when he is so strict about keeping out of the whole ordeal. But right before they temporarily part ways she finds the courage to ask him about his worries and troubles, since she too can feel his distress, much like Gavin did hers at the beginning of the episode and offers to share his burden with him and that’s the thing. MC isn’t upset that Gavin doesn’t want her to see Perry anymore but that Gavin isn’t open with her and that he is still keeping his problems to himself. MC was hoping that he would trust her to face the truth and take on everything with him. That’s what actually hurts her the most. And Gavin is lost in this unexpected argument since he’d never had a situation like this with MC so he is torn between telling her the truth or leaving it be. Unfortunately he decides to just leave their dispute at that and leaves, not willing to have a fight with her. So they give each other the good old silence therapy for days and only after Perry reminded MC of Gavin’s good-will that she finally sends him an SMS (but only at second try, she wouldn’t send the first SMS in which she tells him that she is worried about him). Gavin is not better either, since he is already at the hospital to check on her from afar, but is not ready to face her yet. Its a typical “earlier in the relationship dispute” so much so that MC even literally sleeps with her phone while waiting for Gavin’s text/ call/ any response at all. Even I am shocked by his level of stubbornness at this point. The next day MC receives the bad news about Perry and leaves the hospital, letting herself get soaked in the rain. This time around without Gavin by her side, with completely different feelings, thinking that the rain can’t wash everything away. This is a pivotal realization on MC’s end, because at that very moment she realizes that Gavin was the reason of her being able to overcome her worries and face her troubles with faith and courage. Luckily for her, right when she was thinking of him, she senses his scent behind her aaaand cue “Rosy Mirror”...

Its such a lovely moment for the maturity of their relationship, despite them still getting to know each other and being the youngsters they are. So MC apologizes to him (but only going through the reasons why in her head so Gavin only hears that she is sorry) and then Gavin finally opens up, since he has realized that was the mistake on his part, not telling her about his true worries. So without further ado he tells her about his insecurities about the possibility of not being able to protect her since their downfall from the TV tower, about him losing his Evol, about following her for a while from behind without knowing what to do. And that’s pretty much all it takes for them to overcome their dispute, since it was a relatively small dispute and so MC again fells warm and dry inside, not caring about the rain. GOAL #4 There are disputes in all relationships. What’s important during those disputes is not to hurt each other’s feelings irreparably and communicate in honesty. It’s about trusting in each other’s good intentions and resolving the problem in hand with care and understanding.

Till death do us part...

Our pair makes up and are ready for the next move but there are no happy endings in the MLQC universe...nö nö nö. Of course drama ensues as MC and Gavin find out that Perry has been kidnapped while MC’s precognitions start getting worse. But remember folks, Gav-babe is back so he calms her that as long as her precognitions are about the future, they can still change the course of events and that He trusts in her, so she also should put her trust in him too. “That was his absolute faith in me, and his absolute reassurance for me”. We could actually roll the credits here without going further with the heart wrenching end of this chapter.

Not long after though MC and Gavin has to face the worst of the worst...They have to witness Perry getting shot in the chest and leave him in his state, only to be greeted by the STF aiming at them by the exit of the warehouse, leading Gavin to resign from the STF. While on the run from the STF/NW, Gavin realizes that his Evol becomes extremely weak, so much so that he cannot even raise a barrier to hold back the bullets, which then results in MC getting shot on the back while trying to protect him. Not only MC’s precognition is coming true, but also Gavin is at his limit, both physically and mentally. So he is left with no choice, but to sacrifice himself and once again get separated from MC. For Gavin is Ch 15 is the worst-case scenario. The justice he has always believed in turned out to be a façade, he had to witness another child’s suffering in front of him and his raison d’être comes to the brink of losing her life because he failed to protect her. Everything that keeps him alive, everything that makes him who he is , is shattered right in front of his eyes. MC doesn’t have it any better as she can only watch as her worst nightmare comes true. The last 15-20 minutes of this chapter covers MC’s perpetual fear of being left by Gavin. She says thrice that she doesn’t want him to leave and begs him to stay (unfortunately Gavin doesn’t hear any of it). The have just built their faith in each other and yet got separated again after a brief moment of togetherness. IT becomes one of the issues that MC struggles with for at least 10 chapters, namely her fear of being left alone by Gavin.

Here is a small comparison: All other LIs relationship with MC are doomed because of their choices: Kiro’s alternate personalities as Key (no time) and Helios (no love), Lucien’s involvement as Ares in BS or his values contradicting that of MCs, Victor’s pride and dominance as the research topic for my Phd at Boston College. Those guys actions and personalities conflicting with that of MCs are whats standing on the way of a harmonious relationship. With Gavin, these two are doomed by the seemingly endless external threats. Both Gavin and MC are constantly the main target of somebody’s plans and are under attack. Those poor babies cannot have a second of peace. As if it wasn’t enough, those parties constantly use their bond for their own means. Its Shaw using MC as a bait to provoke Gavin, its Josie telling MC that she is going to kill Gavin, its Gavin’s father using MC to convince Gavin to accept the NW plan. MC and Gavin don’t have any obstacles with regards to their own personalities or choices. They trust each other, stand by each other, understand each other’s perspective and love each other. In this chapter Elex even shows us that they could even take care of a child together for God’s sake. They...just...fit...

Unfortunately once again things unwind to their demise and Gavin, once again, has to leave MC for her sake. Before leaving her, Gavin repairs the gingko leaf bracelet brand new, so that MC can find the reassurance she seeks for on it in his absence and remind her that he will return to her side. He also leaves his jacket behind so that she can still feel his warmth. That’s his promise to her. That’s his reassurance that this is not a goodbye and that he is not ever going to leave without saying goodbye. GOAL 5# True love is selfless, true love never dies and if two souls belong together, then nothing can keep them apart. because true love prevails.

The chapter ends as its started. MC wakes up in her room after being hospitalized for a while, lost in her thoughts and finding reassurance in the gingko leaf bracelet on her wrist. The only difference this time around is that she wouldn’t find Gavin in her living room or hear three knocks on the door and find him standing tall in front of her... for this time around Gavin is gone...

#roll in the tears #this chapter has ruined me for good #I'm telling you #mlqc #Meta #mr love queen's choice #mlqc gavin #mlqc haku #mlqc bai qi #mlqc baek gi #name of faith

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yumeka36 · 4 years

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The Frozen 2 prequel novel, “Dangerous Secrets: The Story of Iduna and Agnarr,” is scheduled to release on November 3rd. A preview excerpt was just released via this article from Insider.com. I pasted it below, with my thoughts following:

---

THE STORM IS GETTING WORSE.

Lightning slashes across an angry black sky, soon followed by the crash of thunder. Waves pound against the ship's hull as I grip the wooden rail with white knuckles. Fierce gusts of wind tug my hair free from its braid, and damp brown strands whip at my face. I don't dare let go to brush them away.

Instead, I keep my eyes on the sea. Looking for her.

In some ways, I've spent my entire life looking for her. And tonight, my journey may finally come to an end. Unfinished. Unfound.

Ahtohallan. Please! I need you!

Perhaps she never existed at all. Perhaps she was simply a myth. A silly song to lull children to sleep. To make them feel safe and secure in a world that's anything but. Perhaps I was a fool to think we could simply go and seek her out. Learn the mother's secrets.

I do know something about a mother's secrets.

Another wave sweeps in, bashing against the ship's hull, sending a spray of icy seawater splashing at my face. I stumble backward, momentarily blinded by the salt stinging my eyes. A strong pair of hands clamps down on my hips; a solid chest at my back keeps me upright.

I turn, already knowing whom I'll find standing tall behind me. The man who has been with me almost my entire life. The man who has made me laugh—and cry—more than anyone else in the world. My husband. The father of my daughters. My enemy. My friend.

My love.

Agnarr, king of Arendelle.

"Come, Iduna," he says, pulling me around to face him. He reaches out, clasping my hands in his. They are as warm and strong as mine are cold and trembling.

I look up, taking in the sharp line of his jaw. The fierceness in his leaf-green eyes. If he's frightened, he's not showing it. "We need to go below deck," he says, shouting to be heard over the furious wind. "Captain's orders. It's not safe up here. One rogue wave could knock you overboard."

I feel a sob rise to my throat. I want to lash out, protest the orders. I'm fine. I can take care of myself. I'm not some silly girl frightened by the elements.

But what I really want to say is, I can't leave. I haven't found her yet.

If I go below, I may never find her.

And if I don't . . .

Elsa. My sweet Elsa . . . My dear Anna . . .

Agnarr gives me a pointed look. I sigh, untangling my hands from his, and begin stumbling toward the stairs that lead to our cabin below, on legs unaccustomed to rough seas. I'm almost there when the ship suddenly pitches hard to the left and I lose my footing, grabbing on to the railing to save myself. I can feel a few of the crew watching me with concern, but I push forward, keeping my head held high. I am a queen, after all. There are certain expectations.

Once below, I push open our cabin door and move inside, letting it bang shut behind me. The captain has given us his cabin for the journey, which I insisted wasn't necessary, but I was overruled. It's the only cabin suited for a fine lady, he protested. Because that's how he sees me.

That's how they all see me now. A fine lady. A perfectly poised Arendellian queen.

But now, at last, Agnarr knows the truth.

I ease myself down on the bed, reaching to grab my knitting needles and my half-finished project. An inappropriate task under the circumstances, but perhaps the only thing that might steady my hands—my pounding heart. I can hear Agnarr push open the door, his strong, solid presence filling the room. But I don't look up. Instead, I start to knit as the ship rocks beneath my

feet. It's dark down below, too dark to really see the delicate yarn, but my hands are sure and true, the repetitive motions as natural and familiar to me as taking in air. Yelana would be proud.

Yelana. Is she still out there, in the Enchanted Forest, still locked in the mist?

Only Ahtohallan knows.

Suddenly, I want to throw my needles across the room. Or collapse on the bed in tears. But I do neither, keeping my attention on the unfinished shawl. Forcing myself to let each stitch lull me into something resembling comfort.

Agnarr pulls out a wooden stool from the captain's desk, sitting down across from me. He picks up a corner of the unfinished shawl, running his large fingers across the tiny stitches. I dare to sneak a peek at him, realizing his eyes have become soft and faraway.

"This is the same pattern," he says slowly. And I know what he means without asking. Because of course it is. I hadn't even realized it when I started, but of course it is.

The same pattern as the shawl my mother knitted me when I was a baby.

The shawl that saved his life.

"It's an old Northuldra pattern," I explain, surprised how easily the words leave my mouth now that the truth is known. "Belonging to my family." I pick up his hand and place it on each symbol in turn. "Earth, fire, water, wind." I pause on the wind symbol, thinking back to

Gale. "It was the Wind Spirit who helped me save your life that day in the forest."

He gives a low whistle. "A wind spirit! If only I'd known," he says, reaching up to brush his thumb gently across my cheek. Even after all these years, his touch still sparks a longing ache deep inside, and it's an imperative, not an option, to drop my needles to return the gesture. To run my fingers against the light stubble of his jaw. "It would have made my stories to the girls so much more interesting."

I smile at this. I can't help it. He has always found a way to help me find sunshine amidst the gloomiest of days. It's strange, though, to realize he knows everything now. After a lifetime overshadowed with secrets, it should feel freeing.

But in truth, it still scares me a little, and I find myself glancing at him when he doesn't know I'm looking. Trying to see, trying to know whether the truth has changed his feelings toward me. Does he resent me for keeping so much from him for so long? Or does he truly understand why I did it? If we survive this night, how will things change between us? Will the truth bring us closer together? Or tear us apart?

Only Ahtohallan knows. . . .

I reach out and take Agnarr's hands in mine, meeting his deep green eyes with my blue ones. I swallow down the lump in my throat that threatens to choke me, and force another smile.

"I will never forget that day," I start with a whisper, not sure he can even hear me over the tempest outside. "That horrible, wonderful day."

"Tell me," he whispers back, leaning in close. I can feel his breath on my lips. Our faces are inches away. "Tell me everything."

I swallow all the words that threaten to jump out of my throat in a hurried rush, throwing myself back on the bed, staring up at the wooden-beamed ceiling. After I breathe calmly, I say, "That might take all night."

He crawls onto the bed, lying down next to me. He reaches out and curls his hand into mine. "For you, I've got forever."

I swallow hard, tears welling in my eyes. I want to protest: we don't have forever. Or even all night. We may not have an hour, judging from the way the wooden beams of the ship are creaking and cracking. But at the same time, it doesn't matter. It's time. It's long past time. He deserves to know everything.

I swipe the tears away, rolling to my side and propping my head up with my elbow. "You have to tell your part, too," I say. "This story isn't only mine, you know."

His arm curls around my waist, his hand settling at the small of my back as he tugs me closer to him. He's so warm. How is it possible that he's still so warm? "I think I can manage that," he says with a small smile. "But you must start. It all began with you, after all."

"All right," I say, resting my head on his chest, his steady heartbeat against my ear. I close my eyes, trying to decide where to begin. So much has happened over the years. But there is that one day. One fateful day that changed the course of both our lives forever.

I open my eyes. "It all starts with the wind," I say. "My dear friend Gale."

As I speak, the words begin to course through me like the forbidding waters roiling outside. And like the waters, I will finally make myself heard.

Agnarr will listen.

He's always been the storyteller in our family. But not this time. Now it's my turn to tell the tale.

---

What stood out to me:

- It seems like Iduna revealed her past to Agnarr around the time they set sail for Ahtohallan, not the night of the accident with Elsa’s magic as Jennifer Lee, and I believe other sources, have implied. Of course, with “spin-off” content like this where the original creators aren’t involved, there’s bound to be inconsistencies. But Jen never stated that the time of Iduna’s reveal was definitely the night of the accident, only that she believes it’s that night though it could have been another night (I think this was part of the podcast interview she did several months ago). So yeah, the exact night it happened isn’t terribly relevant.

- This excerpt also reveals that Iduna revealed some of the truth to Agnarr early on, but then reveals everything in detail during their last moments before the ship goes down. So maybe she did reveal some of it the night of the accident but not all? We’ll see.

- Iduna knew Yelena. That makes sense considering Yelena’s age and the importance she seems to have in the Northuldra tribe.

- Iduna uses feminine pronouns for Ahtohallan, reinforcing the theory in my Frozen 2 book that Ahtohallan was viewed as a goddess of sorts in Northuldra culture

- Iduna also calls the wind spirit “Gale.” Obviously we all thought that was the name Olaf gave her but apparently Iduna did as well. Coincidence?

- The book is written in first-person perspective from Iduna’s point of view, unlike the previous adult-aimed Frozen books “A Frozen Heart” and “Forest of Shadows” which are written in second/third-person.

- Iduna was in the process of knitting another scarf while on the ship. I wonder why.

- The cover art for the book changed slightly from the original version, with the main image in the center being of Iduna and Agnarr when they’re younger instead of when they’re king and queen.

- I’m curious as to what kind of order the book will present the events of the timeline. Obviously this excerpt is from the end of Iduna and Agnarr’s lives, so will it start here and show everything else via flashbacks? Seems weird they’d choose the end of the book for this preview so my guess is that things will be revealed out of order.

#frozen 2 #frozen #disney frozen #frozen2 #queen iduna #agnarr

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ana-jasso-maximoff · 4 years

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DANGEROUS SECRETS.

"THE STORM IS GETTING WORSE."

Instead, I keep my eyes on the sea. Looking for her.

In some ways, I've spent my entire life looking for her. And tonight, my journey may finally come to an end. Unfinished. Unfound.

Ahtohallan. Please! I need you!

I do know something about a mother's secrets.

My love.

Agnarr, king of Arendelle.

"Come, Iduna," he says, pulling me around to face him. He reaches out, clasping my hands in his. They are as warm and strong as mine are cold and trembling.

I feel a sob rise to my throat. I want to lash out, protest the orders. I'm fine. I can take care of myself. I'm not some silly girl frightened by the elements.

But what I really want to say is, I can't leave. I haven't found her yet.

If I go below, I may never find her.

And if I don't . . .

Elsa. My sweet Elsa . . . My dear Anna . . .

That's how they all see me now. A fine lady. A perfectly poised Arendellian queen.

But now, at last, Agnarr knows the truth.

feet. It's dark down below, too dark to really see the delicate yarn, but my hands are sure and true, the repetitive motions as natural and familiar to me as taking in air. Yelana would be proud.

Yelana. Is she still out there, in the Enchanted Forest, still locked in the mist?

Only Ahtohallan knows.

"This is the same pattern," he says slowly. And I know what he means without asking. Because of course it is. I hadn't even realized it when I started, but of course it is.

The same pattern as the shawl my mother knitted me when I was a baby.

The shawl that saved his life.

Gale. "It was the Wind Spirit who helped me save your life that day in the forest."

Only Ahtohallan knows. . . .

I reach out and take Agnarr's hands in mine, meeting his deep green eyes with my blue ones. I swallow down the lump in my throat that threatens to choke me, and force another smile.

"I will never forget that day," I start with a whisper, not sure he can even hear me over the tempest outside. "That horrible, wonderful day."

"Tell me," he whispers back, leaning in close. I can feel his breath on my lips. Our faces are inches away. "Tell me everything."

He crawls onto the bed, lying down next to me. He reaches out and curls his hand into mine. "For you, I've got forever."

I swipe the tears away, rolling to my side and propping my head up with my elbow. "You have to tell your part, too," I say. "This story isn't only mine, you know."

I open my eyes. "It all starts with the wind," I say. "My dear friend Gale."

As I speak, the words begin to course through me like the forbidding waters roiling outside. And like the waters, I will finally make myself heard.

Agnarr will listen.

He's always been the storyteller in our family. But not this time. Now it's my turn to tell the tale.

#frozen 2 #agduna #frozen #queen iduna #agnar and iduna #king agnar #Dangerous Secrets #frozen books #frozenii #frozen2spoilers #frozen2

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

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Between Wolves & Doves; Chapter Seven, Savagery.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: !!! Violent thoughts in this chap !!! Kylo’s getting somewhat, territorial. Shall we say-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

When he came to her that night, her tears of grief were still drying on her cheeks. Catching in the fires light, like ribbons of sparkling amber.

If he had a soul, it would be crumbling in despair for glimpsing the sight of her like this.

“Oh, My little dove.” He sighs, weary and heart sore for her. She didn’t even have anyone to cry to or to embrace in her sadness. She always had to cry alone.

Tears staining onto the clasping embroidery of her laced pillow. Her supple form curled up into a fitful tense shape on the bed. Her toed off brown boots are strewn on the floor by the end of the bed.

Concern weights down the heavy lentil of his stern brow as he rounds the end of her bed to come closer. His big hand cupping the polished twists of the wood pillar of the mahogany frame. He steps over her boots. Coming to tower over where she rests on the mattress.

She’s still wearing her gown. The ash grey wool she wore earlier today. Her hair is still bound. Though it’s strictness is softened by wisps that have worked their way loose. Spilling over her cheeks and straying across the pillow. Like dark twisted roots.

She won’t wake. She never does. He sets himself carefully on the bed. Feels it give and creak beneath his weight. He watches her rest. Brings his hand up to stroke a thumb across the soft cushion of her damp cheek. Wet and salt clings to his skin.

He whispers to her. “I felt it. I felt your sadness. I felt it reach out to me. Calling to me.”

He leans down and kisses the tear away. When he does, when he tastes that sadness on his lips - a shatter of emotion and memory cracks through him. Like thunder splintering and charring an old oak. He is struck by it. Well and truly.

He can hear her mothers snarls, feel the crush of guilt and righteous anger drowning his sweet little dove. Being told she must obey to her family expectations. Start making them proud. Start thinking of marriage.

He sighs deeply as he pulls away. He didn’t even register the pretty floral of her skin he so loves. Not tonight.

Tonight, he is not a baying monster seeking for blood. He is a suitor who has deeply concerned, rushed to her side as he felt the worst woes of his lover.

He felt her despair. Her dying hope. He felt the waning happiness of their day wither. Like a dried flower hardening up in the frost or the heat. Seizing up it’s bright petals. Or shedding them. He’s felt how her family’s expectations strip her bare and leave her shredded and bruised.

Here, he just feels his jaw grit at the rage of it all. He grows wilder with anger. Can feel the black of it, thick like rotten honey, bleeding flushing into his veins.

“I wonder, do you feel me too? Are you so struck by all the things I perceive?” He asks to her. Not intending at all for his questions to be answered.

Their bond is strong - this cannot be denied. It’s tug engulfed them both from the second their eyes met. That blazing dazzling storm that took his breath away. The tempest of her influence quakes inside his chest.

Yet this...fondness, for her. A mere mortal. A simple, human girl. It is not so perishable. To look upon the last love and bond he has felt in his life, it seems so dangerously frail in comparison. Adoring her is like cherishing a birds eggshell. Like a faint ember glowing, about to extinguish. Yearning and waiting to be made bright.

Humans. All of them are so fleeting. So quick to bud and even quicker to fade. Like a dying little spark. Extinguished before it barely even thrives.

He can feel this spirit. This entwining of their souls. This dense entanglement of emotion. Can sense how it hungers to grow. Like him; it’s a bloodthirsty beast. Demands heart and cartilage and inky black ichor of blood to sustain it.

His yearning is more than he ever thought. And he knows how she wants it desperately also. Wants him. Their feelings have found symmetry in each other. This is the first time a woman has been more to him than a collection of veins to drink off.

“I confess; I care not if you can sense me yet. Because I sensed you the minute I saw you, Iris Ashton. And now I feel how trapped you are.” He explains softly.

“Little Dove. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to see you freed.” He promises.

He’s stroking her hair back off her face. Trying to soothe away the crinkling frown in her brow. The one that spoke highly of her turmoil.

“I would rip those pathetic beings you call relatives to pieces for making you suffer like this. I wouldn’t even drink them. Dove. I’d kill purely for the pleasure and the sport of it.” He pledges.

Somewhere in his mind, faintly, upon a distant echo of an echo, he can hear his makers voice. He can hear Draegan calling him a savage, chiding him for those words. He always was the one between the two, blessed with more leniency.

“Your mother is desperately trying to keep us apart. It will not be so. I will not stand for it.” He confesses.

“I will not.” He makes plain. Shakes his head. His words are quiet venom with the resolute strength of iron, but he’s softly caressing her cheek. Taking away all the tears and salty sadness with his fingertips.

“I have a foul temper and when people deny me the things I want. They will inevitably lose.” He growls.

He will kill. Maim. Slaughter and hunt without any whiff of so called or feared consequences. He’s a vampire. He’s above emotion. He does not subscribe to petty human clemency. There is no point in mercy being instilled in such savage beasts, after all. It would wither and die in the face of all the foul things he’s committed. The gore. The pain. The massacres. The bloodlust.

“I came tonight because you cried out for me. You cloud up every moment in my head. You live behind my closed eyelids when I rest at night...” He expresses.

He reaches his hand to cover her collarbone. Very close to the space over her heart. Warm skin soothes his icy palm. It’s been so long since he felt the flurry and flush of warmth. He can feel the quivering muscle tremble and tick under her skin. Gushes and guides her blood. The rattle of it pulses and echos through her vulnerable bones.

The fragility of her tiny timpani heart, beating away her time.

“And now your body beats for me. Each pump of your heart I can hear; and it sounds like it’s calling out my name. And I will always answer to it.” He promises. “I cannot ignore it, even should I wish too.”

He cannot fathom the enormity of this strangle hold she has across him. He can only nurture it’s budding into being. He will help blossom and thrive, whatever this may be.

He quirks a slight tip of a smile. It breaks the stoic nature of his scowl hardened face. Like strong waves being dashed on the rocks. It yielded.

“When I think back upon you sitting astride Kana today, it makes me smile. I had not thought you to be such a wild creature so ready to dash the rules.” He says in mirth.

He’d only looked at her and seen the etiquette she adheres too. He was pleasantly surprised to find she was no shrinking violet. He’s enamoured with uncovering more such stubborn wilderness within her.

“How glad I am for it. That little spit of fiery spirit that not even your foul mother can hope to tame. I’ve always been so enamoured with wild things.” He smiles.

He rubs his thumb across her forehead. His own brow creases when he feels the tremble and agony of her aching head. The raw sting of her red eyes. He rubs until that grey nimbus of her pain passes away. Like smoke on the gentle breeze. He soothes it away.

He is sure to put vastly happier thoughts into her head. Plants them there like seeds ready to sprout. He helps her recall every smile they’ve shared. Every ghost of a touch. Every look of their eyes clashing that sent rattles of desire wracking down her spine. His too, though she had no clue as to the potency of her charms.

No clue whatsoever- it’s one of his favourite things about her. Here is a power she doesn’t even know she wields. He will gladly instruct her to see it used.

He lets her see them this afternoon. Riding side by side in the frosty sunshine. Stroking the horses in their stalls. The way he caught her and reeled her in when she slipped off Kana’s back. He lets that warm happiness flow through her like golden ambrosia. The sweet honey nectar of happiness they share together.

He will have more. He will make it so.

He feels how her body is growing colder. He twists around and sees the fire in her hearth is crumbling low. Barely sustained. He crosses and sees to it. Stokes it with the iron poker and piles on more logs to see her kept warm.

Silently he walks back to the bed, to her side. Pulls up the fluffy eiderdown over her where it lay crumpled at her feet. The feathery down of it rumples and crushes and he tucks it around her prone body. Her human well-being, hangs loosely by a fine thread compared to his stronger senses.

He exhaled an amused sound to himself. “And they say I am the creature who bears no soul.” He speaks in detriment to his caring touches.

But so long as he is near, he will not see her suffer. From cold. From sadness. From anything that may ail her.

He has seen worse things than his own kind being blights upon humans. He’s witnessed plagues, wars, outbreaks of diseases too foul to name. The awful crippling frailty of suffering a human existence.

He places his hand on her elbow, atop the covers he shrouded her in. Her dreams eased by his influence. Her strains and stresses plucked away by his hands. He could do more than merely enchant her senses. He could alter them. Make her witness things if he wished to.

“How is it a creature like me can find such solace in even being near you.” He asks gently. Big fingertips of his grooming through her hair. Feeling the spun-bronze soft of it combing through his fingers.

He may never have an answer to that musing. An eternal query for him to ponder over through his ages. All he knows, is that he won’t be kept apart from her. Not for anyone’s wishes.

He stays until a cresting red-gold dawn. Blood and gold copper coins, spill slanted across the sky. The birds outside in Westwell’s meagre garden begin their song to herald to the new day.

He leaves her. Parts with a kiss to her cheek and before he slips from her sight and off into that blaze of a dawn, he leaves his initialled kerchief crumpled up in her hand.

The thought as to her confusion of how it got there, will make him smile. Now she has a token of him. That happy thought keeps him smug in temper, and buoyant for the whole day. He hopes it will jab at her acerbic mother.

Should teach her that no one stands in Lord Ren’s path. And even fewer live to tell the tale of having done so.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Iris really did applaud her mothers cruel sense of efficiency. Not but the next day, and Sergeant Armitage Hux and Mrs Hux call at Westwell to take tea.

As they alight from their carriage, Iris is sat at the window armchair. Watching their newcomers. A flash of brilliant red catches her eye, stark in the icy landscape of the frosted green and creamy cotswold stone gravel drive.

He wore his full ceremonial uniform under his black cape. Wool coat the shade of split veins. On his head, covering the copper of his short hair, sits a cocked half moon army hat. Fluffy red and white plumage darts up, sprouting from one side. Blood spattered on snowy doves feathers. The ultimate homage to war.

He looks terribly neat and well groomed. Meticulously so. Coat brushed. His cape is spotless. His white breeches are about as pristine as the snow that fell around the estate last night. His black boots gleam. Freshly polished and waxed. Iris bites her tongue when she sees he’s fully dressed for battle. Even his gold rapier sword hangs at his side. Bumping against his hip.

Hux turns and helps his mother down from the carriage. She is a stout woman of late age, with greying hair and a face that always looks pinched. Her pale face hidden in her frilly bonnet. A ruffled frill secured around her neck. A chemisette collar of rippled muslin, peaking in cresting white waves. Tied in a bow around her neck. Brushing under her chin. Collar starched and stiff. Holding her chin precariously high. Incredibly precocious.

Then again, the woman did always adore and admire looking down upon people. Haughtily peering down on her lessers.

Much of her dress is covered by her deep plum pelisse. She has lilac gloves on and is pinching her skirts up. Afraid of the mud. Sniffing in disdain at muddying her rose pink and mauve half boots with it. Iris shuts her book with a harsh snap. A sigh leaves her lips.

She sets her book aside. Mother appears in the parlour. Lifts up the arched curtain to better glimpse at their guests. She turns a casting eye over Iris’s dress.

“Your skirts are wrinkled and your hair is loose at the back. Fix it.” She instructs snappily with quick hurrying. Before turning back to seat herself elegantly on the settee opposite.

Their parlour was not quite the finest room in Britain. But it was cosy. Heavy blue velvet drapes line the windows with gold tassels trimmed on their edges. There is upholstered walnut settees and arm chairs with white and pink rosebud pattern on the seats.

The fire is lit and roaring amber in the austere grey of the stone hearth surround. Mother arranged an ostentatious vase of tall spilling blooms on the French end table across the room, by the door. Perfuming the air with violets and bluebells. Sugared fruit of exotic variety lay in the only silver bowl they have in the house. Polished especially. Desperate to show off their finery.

Mother is fussing with the crocheted lace doily on the table. Tugging it straight. Setting her grey satin skirts to fold nicely and neat around her knees. Tugging on her finest shawl around her shoulders. Hissing at Iris to set her legs straight. For she always sat most uncommonly. With one knee folded under the other.

Iris is in the upholstered linen armchair opposite to the settee. In the chair has seen better years. A twin set. They creak and crack under her weight. But it’s always done that ever since she was a child. It’s her favourite spot. The light is adequate for reading. Until Posy or Flora come marching in and clamour and demand the chair for they have to fix up their bonnets for church on Sunday. Heaven forfend they are seen out in the same bonnet twice.

Luckily today they preen and fuss in the parlour mirror before the housekeeper shows their guests into the front parlour. Posy is in a duck egg blue with a green ribbon at her waist. Flora is almost matching in a cotton white with a peony pink ribbon. They preen a moment longer until the door handle cracks and twists across the room. The two littlest Ashton’s dart quickly to take their places. Squeaking with giddy excitement. Plonking artlessly onto the furniture.

Iris’s mother frowns at her eldest daughters dour smile. She’d tugged her out of bed nearly at dawn this morning. Ordered her up. To bathe and wash and then dress her hair for Hux’s call.

Laced her tight into stays and her whisper-blue silk dress. Barely blue. Like a sky just turning at twilight. It had three quarter sleeves and handsome train. It it showed off the prettiness of her neck and shoulders. Especially when she wore her pearl sapphire earrings. They sparkle all across her neck.

She puts down her book on the end table. And looks up into the parlour doorway as Mrs Hux enters, preceding her son. Their stout almost-elderly matron of a housekeeper, Simpson, opens the door to them and curtseys. Announcing them. “Maratella Hux and Sergeant Hux. If you please, Ma’am.”

Maratella glides in first. Still with her parasol hooked upon the crook of her arm. She snaps her fingers at Simpson to take it and her bonnet.

“I would have disrobed more in the hall. But your entryway is most drafty and I do so fear getting dust on my bonnet. For it will never be gotten out easy in all this fine lace.” Simpson takes her bonnet and her parasol off her. She curtseys to Caroline.

“Mrs Ashton. You do keep such a snug parlour.” And then she turns and offhandedly stresses Posy, Flora and Iris. The whole bouquet. As if suddenly surprised they’re all here. “Oh. And I dare say such a pretty flock of gels.” She compliments.

“You remember my youngest’s. Posy and Flora. And of course, Iris. My eldest.”

Hux nods and lays particular care in Iris’s intended direction. He turns back to Mrs Ashton.

“I feel I must ride into town to immediately fetch the constable. Ma’am. You have been charged with a criminally beautiful set of daughters. Mrs Ashton.” Hux flatters. With an easy charm of a smile.

Two thirds of the Ashton bouquet giggle wildly, enamoured with the praise. The remaining third bites her tongue to guard it. To keep from rolling her eyes.

“You are very good, Sir. Please. Do come, be seated. I have rung for tea.” Mrs Ashton floats delicately to retake her seat. Mrs Hux daintily comports herself next to her friend.

Armitage remains stood. Arms tugged behind. Sword clanging his belt where he stands with a jaunt to one hip one leg kicked out.

“How are you? My dear Mrs Ashton...” Maratella greets. Taking Caroline’s hands into her own. She wore spotless calfskin gloves. Before she unbuttons the pearl fastenings and makes a show of peeling the expensive things off her tubby hands. Delicately pinching each fingertip and caressing the thing off her hand like she was doing it for exaggerated show. She wasn’t. She was merely acting elegantly as she thought she must.

“I am in good health. I thank you Mrs Hux.” She answers. “Your Armitage looks extremely well. London air must agree with you, Sir?” Mother simpers.

“It did serve me most splendidly. Ma’am. But I am more than pleased to be home. And most thankful for your invitation.” He bows politely and his sea foam green eyes flicker over to find Iris. She smiles meagrely at him, averts her gaze.

He cuts the figure of a tall man standing there, behind his short mother with his hands crossed precisely behind his back. Trying to make his lean chest look impressive with all his gleaming medals and polished gold buttons resting stitched to their black braiding wool patches. Soot. Gold. And blood. All in one uniform.

Armitage Hux had missed the main war of late. The Napoleonic wars which happened of 1815, just this last year gone. Iris wondered if Hux really ever equated the finery of such a uniform, with real true war.

Here he is. Trussed up like a clockwork toy-soldier. With his boots shining and his composure spotless. He’s a young man who has not seen the full horror of war. Iris can’t exactly boast of knowing any more than he. But his uniform spoke of such hope. Time will tell if he can seize the bravery needed to march onto a battlefield.

“Iris looks exceedingly well. Do you not think so Armitage?” His mother urges.

“Indeed she does. Most handsome.” Hux says to the matronly mama’s. But he’s smiling right at her. He crosses the few short steps to the unoccupied twin chair where she’s sat by the window. Gracefully deposits himself into the chair.

Iris takes a subtle breath before she turns towards him. Sat demurely with her hands clasped on her knees and her back straight. When all she really wants to do is lounge. And slouch. And do anything to put him off the idea of marriage.

She was doomed to its sentence. She’d have rather sat here today and stuck pins in her eyes. Rather than conform to conversations about the weather, the local gossip, the tea or the snow outside. When all their mothers were really trying to arrange, was, when it boiled down to it? A forced mating ritual between the country gentry.

The way Mama and Mrs Hux are peering at them from their settee, is like they can already envisage the wedding clothes. And the names for the Hux babe they want to see, soiling in its cloth, and squalling loudly it’s bassinet.

Iris is sick to death of all this match making- but. She is the eldest Miss Ashton. She persists. When all she wants is to flee the room screaming.

“How did you find London this time of year? Must be miserably cold and busy.” Iris seeks.

“Yes. It was rather. Lucky my visit didn’t extend for too long. I am not so enamoured of city living. The society may be fine and resplendent. I did not suffer for a dinner invite the whole time I was in town. But the lifestyle suits me very ill. I much prefer my time spent back here at Walford.” He tells.

“And how is your regiment?” She enquires. He answers. They talk about his militia training. His fellow officers. His sword. His commission. They just lapse to the weather. When the door handle creaks again and in comes their procession of maids with the tea and cake.

Assam tea with a side of Cooks buttery baked ginger biscuits. Seed cake, and finger sandwiches. Made of fluffy pillow soft white bread. Filled with sliced tongue, or ham, with cornichon or yellow piccalilli.

Cook has even made her violet macarons. Gorgeous silky little round cakes of smooth, bright purple. Wedged either side of cloying sweet ganache. Almonds and sugar and all things made sweet with violet essence.

Iris knew mother must’ve gone through a fair amount of their family budget for such an indulgent French fancy. Sugar and eggs and coconut didn’t come cheap. Of course she would pour every hope and penny farthing they had spare into this venture. Anything to catch a suitor.

Caroline pours, and Julia hands around the cups. Leaves a macaron perched on Iris’s saucer. Waggles her brows at Iris, poking with good natured chiding fun for Hux, who was sat opposite her. Looking most keen.

Iris sips her tea from her blue and white spode cup and pays their silly maid no mind. Just because they both flutter eyes at anything of Male born, with nice thighs framed by their breeches.

He’s a soldier too? The maids will state that every romantic girl must get her heart broke by a soldier, just the once.

Hux sets his tea on the end table between them. Leaning a tad closer to initiate more intimate conversation.

“Do forgive my speaking bluntly, Miss Ashton. But I believe it is brightening up. Would you care to take a turn on the lawn with me?” He seeks. They had finished their tea. After all. And she must be polite.

“I’d be delighted to. Sergeant Hux.” She accepts. She stands and deposits her empty teacup down. He tells their Mothers of their plan. He sees Iris into the cold foyer and they pull on their coats. She wished she could find something repulsive in him. But really, he is a gentleman. He holds the door. Helps her into her pelisse. He’s not a horrible suitor. Maybe if he was she could hate him more keenly.

She wished she could be repulsed by his every action and snobbery. But he is, genial. He smiles warmly at her.

He takes her arm when they get outside. They walk along the drive in companionable, yet slightly awkward silence. Iris just knows their mothers will be fussing like clucking hens at the parlour window watching them. Planning a wedding for the spring after a suitably long engagement. Posy and Flora will be marvelling at every barest touch they share.

‘Did you see how he took your arm?’ Or ‘How he doted upon you... I should so like for a man to hold a door like that for me.’

Hux breaks the silence. They walk arm-in-arm around the curvature of the frozen pond.

“I know men aren’t supposed to be appraised of such matters. Miss Ashton. And if you’ll forgive me, I shall speak plainly-“ He declares to her.

He brings them to a stop. Ten to rly reaches out. His gloved fingers take her hand. She admires it. The plumage on his hat is battered in the wild wind. The only sounds she can hear is her bonnet ribbons fluttering and snapping on the wind. The birdsong chipping sweetly at her ears. The terrified drum of her heart.

“I came here today with the express purpose and intention of paying court to you, Iris.” He tells her. A hopeful smile on his lips.

His eyes crinkle at the corners with hope. His stark inky cape flaps on the breeze. She smells wool and boot polish. Stuck on the frosty landscape that glittered in his eyes.

Her chest breaks. Crushing in on itself.

She looks up into his face. The sun kissed gold upon her icy-white cheeks. Red tinted from the cold breeze. She swallows. Tipping her head slightly back so she can see his face past the woven peak of her bonnet.

Her mouth gapes and she looks down where he’s holding her hand- and it doesn’t feel right.

She feels like she wants to burst. Needles of hot and ice cold stab at her ribs like ferocious ten thousand little knives. She wants to be sick or run away. This isn’t the pair of hands that should be holding hers.

Sergeant Hux is terribly nice. Courteous and well bred. And more wealthy than her. But- but he’s not...

Lord Ren’s face strikes at her mind with so much power. She almost loses her breath. And her footing. She regains her composure. Even though it feels like something just yanked up inside her chest and tore away her lungs from where they are joined to her throat.

She plasters on a false meek smile.

“I see...” She remarks. Anything more witty or feeling was beyond her. She felt like soon, she’d fade into the air, like smoke. Just drift away.

“I know it is the especial wish of your mother, aswell as mine, that we are to consider each other as potential spouses. And I would very much- I should very much like to spend more time with you, if you’ve no objection?” He asks. Still clasping her hand.

“You are kind sir...” She stutters breath around the words. “Your attentions would be most welcome.” She lies.

She feels rotten.

“I know we know a little of each other. I believe there is some fondness between us. That could grow into respect, and, and possibly- one day, maybe more than that.” He approaches cautiously.

She nods. “You speak very bluntly of such matters. Sergeant Hux.” She says. He speaks as if they are already truths, come into fruition.

“I merely speak what is present. Miss Ashton. My- words are not finely crafted or driven by passion. They do not fall prettily. I am no astounding orator. Nor poet. But I do so believe that we might have a chance of making each other passably happy.” He declares once again.

“You shall never want for anything should we marry. You’d be a Sergeants wife and all that is offered it it’s income. I would treat you dearly, and- admire you as any husband should whilst you see to raising our offspring. These are, after all, matters that fall rightly to women.” He adds.

“Yes, indeed.” She guards her tongue before it becomes uncivil.

“We are invited to the Elton’s musicale, two nights forth. Thursday next. Would you do me the honour of your hand in the invite?” He seeks.

“Well. I-“ she swallows the sticky grey lump in her throat. How she’d love to be selfish and refuse. Her eyes still rimmed and raw from crying over all this last night. Heart sore. A great crack splintering through the middle of it like ancient rusted clay pottery. Her heart so badly wants anything- something more. Someone else.

She can’t do it. Mother would have her crucified. She wants her sisters to have a better comfort in life than what she’s had to suffer with being the family puppet. She wants her father to have new clothes and not have to worry. She wants to see Westwell safe from the bailiffs.

“I should be thrilled to attend.” She smiles. Her shattered heart crumbles that little bit more. Morphs into a wet mush of clay. Drowned by disappointment.

This wasn’t for her benefit- it’s for everyone else’s. And that was no reason to marry. She believes first and foremost in living for herself. Iris so badly wants to live for herself. To be her own person. She does not have that luxury and it’s suffocating.

She agreed because it was polite. Because he was a genial man and she didn’t wish him upset when he’s done nothing wrong, but let himself be manoeuvred into matrimony by his mother.

She agreed. For her sisters. For her father. Definitely not for her mother though. She doesn’t deserve even an ounce of her thoughts or considerations.

She agrees, even though all of Hampshire society knew that the musical performed by the Elton’s made all the local dogs howl. Even though several ‘accomplished’ young ladies of the ton, played their instruments so ill, everyone swore they could hear the thud of the long deceased composer banging their skull in lamentation and sheer agony on the lid of their coffin.

Even though she’ll be sat next to a man who has promised only to love her dearly. He is a nice man. That is simply it. She feels unworthy and ignorant. She doesn’t want the things she’s supposed too.

She’s overwhelmed. Her head is spinning, and her mouth as sticky dry as a chasm of sand. They’re not even courting properly, or engaged and she wants to pick up her skirts and flee across the horizon. She wants to run. To breathe. To be free from this nice courtesy that she doesn’t want.

She wants more out of her life than that of being a broodmare of a sergeants wife. The expectations don’t stop the day she says ‘I do.’ The fetid things will live on and on. Until she becomes the perfect bride. Then the most perfect housekeeper slash wife. Then a doting mother to a child she’s sure she doesn’t want. Fathered by a man who loves her with lukewarm and polite affection.

Can a soul really be satisfied by such a light caress of passion?

Hers is begging and screaming for more. She’s read in books about exotic cities and lands. Blue blue, so very blue seas and oceans, vaster than her comprehension. Wide wide skies filled with sunsets she could only dream of glimpsing at.

She’s read of snowy mountains and thick pine woodland. Air full of sap and snow. Of sunny cities entirely made out of blue bricks in Morocco. Or ones in Asia painted the entire street rosebud pink just for one visiting dignitary.

She’s heard teasing dribbles of exotic accents and tastes and cultures. She wants to see the bursting heated streets lined with saccharine Mango trees in India. Perfume of it in the air, of spices and sweetness. Wants to see the terracotta catholic loud renaissance of Florence. She wanted to see Castles and chateaus and forts and grand ballrooms. And American railways across the plains of the wild west and-

She’ll never have any of those things. Not a one. Her future was written and decided. And it is appearing bleak.

She thirsts and wants things she’ll never see. Such opulence in the world out there. And instead? She’ll be manacled to a husband and the children and the stove in this tiny savage spit of a village. Until old age and death comes to take her away. Return her to the heat and rot of earth and maggots to help fade her to nothing. Until all that remains of her, is dirty bones and her loved one’s scraps of memories.

Hux smiles. Brings her hand up to lay a gentle kiss upon her glove. “I anticipate it eagerly.” He says. She offers a wobbly smile that she tries to make stand strong.

She can feel eyes stabbing into her back - most likely from the direction of the parlour window. Mama and Mrs Hux stood at the parlour’s front facing windows. Appraising their fine match.

But there’s something else- something that raises the hairs on the back of her neck. Something altogether much more unwholesome. She feels a cold chill burst and slither up her spine. Horribly slow.

Hux has taken her palm to place it in his elbow once again. And they wander now around the rest of the pond. He remarks how beautiful the great spreading horse chestnut tree must be in spring. Iris smiles her agreement.

Peering around. Everywhere in her garden she looked, all was empty. She can’t see their gardener, Higgins, trimming verges or shrubbery. She looks between the copses of the vast spread of trees that shield her view, past the shrubs and the neat hedges. There was nothing. They were the only two people outside the house, out here.

So why does Iris feel as if they aren’t?

Her eyes catch on the bare mulberry tree, the sprawling trunk is bare and black. Like dead curled up spiders legs. Swaying in the breeze.

A black shape sits in that tree. A raven or a jackdaw bird possibly. Onyx black. Curling feet and a sharp inky beak. Fixated its beady glittering honey-black eyes on the both of them. Not moving an inch. Hunched and peering down over them.

Iris looks at it for a long moment. Watches the wind ruffling it’s feathers. It stays fixing its look on her. And it doesn’t move. Not scared. Not at all intimidated by her presence.

Hux jolts her out of her gawping at an unsuspecting bird. It gives a scratchy caw of a call, and spreads its flapping great wings. Soars up into the icy soft of the pearl sky and soars away over the house.

“Miss Ashton?” Hux asks again. A tad louder to capture her attention.

“Forgive me. Lost in my thoughts...” She laughs explains in mirth, turns back and smiles to him. He smiles awkwardly and ducks his head. Discusses the weather with her once again.

They head back into the house for more tea. Caroline gives Iris such a sickly smile when they come back into the room.

Hux announces to Mrs Ashton that he should like to pay call to Iris and escort her to the Musicale next week. Mrs Ashton accepts delightedly.

Mrs Hux adds onto that enjoyment. “Why, we should get a party together. Such a merry gathering! The Ashton’s and the Hux’s shall all attend. You know we have two carriages, Mrs Ashton. Hux may escort all your lovely daughters. And you and Mr Ashton May ride with me and Brendol.” She organised with a giddy grin. Tapping her companions knee.

Iris stands there next to Hux. Feeling very much as if her life is being lived for her. She has no choice in the matter. She is chattel.

Thankfully, after arranging the outing. Maratella and Hux take their leave. They are going on into Pembleton for a general perusal. And Hux needs more boot polish. And she is in desperate need of new ribbons for her hat. Iris shrewdly eyes the hefty bonnet on the woman’s head, groaning under the weight of lace and ribbons and muslin.

Hux kisses her hand again. Bows to her before he leaves. Iris swallows nervously. But doesn’t let her expression betray it. Flora and Posy giggle and whisper to each other. Flourishing into gossip as he leaves the room.

Iris stands looking at the door for a second after it’s shut. Mother sees them off to the front door.

Iris waits to hear the latch on the front door go. When she does she strides quickly for the parlour door, she yanks it open and tears across the foyer and upstairs. Her feet loudly slap each step as she holds her skirts bunched in her fingers.

When she gets to her room she throws the door open with such ferocity the door handle smacks loudly to the wall. She starts getting at the fastenings of her dress. Unloops them and manages to get down to her chemise and her stays. She throws the fine dress away to crumple to her bed. It balloons on the air and floats gently down. Mourning the loss of being worn.

She is at her wardrobe, ruffling through angrily. She’s so breathless. Her lungs are not getting air. Why can’t she breathe? Her mind is racing a million miles a minute. She’s sweaty and clammy and her temples are pounding straining pulsing. Every heartbeat hurts her head. Throat clawing shut.

She won’t cry. She wilfully clamps her teeth shut-she won’t.

She skips herself into her simple beige muslin dress. And shoved her arms through the old wool blue pelisse. Stabs her feet into her boots. Heads back downstairs with her scarf to hand. Every nerve balances on the precise of a knifes edge.

She gets to the front door when her mother appears, peering into the hallway from the parlour doorway. “Precisely where do you think you’re going?” She seeks. Frowning. Face pulled into a scowl.

“I’ve done my duty for today surely. Have I not? What more do you want from me. I’m done parading myself like a witless idiot. I need a walk and some air.” She offers curtly. Slipping out the front door.

Slamming it shut behind her before her mothers next shrill words pierce her ears. No doubt cursing her daughter for daring to have such an insulting commodity as a functioning brain.

She walks quick. Off up the front drive. Let’s the sting of cold rip at her eyes and her cheeks. Taking deep dragging breaths. It feels like she’d swallowed an entire ream of dressmakers pins. Stabbing and squeezing more pain into her.

She puffs and pants and finally feels like she’s gained some breathing space. Coming into the woods near Westwell and shuts her eyes and lets the sounds soothe her frayed self.

The wood pigeons. A cuckoo’s call. The hiss of leaves scratching against their branches in the wind. High above. The crunch of her boots on twigs and frosted leaves mushed underfoot.

The tactile scratch of her gloves hands scraping across the rough bark of trees around her. She leans back against one of them. Looks up at it’s dead brown leaves. Elm tree.

It’s nice to let something sturdy take her weight for once. She doesn’t often have that luxury.

She regains control of her senses. Of her ragged breath and thumping heart. The cold wind wraps around her snugly. Letting her envelope herself in this silence. Breath escapes silver and wispy from her lips.

A twig snaps far off in the tree’s-

Her eyes shoot open. Scanning all around. Sickly bile rising to the back of her throat. She steps away from the elm tree and lets her eyes flicker all around the woodland. Over the ash brown of the trees and the brush of golden leaves mingled with crystals of frost on the ground.

She turns her head around and then loses her breath. Except this time, it is not of her own making.

There is a dark shape looming out of the trees. A big shape. A monstrous shape. A big meaty tangle of black-grey smudged fur. Pointed ears, a long snout. Eyes standing stark. Eyes that are more golden than a tuscan sun.

A wolf.

She watches as this beast assesses her from afar. Gently picking its paws over the foliage and mess of brittle twigs and mud on the wood floor. It’s paws were as big as dinner plates. It’s not baring it’s teeth at her. She imagines those teeth are bigger and sharper than most silver daggers or pocket knives.

It’s ears are swivelled in her direction. Eyes fixed on her too.

She stays still. Frozen to the spot she’s rooted too. Trying not to tremble in fear as tears, hot and molten silver, fill stinging at her eyes. She shivers with the ache of staying so still. Not daring to move one muscle.

This is the beast that’s been attacking the soused farmhands. The one that’s been hunting for blood. She doesn’t quite appreciate how much of a true statement that is.

When it’s about a foot away from her- it suddenly stops. Raises its lowered head. She sees the long line of its shaggy neck. Fur shining the shade of matte coal. It regards her with casual concern. It’s not growling. Or stalking her every move.

She stops holding such tension in her body. She’s used to the wolf hounds they have on the farm. Shaggy slobbering lumbering dogs who go insane for the dried liver, and fresh bones cook saves for them when she had a haunch of pork.

She remembers how their dogs go apoplectic for them. Gnawing at the fresh gummy blood and meat on those bones. She swallows at the not so appropriate visual of bloodied bones, right at this second. When she could have her throat ripped open by this savage wolf.

She watches as it comes closer by two steps from those big lethal paws. Then it sits.

She swallows. The way she knows canines. Sitting is not a sign of a rabid beast baying for blood.

“You know, you shouldn’t be afraid.” Lord Ren’s voice ricochets through her head. Like a distant echo. Smoke on the air. Did she imagine it, or recall it?

What else was it he had said? She can vaguely recall. “Wolves are not just blood thirsty beasts. They are intelligent and sociable animals. They are more likely to be spooked by a human than want to kill them.”

So she does the only thing she can think of. Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe she’s putting herself in greater danger? But the wolf’s tranquility makes her brave.

She makes herself look less like a threat. Slowly sinks to a crouch, joining it. Her knees stab into the frosty ground as she sinks down. Coming eye to eye with the creature.

So close now she can see the various flecks of honey in its eyes. Can see every strand of fur where they stand rigid from its sleekly shaggy coat.

She rests fully on her bent knees. Damning her dress. Dancing the wet frost and mud bleeding into her dress. She tilts her slightly head at the wolf.

“Where did you come from then?” She asks it. Seeing the huge ears turn to her.

Where she’s crouched, it’s almost taller than her, sat down. On all fours it would have come up well past her hip she’d imagine. It was no stretch to perceive how this could be the creature that’s been attacking men around these parts of late. It is a brutely sized beast.

Meaty shoulders, a slim body, long strong legs and a powerful tail. Immense and strong.

“I know I should most likely be scared of a creature like you.... But you don’t seem very dangerous, to me... I’m sure if you were hungry enough to kill me you would’ve done so by now.” She counters to it.

It tilts his head and licks its chops. Flashes her the ivory sabres that it had for teeth. She looks down to it’s intimidating big paws. The claws almost bigger than her fingers. Another flurry of fear shivers through her.

“Are you the only one of your kind? You must be lonely. Are there any more of you hereabouts?...” She seeks. Wobbly voice straightening out when she unknots her tongue.

The wolf just sits. And watches her. Doesn’t move. Just looks.

Those gold eyes harrowing in their ferocity. She feels like they burn her. Yet. Why does she feel like she’s seen those buttery-honey eyes once or twice before-

She must be mad. They should call the doctor to come take her away to the nearest mental institution and pin her into a straight jacket. Here she is sat talking to a wolf.

“I know better than any what being lonely is like I suppose...” She adds softly.

Maybe she is insane. She has the oddest inclination- she reaches up. But not before stopping to take her gloves off. She leaves them crumpled in her lap. And extends her hand towards the beast.

She somehow already knows it won’t harm her.

It still sits there. Even as she gets her fingers to stroke the side of its neck. Fur so soft and thick under her palm. Silky smooth. She’d never felt a pelt this smooth.

It makes a deep appreciative growl in the back of its throat at being petted. A deep husking rumbling noise. A chuff of breath.

A sudden noise makes her shrink back. The wolf sharply turns its head. She looks too. A horse and rider galloping through the far lane, off in the woods

By the time she twists back, the wolf is gone. Sprinting off through the trees. Far to the horizon.

A black blur in the woods. And she is alone once more.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

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findingniamho · 4 years

Text

The Legend of Princess Katarina: Chapter 1

Read it here or below!

Here it is, the first proper chapter! This is by far the longest thing I've ever written and I'm so excited to share it. Likes and shares very much appreciated, but mostly I just hope to bring a little bit of magic to your day. Updates on Fridays! 🐟

👑⚔

Princess Katarina the Second got up as she did every morning: begrudgingly. Usually accompanied to the soundtrack of her mother yelling at someone about something. Today, it was at Sir Sentinell – head of the royal guard – for allowing yet another infestation of venomous vines to take over the crypt.

"You know very well why the crypt must be protected at all costs!" screamed the Queen. She was poised with her hands on her hips, glaring her steely gaze down at Sir Sentinell. Or rather, across at him, Katarina thought with a smirk. Her mother was so short, that even with the guardsman kneeling at her feet, she was only slightly taller. Sir Sentinell gritted his teeth.

"I thought after the last time-"

"Don't you dare interrupt me, you cowardly coopickle!"

A coopickle was a moderately irritating species of fish fly. Not much of an insult in Katarina's opinion, but she could tell that her mother was just getting warmed up. Sir Sentinell was going to witness the wrath of Queen Evangeline the First. Things, thought Katarina, as she reached for some caramel pebbles, are about to get interesting.

"I have spent 18 long, stressful years building this queendom up to the magnificent one you see today. I have negotiated with the kingdoms; I have made the people moderately contented and I have raised my child all by myself! I have a million and one things to do, and I do not have time to shout at you every time something goes wrong!"

Although Katarina had heard Evangeline admit that being able to shout at literally anyone was probably one of the best parts about being Queen.

"So, I don't CARE about last time, I just need you to make sure there isn't a next time! Do you seriously think that I can afford for this to happen after what happened to Oisín? Do you really believe that I, Queen Evangeline, supreme ruler of the queendom of Exclansica, mother of the light and keeper of the Muscova spirit would allow a few pathetic, weak little boys who have the AUDACITY to call themselves knights stand in the way of the protection of my queendom? Well, listen up, sunshine, the answer is no! You all need to toughen. Up. We both know that the sacred contents of the crypt need to be protected, and furthermore-"

"What's in the crypt?"

"Katarina, dear, please don't chew with your mouthful."

Now her mother's glare was fixed on her. Rumour had it that the Queen once glared so fiercely that she had a whole army fleeing back to their kingdom. Just with that look. It was work not to shudder. Katarina swallowed down her caramel pebble and stepped out of the doorway.

"What's in the crypt that needs protecting?"

"Oh, nothing. Just some old bits and bobs, you know how it is."

"Sure," replied Katarina, raising her eyebrows. She turned to go back into her room, munching thoughtfully on pebbles.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" the Queen said, sternly.

Katarina sighed, then made a fist with her right hand and struck her heart twice.

"Exclansica for eternity," she muttered. It was the sign used by everyone in the queendom, the beating of the heart used to show the sacrifices they were willing to make for each other, and the sacrifices of those who had gone before them. The two beats were meant to say I am here so you are not alone. That one beat, or person, cannot be without another. Katarina thought that was pretty ironic, seeing as the only people she ever interacted with were the palace staff, her mother and her best (well, only) friend Quinn. Thinking of Quinn gave her an idea. She rang the bell for a messenger and waited.

👑⚔

"So, let me get this straight."

Harlequin Grey was hanging upside down off the side of the bed, the silver buckles on her black boots gleaming in the afternoon sun. Her dyed black hair had been scraped up into two short pigtails, and her wings were lime green today.

"You want me, a fairy, to try and focus on distracting the Queen long enough to grab a key that literally never leaves her sight?"

Katarina folded her arms from where she was sitting on the rug by the bookshelf, several books spread out around her.

"What has you being a fairy got to do with it?"

"We're free spirits! We can't be tied down doing one thing for very long. That's why we have wings." She fluttered them and reached with her nail-polished fingers for another caramel pebble from the bag between them. Sitting back up, she popped the pebble into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"You know," she said, "it really sucks knowing that just because you have wings, doesn't mean that you can fly away."

After the king had been kingnapped thirteen years ago, all unauthorized entry and exit from the queendom had been forbidden. That included flying. Fairies like Quinn really suffered without flying because they had no outlet for their magic. Most magical beings had some kind of object or instrument, but it wasn't in a fairy's nature to be tied to anything like that. With no direction to point their magic, it often took all they had just to keep it under control. This meant that fairies had a reputation of being ditzy and unable to concentrate on anything for more than five minutes. Katarina knew that this made Quinn angry and determined to prove herself. That was probably why they were such good friends: neither of them got along with destiny.

Katarina held up the book she was studying.

"But you could fly away from your responsibilities with me?"

Quinn smiled.

"You truly know me. What's the plan?"

#tlopk #kat #princess katarina #harlequin grey #queen evangeline #niamh writes #OCs #magic #fantasy

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

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Self-Promo Sunday: The Very Witching Time

Tomorrow I’ll be posting The Sleep of the Sun, my contribution for @cspupstravaganza and a continuation of The Very Witching Time, which I wrote for the Supernatural Summer this year. It isn’t necessary to read TVWT to read the TSotS, but just in case, here it is!

Though it starts in summer the main action takes place in October, and there’s an eerie, witchy vibe throughout. It’s a modern setting, because I love witch!Emma as a modern woman who wears jeans and watches Netflix and uses her magic to keep her drinks hot and make her pancakes perfectly circular. But of course when she’s threatened by ancient evil she can use her magic for far more than that. Or when she meets an injured dog in the forest and needs it to heal him.

I love this verse so much, and these versions of Emma and Killian, AND the next chapter of their lives, beyond The Sleep of the Sun, which I hope will appear next year for the Supernatural Summer! I just can’t let it go.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.

Words: 35k Rating: M (for violence and mild sexy times) Tags: modern AU, magical AU, witchcraft AU, witch!Emma, cursed!Killian, witches, witchcraft, witch lore

On AO3

CHAPTER ONE:

Emma Swan lived atop a jagged cliff in a house that seemed an extension of it, rising up from the wind-hewn face into pointed towers that stood stark against the sky. The house was of the same stone as the cliff itself, great slabs of it, slabs too large to be used for construction, slabs that, observing them, one felt could have been formed only by the hand of nature and never that of man. It was a part of the landscape, that house, as old as the earth and only slightly younger than the sky, perched at the edge of those perilous cliffs in a way that made it impossible to imagine them without it.

The back of the house, or rather the front, as that was where the door was set, however, presented an altogether different aspect; one of a delightful cottage of typical grey Maine clapboard, squat and cheerful with a steeply sloping roof trimmed in white and a low stone wall surrounding a tumbledown greenhouse and a garden where bushes, trees, and flowers jumbled together and neither rhyme nor reason appeared to play any role. On the casual observer the effect was charming in an artless way, yet a keener eye would note method behind the garden’s seeming madness, an ancient wisdom in the randomness of the tumbling riots of colour that shifted and transmuted with the seasons. Where in spring it boasted bright red poppies and purple larkspur, delicate white anemones and pink blossoms on the apple trees twisting around each corner of the wall, summer brought fragrant freesia and heather for the bees, its warm breezes rustling through the tall irises and lilies. Autumn ushered in the muted oranges and yellows of chrysanthemums and the fluffy white of Queen Anne’s Lace, salvia and yarrow and berries from the rowan tree. Even in winter the garden provided: the glossy green leaves and red berries of the holly bushes brightened the snowy vista as pansies and orchids flourished in the greenhouse.

Beyond the garden wall a forest sprawled, dark and wild and perilous, from the very edge of the cliff where trees clung by their gnarled roots to the borders of the village where it dwindled into fenced yards and tidy houses. Here your casual observer would feel a shivering prickle on the back of his neck, that uncomfortable sensation of being watched by things not quite of this world that is more commonly reserved for graveyards at dusk and abandoned Victorian houses. He would move quickly through the dense woodland —yet not so quickly that he appeared to be hurrying— and upon emerging he would feel the sunshine as a balm on skin grown far colder than he’d realised.

The keen observer would, of course, not go into the forest at all.

Emma was as keen an observer as anyone could be but the forest, for all its determined menace, posed no threat to her. She relied on it, in fact, for ingredients she could not or did not wish to cultivate in her garden or greenhouse, just as it relied on her to keep a rein on its magic. Emma and the forest had an understanding.

That understanding failed to extend to the village which separated the forest from the lush farmlands which this stretch of Maine coastline boasted; the richest soil in New England it was said, guarded closely by the residents of Storybrooke who despite their distrust of it were prepared to put up with creepy forest at their backs in exchange for prosperity at their fronts. And though they rarely ventured into the woods themselves they were broad minded and mercenary enough to appreciate the labours of those who did, of Emma and the generations of witches who had come before her; wise women who kept the forest in check and the villagers placated with potions and tinctures, candles to encourage love or drive away evil spirits and balms to soothe every ailment from a bumped head to a broken heart.

And so, just as witches had done in Storybrooke from the time of the earliest settlement of her ancestors in this land, Emma kept an apothecary shop in the village, stocked with the wares she blended and brewed herself, travelling to and from it each day along the very same forest path that had been daily trodden by so many powerful women over the course of the centuries.

The path was so familiar to her she could follow it in her sleep, which she almost did on the August afternoon when our tale begins, lulled by the muggy weight of the late summer air. The sunlight that shone so brightly on the village barely penetrated here; just a few slender shafts of it reached the forest floor, encouraging the growth of the rare plants on which Emma’s livelihood relied but doing little to alleviate the atmosphere made dense by damp heat and malign magic. Emma was blinking heavy eyelids, her mind on the cushioned bench in her garden that was so well suited to afternoon naps when the sound of an animal in distress wove its way into her drowsy consciousness.

It sounded like a dog, which caught her attention. Wilder, less domesticated creatures like cats and witches may feel comfortable enough with the forest’s demeanour to venture within, but dogs, being the keenest observers of all, tended to avoid it with the same diligence and for the same reasons as their humans did.

The noise came again, one that hovered somewhere between a whine and a growl, pained and frustrated. It tugged at Emma’s mind, clearing away her sleepy haze as from the corner of her eye she caught a quivering in the leaves of a hawthorn bush that twisted up from the undergrowth to the left of the path and the flash of a black tail just beyond it.

Without hesitating Emma plunged into the bracken, drawing on her own magic and that of the hawthorn as she went, wrapping threads of both around the bush’s thorny branches and pulling them aside to reveal a large black dog crouched at an awkward angle behind it. The dog looked up and when it saw her it stilled for a moment, staring at her with blue eyes that were almost shocking in its black face, a deep, clear blue she’d never seen on a dog before, bright and intelligent. It blinked and shook its head then looked at her again this time with a plea in those remarkable eyes, giving three quick, deep barks.

{Please help me.}

An affinity with animals was one of Emma’s gifts, and she was not surprised to hear the dog’s voice in her head. She smiled reassuringly and offered her hand.

“Hey, puppy,” she said in a low, soothing voice. “What’s the matter?”

The dog sniffed her hand then gave it a lick, its tail wagging furiously. She petted its head and scratched its ears as she slowly inched closer. It seemed remarkably calm given the circumstances but Emma had seen enough injured animals to be wary, knowing how abruptly their pain and fear could overcome them. She knelt on the ground next to it, murmuring gentle words and stroking its back, and took stock of the situation.

The dog’s front right leg was deep in what was likely a gopher hole, buried up to the middle of its shin, and though the sounds she’d heard and the state of the ground around the hole bore witness to the dog’s attempts to free itself, it was clear to Emma as indeed it would be even to the casual observer that the dog was thoroughly stuck and also that the leg was broken.

“Oh, poor baby,” she murmured. “That must hurt. I can help, if you’ll let me. Will you trust me?”

The dog looked right at her and she could see her answer in its extraordinary eyes, filled with pain but also hope and what she would swear was comprehension. It whined and gave her chin a single, gentle lick, then nodded its head.

“Well, that’s clearly a yes,” said Emma. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” She hunched closer and examined the dog’s leg, well and truly wedged into the gopher hole, and winced. “I’m really sorry pup but this is going to hurt,” she said, looking up to catch the dog’s gaze again, marvelling at how calm it was despite its distress. She grasped its leg as gently as she could below the break and gathered her magic. “Ready? One… two…”

On three she pulled the leg from the hole, using her magic to ease its way. The dog whimpered at the pain but did not bark or growl and when its leg was free it licked her chin again.

“Okay, that’s step one,” said Emma. “Now let’s see how bad this is.” She probed the leg as delicately as she could with her fingertips, feeling the fractured bone beneath the fortunately unbroken skin. The break felt clean, with no jagged edges. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, I should be able to heal it,” she said, wondering briefly why she was explaining herself to a dog, though the animal in question was watching her intently with those intelligent eyes looking for all the world as though it knew exactly what she was saying. “I’m gonna have to set the break so there’ll be pain again and then I’ll heal it right after. Okay?”

The dog gave a short bark followed by another nod.

{Ready.}

“Okay, then,” said Emma. She gathered her magic, pulling it from the forest flowers and the leaves of the trees for backup, then as quickly as she could she snapped the broken bone back into place and wove her magic into it, knitting it together and soothing the pain in the damaged tissues.

When she finished she sat back on her heels with a sigh and closed her eyes. That was more magic than she’d used in some time and she felt a bit woozy. When she opened them again they fell immediately on the dog, who was staring at its leg in wonder.

Could dogs stare in wonder? She frowned, realising she didn’t actually know very much about the canine species. As a witch she’d always considered herself more of a cat person.

“Give it a try,” she told the dog. “It’s all better now.”

The dog stood up and began to walk, tentatively at first and then with greater confidence. After a few loping steps it spun around and barked excitedly before trotting back to her with a delighted expression, tongue lolling from the corner of its mouth.

Emma, however, was still frowning. Despite the dog’s obvious pleasure its gait had a distinct limp and when it moved quickly it used only three legs, forgoing the left one entirely.

Its left leg… when she had healed the right.

“Hey,” she said. “Come here. Let me see that other leg.”

It limped closer and placed its left leg in her lap, a leg which she was now able to observe did not end in a paw.

“Oh, no!” she cried, bending to get a closer look at what was evidently an old injury and a badly healed one, with rough scar tissue and signs of wear where the dog had walked on it. “Oh poor you. This isn’t the first time you’ve been hurt, is it? How do you walk?”

The dog tilted its head in what was plainly a shrug.

“I guess you manage the best you can, huh? Well, I can’t give you your paw back but if you come home with me I should be able to fix you up with something to protect the end of your leg and help you walk a bit better. How does that sound?”

The dog licked her face enthusiastically and barked, and now that the press of emergency had passed she noticed the peculiar cadence of its cry.

“Aye!” barked the dog.

Emma blinked. She may not be the world’s foremost authority on dogs, but even she knew that they were supposed to say things like “woof” or “arf.” She’d never heard of a dog saying “aye” before.

“Aye?” she repeated with a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s pretty obviously agreement.” She stood and brushed the dirt and twigs from her legs as the dog stood patiently in its slightly off-kilter way. “What should I call you?” she asked it. “I don’t suppose you have a name.”

Killian.

The name sprang into her mind, though the dog hadn’t barked. “Killian?” she repeated, startled.

“Aye!” barked the dog.

“Really?”

“Aye!”

“You sure? It’s not Spot or Buster or Joe or something?”

The dog looked affronted, and she laughed again. “All right, Killian it is then. I guess that means you’re a boy.”

“Aye!”

“Well okay, Killian, let’s go. We can have some dinner and then I’ll see what I can do about that paw.”

Killian bounded in an excited circle around her, his tail a blur. He moved remarkably well, considering, she thought, even as she laughed at his antics, and soon he’d settled into a limping trot alongside her as she headed home.

When they reached her garden gate she opened it and went straight in but Killian halted with a short bark of distress. She turned in surprise at the sound to see him pacing to and fro in front of the gate, whining softly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

He whined louder and gave two short barks.

{Not welcome.}

“But why wouldn’t you be—” Emma frowned. The wards around her garden were designed to keep humans away, permitting none to enter without permission. But they shouldn’t have any effect on a dog.

Should they?

She really needed to learn more about dogs, she thought with mild irritation. This was clearly a gaping hole in her education.

In the meantime she called to the magic in the ancient warding spells, and spoke the age-old words to quieten them. “I see thee, Killian, and I name thee friend,” she said, in a voice that echoed through the open air. “Be welcome in this place.”

The magic of her garden surged and she held out her arms as it rippled and danced around her, ruffling her hair and gilding her skin with tiny sparks of light. Killian stared at her with wonder in his eyes again, and when the sparks faded away and she lowered her arms he cautiously stepped through the gate. The moment he crossed its threshold the garden’s magic… sighed, a soft exhale that sang of enduring hopes fulfilled at too long last, and curled itself around him, ruffling his fur as it had her hair.

Now it was Emma’s turn to stare. Her magic had never done that before. She gaped as Killian seemed to smirk —could dogs smirk?— at the unseen attention he was getting before rolling onto his back and letting the garden’s magic rub his tummy.

“Seriously?” cried Emma. “That’s enough of that, from both of you, Killian, come inside.”

She marched over to the cottage door and pulled it open. Killian leapt to his feet and ran after her, pausing just at the doorstep to wink at the garden before trotting into her kitchen.

Could dogs wink?

Emma made a mental note to dig up a book on canine behaviours later that night. There must be one in her library. Somewhere.

“I don’t have much that’s suitable for dogs,” she warned him as she opened the icebox. “But I think I’ve got some hamburgers in here if that’s okay—”

“Aye! Aye!”

“Okay, let me just heat them up.”

She defrosted the hamburgers with some gentle warming magic and put them on a plate for him. The minute she set it on the floor he dove in, gobbling up the meat with enthusiasm bordering on frenzy.

“Wow, you were hungry! How long has it been since you ate?”

He looked up at her and licked his chops, tail wagging vigorously, and barked twice before digging in again.

{Long time.}

“Well, don’t eat too fast, it’ll make you sick.”

Emma made herself a sandwich and munched it as she watched him diligently try to eat more slowly. When the last morsel was gone he lapped the plate clean then came over to her and licked her hand in thanks, wagging his tail as she scritched his ears before relaxing back onto his haunches and giving her the opportunity to observe him.

He was, as she had noticed in the woods, a large dog, though not a bulky one, with long slender legs and lean muscles. Standing, his head reached her waist with his shoulders around the middle of her thigh. His fur was thick and shaggy and a deep, light-absorbing black, though a v-shaped tuft right in the centre of his chest was bright white and fluffy and so soft-looking that her fingers itched to pet it.

He watched her examine him with a twinkle in his blue eyes that she was certain couldn’t be normal for a dog, as though he knew what she was thinking. She popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth and when he pouted —did dogs pout?— she gave him a small smirk. “You had your dinner,” she said firmly. “You can’t have mine too. Now what do you say we go and see what can be done about that paw.”

She stood and left the kitchen, Killian at her heels, and headed past the living room and the closed library door, through a dark and narrow passageway towards the rear of the house. As she approached, the solid-seeming wall at the end of the corridor began to shimmer with the same sparking light that had surrounded her in the garden and a doorway appeared, wrought from the same stone as the slabs of the house itself, curving elegantly to form a pointed Gothic arch and frame a door of solid wood, thick and heavy and older than anything that surrounded it.

The door swung open as Emma drew near and she breezed through it without a thought. Killian, sensing the darker energy emanating from the other side, hesitated as he had at the garden gate. Emma turned, her smile understanding.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “It’s not dangerous, just old. Old things are sometimes… indifferent to younger ones. But it won’t hurt you. Nothing will hurt you here.”

Hesitantly he came through the doorway, moving slowly to allow the magic there to get a sense of him. It was less welcoming than the garden had been, but not hostile. As Emma said, it was simply indifferent. This magic had seen too many mortal creatures come and go in its time to care overly much about yet another one.

Emma led him into a large stone room with no windows, the tall, thick candles lining the walls its only source of light. These she set burning with a wave of her hand and the illumination they produced flooded the room with a golden glow despite their modest number. Stone stairs curved up the walls on either side of the room, leading to the towers that flanked the house, their twin helixes twisting up and disappearing into a darkness too dense even for the candles to penetrate. A heavy and cluttered wooden table spanned the length of the far wall, and this Emma approached, producing a thick, soft blanket of deep midnight blue scattered with stars from a woven wicker basket beneath it.

She spread the blanket carefully over the centre of the otherwise bare stone floor, placing at each of its corners a small silver bowl filled with sea salt and thyme and a few dried violet leaves, murmuring a short incantation over them as she did. “Sit here,” she instructed Killian, indicating the centre of the blanket. “I’ll need a few minutes to get my things together.”

Obediently, he sat and watched her in fascination as she rifled through the jumbled collection of bottles, jars, and bags on the table, frowning and muttering to herself as she did.

“…comfrey and rosemary and a bit of peppermint, sage to infuse and to burn…” she intoned as she gathered the named ingredients together. When all were assembled she snapped her fingers to light a fire beneath her copper kettle, then carefully weighed out the herbs on her silver scales while the water inside it came to a boil. She blended the herbs in a large mortar, crushing and grinding them with the pestle to blend them well and draw out their essence before tipping them carefully into a painted ceramic pot and pouring the boiling water over them. Stirring them gently with her magic, with her fingertips she traced arcane symbols through the steam as it rose from the pot into the cool, still air.

When she judged the herbs sufficiently infused she strained their liquid through a clean cheesecloth into a wide copper bowl. As it cooled to a comfortable temperature, she removed a lump of pure silver from a leather bag, holding it up to observe its gleam in the candlelight. The lump was large but to complete the healing properly would require all of it, and it was also precious. Glancing behind her she saw Killian sitting patiently, watching her, his eyes wide and curious but not afraid. Trusting.

He was worth it. She felt sure of that, and though she had no idea why she did not vacillate. Emma had long since learned to trust her instincts.

She took a bundle of dried sage and held it up to a candle flame until it caught —some fires needed to be started in the mundane way— then blew the flame out with a quick puff of breath and waved the smouldering herbs around the blanket and over the copper bowl before dropping them into the potion. Carefully she lifted the bowl and carried it to the blanket, kneeling down upon it and placing the bowl in front of Killian. Closing her eyes she muttered a brief incantation before taking his damaged leg and bathing it in the warm liquid, her fingers gentle but thorough, making sure to clean away all the dirt and debris from the gnarled scar tissue. He growled softly, deep in his throat, and she shot him a smile, knowing it was a growl of pleasure.

“Feels good, huh?” she said. “Soothing.”

“Aye.” His bark was as low as his growl.

{Good.}

When his leg was clean she dried it with a linen cloth and set it in her lap, then took out the lump of silver, placing it at the end of his leg and cupping both loosely in the palms of her hands. Closing her eyes once more she focused her powers and drew forth the metal’s own magic, its primal properties of health and healing, her hands beginning to spark and glow with light as she kneaded the silver, stretching and weaving it back into itself, moulding the lump into the shape of a dog’s paw and then knitting it into the damaged flesh of the leg. Killian watched with wide eyes, whimpering slightly as the metal sank into his skin and fused to his bones. The light from Emma’s hands burst into a sudden blinding brightness, flickered out, and the silver paw was part of him.

Emma slumped back on her heels, exhausted. “Whew,” she said. “Done.” She patted the metal paw. “Give it a try.”

Killian sniffed the paw, licked at the seam where it joined his leg, then tentatively placed it on the floor and leaned his weight on it. He took a few careful steps followed by bolder ones, then turned to Emma with an incredulous expression. She laughed, happy he was happy. “Go on, stretch yourself,” she encouraged.

“Aye!” he barked, frolicking joyfully around the room, spinning in circles and leaping through the air. He ran to Emma and jumped on her, putting his paws on her shoulders and licking her face until she pushed him away, grinning through a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m glad you like it,” she told him as she rose unsteadily from the floor. “I gotta get to bed. Um…” she swayed on her feet and Killian was there immediately at her side, pressing firmly against her leg and letting her brace herself with her hand on his neck as she stumbled from the stone room and out the doorway.

It disappeared behind her, the magic within whispering far more warmly than before, no longer so indifferent to Killian as it had been.

Emma sank her fingers into his thick fur, clinging to him as she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Her head felt heavy and woozy, her fingers and toes numb. Moving clumsily she kicked off her shorts and unhooked her bra, pulling it from beneath her tank top with jerky movements and dropping it to the floor before collapsing into bed, sinking deep into the pillows. Dimly she was aware of Killian moving around the room, his fur soft against her skin as he pulled the blankets up over her, the warm weight of him curling up at her back, his chin resting on her hip. With the last of her energy she reached up to stroke his head then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~~🌺~~

Some hours later Killian was awoken from his doze when the magic from Emma’s garden called to him. He lifted his head from where it still lay on her hip and gave a low growl, staring through the bedroom window into the pitch blackness of the night.

Something was out beyond the garden wall, moving around its perimeter, methodically testing the magical boundary in search of weaknesses. Killian could sense it there, could feel its cold determination and intent even without the garden’s warning.

Threat, whispered the garden magic in his mind. Danger. Stay with her.

Killian flexed his new silver paw, feeling the power that still thrummed within it, feeling the absence of pain in his left limb for the first time in many a year. He looked at the golden haired woman still sound asleep, drained to exhaustion by the act of healing him, of selflessly giving him this invaluable gift. He recalled her warm green eyes and kind smile, the strength and gentleness in her touch.

He lay back down, pressing tighter against her, curling his neck around her hip and placing his silver paw gently over her waist. He closed his eyes again and answered the garden’s plea.

{Always.}

Tis now the very witching time of night,

When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out

Contagion to this world.

—Hamlet, Act III Scene 2

Continue to Chapter 2

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cruzrogue · 5 years

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Lame Party

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

————————————————————————

for fanfiction:

Prompt number: 14 “I can’t come back.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity

Rating:PG

Warnings/Tags: Fluff

Summary: As the chapter name suggests Felicity leaves a lame party. Meets Oliver sometime latter and saves him from ever going to that party.

Notes:Fluffy college kids meet for the first time and its seems that they're destined to remain in each other lives forever.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Lame Party on A03

“The party is so lame, I’m out of here.”

Oliver is driving towards the party house. He needs to get his mind off his impending doom of expulsion. He’s grades suck. Turning a corner, he sees a girl who seems to be sitting on the curb of a nice parking space. “Hi.” He calls out.

“Hey back.”

“Are you saving a spot for someone?”

She looks around and then at the car and sways her head no. “You want to park here?” Seeing that question doesn’t need an answer gets up from her spot and she waves her hand to have him parallel park into the spot.

“Yea, like to go to that party at that red house down the street.”

“Oh, just left it, lame party.”

“Really?”

“Yea, music sucks.”

He looks at her goth look and wonders how true it is. “How about you go back with me and if it truly is lame, I’d take you home.”

“I can’t come back.” She gives him a serious look and he is able to coax her in coming back even without stepping out of his car.

“It’s surely is better than sitting on the sidewalk on a chilly October night.”

“I guess, and you don’t need to win me over I said I’d go in with you.”

He looks at the feisty girl, he shouldn’t be super surprised her goth outfit screams spirited and gutsy packaged in nice velvet leather and lace. It is her eyes that got his attention. He loves how light pale blueish they seem with the heavy eye makeup.

“Come on, I’m Oliver by the way.”

“Megan. So what school do you go to?”

He groans loudly. He really doesn’t want to talk about it. Now that he is out of the car he notices how short she is.

“Wait! You’re not one of those guys who just goes hangs at college parties without being in one just to pick up girls?”

“What no!” He just standing there rigid as he looks down at this petite head banger. “I’m still a college student.”

She gives him a weird look. “What do you mean still?”

“Ah! You know what, I don’t need to be grilled hence why I’m going to a party.”

“A lame party.”

“So you say. You probably only listen to metal. I’m good with all other types of music.”

“Ouch.” She places her hand to her heart. “Mr. preppy pants is frustrated.”

“This might be my last party because I’m just gonna give up so let me lick my wounds and go enjoy whatever type of party this is.”

“Wow, that just so sad. A last hurrah because you give up? I mean yea I don’t know you but I think you should expect more out of yourself.”

He can’t believe he is having this depressing conversation on a sidewalk somewhere in South Boston. Yet, he is totally interested in talking to this non-sunshine on a cloudy day girl. She’s kind of rocks this darkness that he internally feels but when she talks she’s strangely bubbly for her getup. He can’t help but look her over again. Yea he may go to this party now and look for a hookup instead of just getting smashed.

“Hate that I can see how you are processing. Hence you’re failing out of school and your objective is to party.” He shrugs. “What you need is to study and get yourself a good tutor and stop with the mopping it’s so unbecoming.”

“I’m not mopping.”

“It’s so cute that you don’t even know you are doing it. Some call it brooding but with your baby face and shaggy preppy floppy hair I’ll stick to the yuppie version.”

“You think you are so smart…”

“I’m actually a certified genius but we aren’t talking about me.” She gives him a devilish smile.

“No doubt maybe we should circle around and talk about you.”

She shrugs she’s bored and sitting outside waiting to see if her friend will finally leave and take her back to their dorms.

“What would you like to know Oliver?” Emphasizing the last syllable of his name.

He closes the small gap between them and he can feel her shiver. Her hot looking outfit leaves a lot of gaping holes where the chilly air seeps through to her very porcelain colored skin. “How cold are you?”

“Hey I have a warm heart. I’m not obnoxious.”

“Never said you were; I’m asking how uncomfortably cold you are on this chilly night?”

She now notices that she is shivering, “Oh! I’m kind of cold.” They’re really close now and just whispering to each other

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this but…” He waits until he has her full attention. “If the party is that lame maybe a good tutoring session by a genius could help me?”

“Hmmm. That sounds interesting? What would I get out of it?” His face descends bringing his lips closer to hers and she takes the intuitive and closes the gap. It takes a car horn down the street to have them break apart as both are left breathless.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

“That is how I met your mother.”

“Can you believe that your father went on to continue his education to get a masters in core courses of a postgraduate business degree.” She kisses Oliver. “My super sexy smarty pants.”

“Awe gross!” Their kids whine out loud.

“That is why we want all of you to do your best. Education is no laughing matter. It not only opens up your mind but when you’re out there in school the bonds you make with others can carry you in a lifetime journey that one day you’d share with your children, my grandbabies.”

“As excited as your mom is… no babies! You three are still way to young.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Oliver? Doubt that they even had those thoughts of adding to the family our eldest is now turning to a preteen in a few months.”

“Well it’s never too early to instill that they should live full lives. It took us years after of we got married to add to the family.”

“Yes, our choice they may want to start earlier…” She looks at Oliver’s terrified face. “Honey. Their still kids but I want them to know no matter what they make their own choices.”

“Okay but let’s not push them to grow up so soon.”

The kids are just watching the yoyo conversation between their parents. It takes the eldest to distract them. Listening to this particular story which they’ve heard many times over with different slight versions. Like this time, they learn something new and their eldest has picked up on it.

As their eldest son asks, “When did mom tell you her real first name?” They have always known their mother as Felicity Smoak Queen.

“Well that is its own little story.” He looks to his wife as those sweet memories fill his mind.

#fictober19 #felicity smoak #oliver queen #olicity

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mzargentum · 4 years

Text

Sunshine & Lightning

Warnings: None. | OC’s: Muerlinian Zephyr | Word Count: 3,071

A/N: Part one of holiday fic.

A/N: Because of work, it was kind of rushed, but I did my best.

2 years.

This world has been in darkness.

The Oracle has been dead.

And the Prince has been missing.

But to him, he wasn’t just the Prince...

To Prompto, he was his best friend...his brother...

The blonde hunter had never gotten the chance to meet the woman that gave him the opportunity to meet his closest friend...

And that was painful enough without his disappearance.

The world was in complete peril.But in the chaos of it all, someone rose to take her place to the world to heal the wounds the Usurper had inflicted upon them ...a “New Oracle”, if you will.

An Queen, ostracized by most of the world, now a beckon of what the Oracle stood for...her own sister...the Stormsender’s daughter...his beloved Muerlin...

The world had desperately beseeched the aid of the powerful wizard in the depths of the darkness.

The daemons were raging through cities, hundreds were experiencing a fate worse than death. They needed her...but so did he.

Prompto knew there was more at stake than his own sanity despite the fact that watching her venture from this dusty garage nearly tore his heart in two.

“I’ll be back soon, love”, she said to him during their last embrace.

That was 2 years ago.

He replays this in his head every night he is forced to sleep alone.

The ever so faint smell of her hair that lingers on her untouched pillow churning his stomach.

As captain of this HQ, he was always meant to be in tip top performance and always on his toes...but he often found himself looking toward the road. Hoping one day, he’d catch a glimpse of silver.

_____________________________

It was the depth of winter.

The darkness made this time of year more difficult than the rest.

More and more survivors were growing ill throughout the world.

Refugee camps scrambling to look after their wounded beckoning the aid of the New Oracle.

Hammerhead was no exception.

“Sir!”, a hunter shouted toward their frustrated captain.

“What is it?”

“We’ve lost contact with the team Omega on the far west side!”, he explained in a light panic.

“What?!”, Prompto exclaimed. “Dammit! How long ago did they leave the camp?”

“About an hour ago, sir! I’m afraid they won’t make it much longer. They’ll freeze!”, the hunter explained somberly.

Prompto’s technological skills as well as Cindy’s expert mechanics made generating heat less of a hassle, but they could still only do so much with what little electricity they could scrounge up.

“Okay, let’s gather a search party. Take one of the trucks. I’ll grab one of the generators and join you”, Prompto instructed. “We can’t leave them out there!”

“Yes, sir!”, the hunter acknowledged Prompto’s orders before darting off to gather more hunters.

Prompto sighed lightly. This was going to be a long night.

“Captain Argentum!”, a woman shrieked as she ran up to the blonde captain, stumbling into him in a panic.

“Woah, woah!!”, Prompto attempted to soothe her. “What is it?? What’s going on??”

“The generators...”, the woman panted, “...in the barracks. They’re malfunctioning!”

As if they didn’t have enough problems.

Prompto’s eyes widened in terror as he rose his gaze to the barracks.

Some of his top men were in there, sick because of the cold. Not only that, they had grown to become his friends.

The generator was the only thing keeping them warm and despite he and Cindy’s efforts combined, it was only a matter of time before the worst was to come.

“No, no, no”, Prompto muttered in a light panic. “We can’t let them die in there. Do everything you can to keep them in good health”.

“Y-yes, sir!”, the woman stuttered before rushing back to the barracks.

“Talcott!”, Prompto shouted, eyes still glued on the barracks.

The young man jolted at the sound of Prompto’s voice, it was heavier than usual.

“Mind giving us a hand, buddy? We have men out there who need our help”, the blonde grinned at him.

“You got it!”, the boy beamed as he darted toward his truck.

The captain on his heel.

_________________________

With Talcott at the wheel, Prompto and his men made their way to the last known location of their scavenger team.

Prompto in the passenger seat, trying his best not to appear worried, but his kindness and care toward his men made it very evident to the young man.

“Prompto?”

The indigo-eyed man looked toward his young friend.

“Hm?”

“Do...do you think that everyone will be okay?”

Prompto’s brow forwarded.

“I mean...they’re strong a-and you and Miss Cindy can fix the generators again. We’ve got plenty of medical staff to help out too, right? So...they should all be okay...right?”

Prompto smiled at Talcott’s hopeful optimism.

“Of course they will!”, the man chuckled. “After all, they’ve got me as their captain”.

Talcott laughed at Prompto’s lack of modesty. That clearly hadn’t changed.

And that answer seemed to satisfy the lad, but the captain’s worry was still eminent.

The world was wide and vast...and cruel.

Especially during these times.

With all that’s happened, he knew it wasn’t possible for him to save everybody...

...he couldn’t even save Noct.

But regardless, he had to try. He couldn’t let his men down.He couldn’t let them die out here.

Not like this.

After what felt like an eternity driving in the snowy blackness of Eos, the team noticed a group of ice bombs congregating toward the mountains off the side of the road.

Which was odd with them normally being native to Cleigne.

What’re they doing here in Duscae?

“Wait!”, Prompto shouted pointing toward small group, “over there!”

The truck came to a screeching halt once Talcott noticed.

The bombs were swarming a group of hunters laying unconscious in the snow.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!!”

Prompto rushed toward his fallen men, the rest of his team following pursuit, as his trusty pistols materialized into his iron grasp.

Taking aim and releasing a heavy barrage of bullets toward the aggressive daemons.

Unfortunately, causing them to begin detonation.

“Let’s make this quick, everybody!”, Prompto instructed his men as they rushed up to join their now bazooka wielding captain in battle. “We can’t let them explode!”

“RIGHT!”, they all said in unison as the whole lot of them began to pilfer through the army of explosive daemons.

They hacked and slashed through a great number of them, but somehow this battle seemed never ending.

“What’s going on?”, a hunter shouted toward his colleagues.

“It’s like more of the more of them we take out, the more that replace them!”, someone else interjected.

“It’s because of the snow”, Prompto affirmed as he began emptying his rifle toward the icy enemies. “This is where they’re strongest”.

“What do we do?!”

“We win! We can’t let our buddies down”, the blonde captain instructed.

“Don’t worry, guys”, his optimistic smile lighting a fire within their spirits, “we’ll make it”.

This burst of optimism was short lived as the galaxy eyed plebe noticed a bomb wandering away from the group.

In the darkness, it was unclear where he could’ve been going until...

“TALCOTT!!!”

Prompto began to dash over to the boy in the stalled truck, desperately trying to bring it back to life which unknowingly caught the attention of a bomb that was already near detonation.

“TALCOTT”, Prompto shrieked in terror, “LOOK OUT!!!”

Finally catching the young man’s attention, Talcott’s eyes became saucers at the gargantuan monster before him.

Nearly the size of the truck and trembling violently.

Prompto desperately sprinted toward his friend, but knew he was much too far away to reach him in time.

The captain was left helpless as the bomb reached maximum size to detonate and was deafened by what sounded like the most thunderous eruption that he had ever witness in all his days.

The force enough to send him flying back toward the snowy ground below.

And then...

Whiteness.

______________________

The ringing in his ears.

His vision blurred.

Desperately trying to regain his composure, so many voices in his head and what sounded like shooting and flames.

SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM!!! MAKE SURE HE ISN’T INJURED!!!

His brain rattled with the muffled voices. Was he going insane?

THERE ARE MEN OVER HERE AS WELL, ROUND THEM UP AND GET THEM ON THE TRUCK!!!

It was louder.

The ringing was subsiding.

Did this voice in his head have an accent?

He was totally out of it...

“WE MUST BE QUICK HERE!!! MANY OF THEM ARE ON THE BRINK OF DEATH!!! WE CAN’T STAY HERE!!!”

It was so familiar...so...silky...soothing...

“LET’S GIVE THESE ICE-SHITS SOMETHING TO RUN FROM!!!

”Prompto’s eyes widened...it couldn’t be...dammit, he could still barely see, but...

He could at least make out a figure kneeling down beside him.

“Don’t worry, love”, the figure spoke. Clear as day. “I’m here”.

As the blur faded away, Prompto could only believe he was in a dream.

The long streaks of silver...the shimmery bronze cheeks...the warmth of this hand against his cheek...the teal lagoon eyes...

...it couldn’t truly be real...

“...Muerlin?”

That all too familiar smile confirmed it.

“It’s good to see you too, Prom”.

__________________________

Tagging: @completelyinappropriate @digitalkanvas @glacian-apocalypse @aquathemermaidstripper @a-new-recipehhh

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #final fantasy oc #prompto argentum #muerlinian zephyr #cindy aurum #talcott hester #hammerhead #ice bombs #snow

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years

Text

Kingdom of Gold: Part 5

Alright, so this time I’m writing in a healthy fashion. So what? I...may have decided this chapter needed to be a little angstier. What? You all got your pound of fluffy flesh last time. Okay...never saying that again ever in my life (I hope). Anyway, I’m moving in like, 2 weeks, which is...wild??? I’m going off to college and I’m not sure how to feel about that but my anxiety high-key says that when the time comes the appropriate reaction will be panic, so I guess we’ll see how that goes. I don’t know what my update schedule will be like when that happens though, so I’ll let you guys know.

Disclaimer: This series is based off of the lovely Faint of Heart series by @dreamwritesimagines and it’s sequel series, Crown of Hearts. I would highly recommend both series!

Taglist:@dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @finnickfoxes

Wordcount: 2275

Chapter Five: But the girl was afraid. Because if you fight in the name of love, you have something to lose. So she pushed it down, she ran away. Because she had been made to believe that all of that love was not sweet enough to wash the taste of ash out of her mouth.

Isolde was on her back in the water, floating. It was a warm day, and the water was cool, and it was calm. Which meant she had space to think.

It used to be that on days like this there was nothing more beautiful than an empty mind. There was nothing better than the soft, sweet humming of her soul. It wasn’t like that anymore. An empty mind was a worse prison than anywhere the King of Kattegat or the Queen of her own country could ever put her. She should know. So, despite the fact that she was currently surrounded by water, it was not what was on her mind.

Fire. What was it with Vikings and fire? They burned everything. It didn’t matter to them. They didn’t care.

Isolde found that when she woke from her nightmares, her mouth often tasted of ashes.

She sighed, flipping over and swimming back in. She had found this lake deep in the forest, slipping away from the Earl. She had been avoiding him since their...incident in the flower field. It was far, far too awkward to try to spend time with him now.

Their friendship was officially on thin ice. Thinner than before, if at all possible. And now the ice was, quite probably, surrounded by a wall of fire. And they were just standing there in the center. Waiting for it to melt. So they could plunge into the icy, watery depths and probably die in each other’s arms, which was definitely not how Isolde wanted to go, and-

And she needed a distraction.

Water rushed off of her when she stepped out of the pool. It wasn’t a proper lake, of course, but it was sizable considering its location. There was water everywhere in Kattegat, the country surrounded by the stuff.

She wrung out her hair, grabbing her clothes from where they hung off a nearby tree. It was perhaps hazardous to be so bare all alone in Viking territory, but Isolde was no fool. She may not have been able to bring her knife for a swim with her, but it she had one in her belt, and she was a very proficient swimmer and fighter. She was also fairly certain no one would find this place.

About that, she would find herself wrong.

She had just finished getting dressed, righting her skirts, when a boy stumbled out of the forest. He could scarcely have been older than her, perhaps by a year or two. He had the light hair you often saw in the people of Kattegat, so light that it was almost white. His eyes were a striking green color, the same as the grass under his feet.

Isolde immediately had a hand on her knife. He didn’t look like he intended to hurt her or anyone else, but you could never trust a Viking. Still, she decided not to come on too aggressive as she headed towards the boy.

“Hello. What is your name?”

His head spun to look at her, eyes wide as though he had not realized that she too was here in this clearing.

“My name?” From a closer distance, his eyes had a mischief to them, even in his surprise.

“That is what I asked, yes.”

“Fritjof. And yours, fair lady?”

It was her turn to be surprised. He had slipped into her native language.

“Isolde. Am I that bad at speaking your language?”

He laughed, stepping closer to her. “No. But I thought it might put your more at ease to speak your mother tongue to you. You seem to be in need of comfort since you have not taken your hand off the knife at your belt since I found my way into this clearing.”

“You will have to forgive me. I learned caution the hard way.”

“Coming from your country? I would guess so.” He frowned, brow wrinkling. “I am sorry for what happened to your people.”

“You are not, and it does not do you well to lie.” Clouds shifted over the sun, and Isolde could swear the temperature dropped.

“I would not lie to you.”

“Another lie. I am growing less inclined by the moment to take my hand off this knife, Fritjof. You and all of your brothers participated in the slaughter of my people, and you laughed. You are not sorry.”

“I did not participate, and I would prefer it if you did not throw me in with those who would. To laugh at death is a crueler punishment to those left behind than death itself.”

“You...you were not there?”

“No. I have never been on a raid in my life, nor will I go on one, much to the disappointment of my father. I find much better entertainment here. I feel no desire to go out and kill amongst other peoples. I would leave them to their happiness.”

Perhaps it made her a fool, but Isolde began to relax, exactly as the boy had wanted. Her hand slipped off her knife, though she was still tense.

“I would wish, then, that the king of this country listened more to men like you.”

He smiled softly, one foot stepping close to her across the soft grass beneath their feet. “And I would wish that more women were as fierce and wise as you.”

“A foolish wish, for then all women would be blind and bitter.”

He laughed. “I see no such shortcomings.”

“Then I suppose if your king were more like you he would be blind too.”

“A shame that would be.”

“A shame indeed.”

“You are being escorted by Earl Eric, are you not?” Fritjof asked.

Isolde stiffened at the name. “I am.”

“But he is not here.”

“No. Rest easy. He shall not jump out from behind some great tree.”

He laughed again, and Isolde noticed it was a rather charming sound. Upon closer inspection, she also noticed that the boy was fairly well off. By Kattegat standards, he was well dressed, and he was very well-armed. A son of a lord then, perhaps?

“Then you are abandoned. I suppose I shall have to be your guide back to the city.”

“Shall you then?” Isolde raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it cannot be risked that a lady as passionate as you be left to end up lost to the forest.”

“You make an excellent argument, Fritjof.”

He offered her his arm, and she took it. She ignored the thrill she got when she did.

They began their walk back to the city, arms intertwined. Fritjof’s pace was not too fast, as though he sensed her dread to head back to her handler. As if she needed one.

“So tell me, how is it the Earl loses track of his charge so easily? Has he not been attentive to you? I cannot imagine being able to take my eyes off someone so pretty for more than a moment.”

Isolde blushed a cherry color but told herself his flirtations meant nothing, that here they were no more than the words of a friendly stranger.

“Alas, the Earl is charged with a rather uneasy ward. I have been trying to escape his attention for a while now. I prefer to explore Kattegat without his eyes on me.”

“Just his, though?” The real question was clear.

“Other company is welcome,” she assured him. “I merely find the Earl can be...stifling sometimes. Are you a friend of his?”

Fritjof seemed taken aback by the mere suggestion. “No. No, most definitely not. He is a bit bloodthirsty for my taste.”

Isolde felt herself go cold. “Does he...participate in the raids?”

“Some.” Fritjof nodded. “Not yours, but others. He comes back with renewed spirits every time. A great plunderer, champion of his people.”

The disgust was clear in his voice, and Isolde felt it rising in her own throat. She couldn’t picture it, and yet she could. All too easily the faces of murderers, of the terrible men she had come to know in her life, were replaced by the Earl. She felt as though she could not breathe.

“My apologies, lady. Have I upset you?” He sounded concerned, though she could not bring herself to look at him.

“No. I am sorry. Please, carry on.”

“I know the Earl by reputation alone. He does have quite the reputation around here, you know. He is rumored to be a womanizer.”

“Is that so?” The more she heard about the Earl, the easier she found it to hate him.

“Yes. Of course, how can he not be? The women throw themselves at him so when he comes home drenched in the blood of others.” Fritjof’s dancing green eyes were dark now with something that could only be described as hatred.

Isolde felt lied to. The Earl had portrayed himself as sweet to her, innocent even. A jovial man she could not have pictured taking joy in killing, any killing. And now she had come to find out that it was all an act. A ruse to draw women like her into his bed. She grit her teeth, wishing she could grind them down to dust in her skull.

“I am sorry,” Fritjof said. “I should not share such nasty rumors. Especially not with one who must spend so much time with him.”

“Perhaps...I do not have to spend all of my time with the Earl.”

Isolde looked to him, the boy with the hair so light she wanted to run her fingers through it in the dappled sunshine falling through the trees. His eyes were so bright, so different from the other men she had seen here. So different from any man she had known.

“Perhaps you could meet me with me sometimes. Show me the way around Kattegat.”

He paused for a moment, thinking, and she feared she had stepped too far, crossed a line. But then he spoke.

“I would like that very much, my lady.”

They were nearly returned now, and she dreaded the night in her chambers, dreaded whatever meal she would share with the royal family tonight. How could she look in all of their faces when all she would see in them was a burning village?

“I must go now, but I will see you again?”

“Even if I must search the entire kingdom to make it so.”

She smiled despite herself. “Go. Off with you and your dramatics.”

He grinned at her one last time before dashing off into the evening light, his pale hair making his figure easy to trace as he left.

She stood and watched him for a moment before finally making her way back into the castle. Like a hound on the scent, Eric found her not long after. This was the moment she had been dreading most.

A man she had slowly grown to trust, who had charmed her into some faith for the people in general, had been lying to her this whole time. Perhaps not directly, but his entire personality had been a ruse. He, the entire person she had known, come to tolerate, if not like or love, was a lie.

“My lady,” he said, beaming at her in that stupidly disarming way that he did.

“Don’t call me that.” She turned away from him, her words shards of ice hanging frozen in the air.

“Isolde?”

She could picture his face even as she started to walk away, see the way his brow furrowed and his eyes grew so sad. She hated it. Hated that this invented version of him was so deeply embedded in her mind. And it caused her to lash out.

She turned on him, hair a bright whirl under the light of the torches.

“You lied,” she spat. “You lied to me about everything. About who you are, about what you want, about your people. This entire thing is a candy-coated, sugary lie. And I believed it. I’m the idiot who believed that you could be different, that you could all be different from what they said. But you know what? They were exactly right, everything they said at home. You’re barbarians who will say anything to get me to sympathize, and I’m the little fool who fell for it.

“Well, if everything they said is true after all, I suppose none of this means anything to you. I suppose I could say whatever I want and it wouldn’t hurt you, because Vikings don’t feel pain.” She took a step towards him, livid, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I suppose I could tell you that I regret dancing with you and that I didn’t mean a word of anything I said drunk. How does that feel? How does it feel when I say that I wish we’d never visited that stupid field of flowers? How does it feel to know that I wish I had never met you? I can say all of that, every word of it, and it will never mean a thing to you. Just like you never meant a thing to me.”

She didn’t want to hear what he said next. Didn’t want to hear him lie to her, tell here it all did mean something truly, and that he cared about her. If she had to hear that from him tonight she was sure she would be sick.

So she ran. Turned away again and stormed down the hall, ignoring the broken cry of her name behind her. The royal family would be expecting her at dinner, and she supposed that she had to pull herself together again. After all, this kingdom was all about appearances, wasn’t it?

#dreamwritesimagines #vikings:ff #kingdom of gold #kog #faint of heart #foh #crown of hearts #coh #ivar vikings #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrock #vikings #earl eric #eric

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 years

Text

Heart of Steel - IV

Description: Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N?

Pairing: Medieval AU -Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 3,285

Warning: If you’re a history buff, probably don’t read this because the historical inaccuracies will most likely drive you crazy. 😅

Series Masterlist

The castle was in an absolute frenzy as servants prepared for the ball.

Usually it was the princess’ responsibility to arrange and plan such affairs. But Y/N just couldn’t bring herself to care. Maybe if the ball wasn’t all for her, she’d be able to swallow her pride and play her part.

She managed to convince Tony to take a ride with her. It was only after Bruce told him it would be good for her that he finally agreed.

Now it was the two of them, along with a small army of guardsmen. Bucky, Sir James Rupert, Sir Clinton, Sir Samuel, Peter, and Sir Harold trailed behind the royal siblings. They pretended to give them some semblance of privacy.

“I think this is the longest time we have gone without speaking, sister.” Tony teased, but there was worry in his eyes.

“Hmm?” She hummed. “I apologize, Tony. I am just trying to breathe the fresh air.”

“You know, whenever you out here, you act as if you have not seen the sun in years. You breathe the air as if you will never get a another chance.” Tony’s tone was humble, yet serious.

“Do you ever wish you were born a commoner, Tony?” Y/N asked before she could stop herself.

“I think it would be unwise for me to answer that question.”

Y/N laughed lightly, “You have always been better at playing the game than I, dear brother. Sometimes I envy you for it.”

“If your wish were granted, if you were but a mere commoner… what would you possibly do with yourself?” Tony asked.

Y/N smiled at the thought. “I would explore, never stay in one place, see as much of the world as possible. Learn as much as I possibly could and share my new knowledge with whoever wished to hear it. I would seek out the most famed philosophers and painters and poets, and I would ask to hear their stories.”

Bucky smirked as he overheard Y/N share her dream.

“Why can you not fulfill all of these wishes as a princess?” Tony challenged.

“You forget I was not born a man, Anthony. I am not a prince, like you. I cannot go exploring for months on end. I cannot leave my kingdom whenever I wish. It will be even less so when I am married. I will have to look after a castle and a husband... and someday children. My life will be only be an extension of my husband’s. My work will be only that which serves my new King.”

Tony frowned and looked away, knowing not a word she spoke was a lie. He was not one for serious talks such as this. Prince Anthony was known as a rebellious and charming man. His wit and cleverness were just as renowned as his title.

Now he could not give words to lift his sister’s spirits. So Tony did what he did best.

“Are we done feeling sorry for ourselves now, princess?”

Y/N smiled and giggled at her brother’s lack of sensitivity.

An hour or so later, Tony received message that his fiancé Virginia had arrived to the castle. She was visiting for the ball, but their wedding was only months away.

He looked torn on leaving his sister. Who knew how many more rides like this they would share?

“Go!” Y/N urged him. “You look like you have been struck by cupid’s arrow. I will not keep you from your beloved, brother.”

Tony smiled at her teasing. Then his eyes shifted to Bucky.

“You watch over her for me.” He warned the knight evenly.

“Always, Your Highness.” Bucky bowed his head.

Tony took most of the guards with him, leaving Y/N with only Bucky and Peter. The castle was in sight and they were in the safety of the royal grounds. Y/N didn’t need more escorts.

Y/N leaned her head back and closed her eyes as she absorbed the sunshine.

“I think I wish to walk from here,” she announced.

Moon whined as soon as Y/N dismounted. But he nuzzled his shoulder as she started leading him into a walk.

Peter waited for Bucky to follow before getting off his own horse.

“So, when is our next lesson?” Y/N asked Bucky with a grin.

He narrowed his gaze. “When the entire castle is not swarming with servants and visiting royals.”

Y/N humphed in a pout, but knew he was right. There was no way they could sneak around with all the new company.

“Why do you wish to learn how to wield a sword anyhow, Your Highness?” The young squire asked curiously.

“Peter!” Bucky scolded. “You must learn to hold that tongue of yours.”

Y/N chuckled at her knight’s harsh tone. It invoked fear in just about everyone but her.

“It is quite alright, Sir James. He means no harm.” She calmed him. Then the princess turned her attention to the young boy. “Peter, did your mother or father ever tell you not do something when you were a child?”

Peter nodded.

“And did it only make you wish to do it even more?” Y/N continued.

Peter nodded again.

“Well, that is part of it.” Y/N sighed.

“And the other part?” Peter asked.

Y/N frowned at the question. “Have you ever felt powerless, Peter? Ever felt so incapable that you began to feel weak?”

Peter wanted to nod, but the gravity of his princess’ words chilled him.

Y/N stopped walking Moon so she could face the boy head on. “I do not wish to feel weak any longer.”

Peter swallowed thickly from being addressed by the princess so directly. He managed to nod his head and then look away from her intense stare.

Y/N then continued walking forward.

Bucky lingered for a moment to glare at his squire. Then he smacked him on the back of the head when Y/N was far enough away not to notice.

“What?” Peter gasp.

But Bucky just shook his head in disappointment and marched forward.

————

Y/N had made a point not to venture out of her wing when all the the guests had arrived. Every spare room was filled with nobles or royals. She had no intention of socializing with them any more than she already had to.

But as she got ready for the ball (or rather as her team of servants and seamstresses dressed her up as if she were a giant doll) Y/N slightly regretted it.

Her heart was racing from the anxiety and pressure. She knew the people touching and fidgeting with her could feel it. But they would never dare say anything.

Only Wanda watched her with a sympathetic look and tried to give her a reassuring smile. It was moments like these that made Y/N wish she could switch places with her.

Then they were practically shoving her out the door. The party had already started and the King and Queen had specifically requested that the princess come later.

Y/N had rolled her eyes at their dramatics, knowing they wanted her to make a big entrance. It was just more pressure on her.

Wanda held the door open for Y/N. Bucky and Sir Samuel were waiting patiently for her exit.

After the incident with Prince Brock and the castle being filled with foreigners, Y/N’s guardsman had been ordered by the King to keep an even more watchful eye on the princess.

“Sir James, Sir Samuel,” Wanda greeted with the bow of her head. She didn’t miss the way Bucky held his breath at the sight of Y/N.

“You shall be the most beautiful woman at the ball, Your Highness.” Sam said with a bow of his head and confident smirk.

The teasing gave Y/N a small relief and she smiled a little. “Thank you, Sir Samuel. But you have not seen the guests of the ball, so your compliments are premature.”

“Oh, I do not need to see the others to know,” Sam corrected with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good. She doubted she would have another on this dreadful night.

Her eyes fluttered over to Bucky, half expecting him to compliment her, as well.

But he remained silent. Y/N sighed and lifted her skirts, “Shall we?”

Sam nodded, and Bucky started walking without saying anything.

As soon as they arrived at the great hall, Y/N’s breathing became shallow. She was so lost in her own head that she missed Bucky watching her with great concern.

When the herald spotted the princess, he sent a servant to quiet down the music.

Suddenly the trumpet group started playing the royal fanfare. All of the guests inside were shushing and quieting down in anticipation.

Y/N took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing and rapid heartbeat.

Sam gave Bucky a warning look when he saw the man shifting back and forth, physically in pain from not being able to give Y/N some sort of comfort.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of Zamora.” The herald called out.

Sam and Bucky flanked either side of her, just a step behind, as Y/N slowly walked forward. Her head was held high and all signs of anxiety and nervousness were utterly concealed. Y/N moved with a grace and confidence that was unparalleled.

Finally she made her way to her small throne beside the King and Queen. Anthony sat on the other side of their parents. As soon as she sat down, the music began playing once again and the guests resumed talking, but at a much quieter volume.

Bucky and Sam stood in the shadows just behind her throne, keeping a watchful eye out.

Y/N’s own gaze flickered around the room, taking in as much information as possible while also keep a stoic expression. She recognized old faces and saw the new too.

Almost immediately, royal families started approaching the throne and either greeting the King and Queen or introducing themselves.

To Y/N’s shock, the first were the Asgardians.

Their kingdom rested in the hinterlands. They were isolated and distant, staying out of affairs that did not directly involve them. There were always whispers of the family practicing magic. But Y/N found it hard to believe it could ever be the dark kind with the way the eldest son, Thor, appeared. The man was a giant. But reminded Y/N more of a loving dog than the fierce lion she heard about. He had kind eyes and a warm smile.

His older sister and younger brother hardly even looked related to him. Icy eyes and greasy black hair. If anyone practiced dark magic, it was them.

“Princess Y/N, it is truly an honor to make your acquaintance,” Thor greeted with a deep bow.

“We do not see much of the Asgardians, Prince Thor,” Y/N greeted. “I am honored you made the long and tiresome journey for Zamora.”

“Not for Zamora,” he corrected, “for you, Princess Y/N.” Prince Thor said with a charming smile.

Y/N smirked at his charm. It was entertaining… for now.

King Henry shared a look with Thor’s father. “We shall speak more privately later in the evening, King Odin.”

Just like that, the responsibilities of the night were brought back to the forefront of Y/N’s mind.

Y/N forced herself to sit up even straighter. “You will save me a dance, Prince Thor?”

Her forwardness and charm caught Thor off guard, but he quickly bowed his head in agreement and walked slowly away with his family. But not before looking over his shoulder to catch another glimpse of Y/N.

The only other family that had made a longer journey than the Asgardians was the Wakandans. It must’ve taken them at least a week to arrive Zamora.

Y/N was immediately fascinated with them. King T’Challa was surrounded by female knights, not a male in sight. However, Y/N feared them more than any man in the great hall.

“They are called the Dora Milaje.” Sam whispered into Y/N’s ear before they approached. “They are the world’s fiercest warriors and the king’s most loyal companions.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up at the information. All of the women’s head were shaven and they wore bright red armor, which was unlike the dull greys and blacks Y/N was accustomed to.

However, Princess Shuri, dowager Queen Ramonda, and King T’Challa were dressed head to toe in black. It was another peculiarity for Y/N, since the royals she knew illustrated their wealth with bright colors and expensive jewelry. T’Challa bowed his head. There was a quiet confidence to him that Y/N respected. Somehow she already knew he was wise beyond his years.

“King T’Challa you have made such a journey to a land so foreign from your own,” Y/N greeted him. “I fear we will only disappoint.”

T’Challa smirked at her modesty, “Nonsense, Princess Y/N. Your beauty is worthy of a journey three times longer than our own.”

“No need to flatter me, King T’Challa. Your mere presence is an honor in its own.” Then her eyes flickered to the Dora Milaje that stood behind him. “I know so little of your kingdom, I hope you will appease me and open my mind to the mysteries of Wakanda.” Y/N answered with a radiant curiosity in her eyes. It was one of the few things she would say tonight that was genuine.

T’Challa nodded with a smile of his own. “It would be my pleasure, Princess Y/N.”

After they moved away, Y/N’s mother gave her a reassuring smile, proud of her daughter’s grace and manners. But Y/N hadn’t surprised herself, she knew how to play her part in all this.

The pattern continued for the next hour. Y/N received royal family after royal family. Her hand was either kissed by a man or she was given hollow compliments. It grew boring, and Y/N slowly became mentally and socially exhausted. She already planned to lock herself in her wing after tonight and speak to no one for a week.

Thor gave Y/N the dance he promised. They spoke polite and buoyant conversation. Y/N didn’t mind him at all. In fact, she rather enjoyed his warm presence. But it was nearly impossibly to know if she could share a life with a man she had just met.

There were also horrible conversations. Egotistical princes and kings, who were of the same breed as Rumlow, just less threatening and evil.

After a few hours, Y/N needed a moment to herself. She gave a look to Sam and Bucky, telling them with her eyes to stop anyone from following her.

She rushed out to the gardens that were luckily undiscovered by the guests.

The cold, fresh air worked miracles. Y/N closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

Y/N knew she should’ve listened to Wanda when she tried to force her to eat beforehand. Now she had a stomach filled with wine and no supper. It did, however, make her relax quite a bit.

The princess was broken out of her alleviation when the sound of heavy footsteps were heard from behind her.

“If another prince compliments me on my beauty, I shall surely be sick.” Y/N grumbled, thinking it was Bucky, sent to lead her back to the ball.

“Well, then I will be sure to keep my distance,” a deep voice replied.

Y/N��s eyes widened when she realized it was not Bucky and did not recognize the voice.

She quickly whipped around to find a tall, handsome man standing before her. His hair was uncommonly short, but his eyes were a blue that could rival Bucky’s.

“Please forgive me,” Y/N bowed her head. “That was very improper of me. I mistook you for my guard.” She hated losing at this game.

The man chuckled, “I quite enjoyed it actually.” There was no lie in his tone.

“But it is I who must apologize. I startled you and have now not properly introduced myself.” He stepped forward and bowed slightly. “I am King Steven of Midgard.”

Y/N curtsied, but her mind was racing with this information. The King of Midgard? It was the only kingdom bigger than her own. She could have sworn it was King Joseph who ruled. Y/N scolded herself for not being more informed.

“And you are?” He asked in return.

Y/N realized she had rudely not given her own name. But then she recognized that King Steven actually did not know who she was.

“Do you truly not know?” She asked him carefully.

“I do not. But the longer you keep it from me, the more infuriated I become with my ignorance.” Somehow it was not charm, but blatant honesty.

Y/N was not used to blunt conversations, especially with royals. She found it oddly refreshing.

“Y/N,” She muttered in a voice that was her own and not a forced voice of a royal. She didn’t know why she left out her title.

King Steven’s eyes widened, immediately recognizing his mistake. “You are Princess Y/N of Zamora?”

Then he looked behind them at the ball; the ball that was solely being thrown in her honor. What a fool he was.

But Y/N let out the loud laughter her mother tried to rid her of and nodded.

Steve seemed in daze from hearing her laugh.

Then he opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and closed it.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, proving that she’d caught it.

“I intended to pay you a compliment,” King Steven explained, “but then I remembered your initial grievance.”

“I have robbed you of a man’s only device for luring women. Whatever shall you do?” Y/N teased.

King Steven glared at her playfully, “I have an inclination there are far more things to worship about your character than something so obvious as your beauty.”

Y/N’s smile was wiped from her lips. Once again, his words felt like a transparency rather than a charming line.

“I apologize. I have made you uncomfortable.” He said quickly, clearly having misread her reaction.

Then Y/N took in his clothing.

For a king, he was dressed rather modestly. He chose to wear muted browns and leather, rather than the bright velvets and plush furs of most royals. However, the clothing did nothing to hide his build.

There was a sword strapped to his waist. It wasn’t uncommon to see on a king; but it was usually more for show than purpose. Though Y/N had an inkling that King Steven knew how to use it quite well.

“I must confess, I am not very good at this.” King Steven added. Her silence seemed to make him nervous.

“And what is that exactly, King Steven?” Y/N asked gently.

“Courting women,” he confessed. Then his eyes widened in horror. “But you are not just a woman! You are a princess. Please, forgive me. I have done nothing but make a fool of myself since being graced with your presence.”

To his shock, Y/N giggled.

“Please, you need not apologize. I find it rather endearing... if I am being truthful.”

Before the King could say anything more, they were interrupted.

“Your Highness, the King has requested your return.”

It was Bucky.

Y/N’s smile dropped at the sight of him.

Why did she feel like Bucky had caught her doing something wicked?

The guilt ate away at her.

Then King Steven turned around to address the knight.

“Bucky?” The man said in absolute astonishment.

------

Part V

Okay this will now be the 4th chapter in a week. so write me a novel of thoughts, feelings, and reactions. make me happy ❤️

#heart of steel series #knight!bucky #knight!bucky x princess!reader #medieval!avengers #medieval!bucky #bucky barnes au #knight bucky #marvel au #marvel reader insert #bucky barnes reader insert #king!steve rogers

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