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mlek13 · 2 years

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Summer, Year 8: Clarett

I was concerned about moving my vampires into apartments because I knew they would have to be outside in daylight while signing leases, so I decided to make a vampire friendly apartment complex. (I also like the idea of my supernatural sims being kind of clanish, so I having an apartment building where the vampires can live and interact together.)

I’m so used to making my “apartments” like stand alone houses on the same lot, that I forgot I could make the common areas indoors, so that’s what I did here. I built as close to the road as possible and made sure there were plenty of doors, especially at the ends of the lots where sims might be coming or going and near the mailbox and trashcan.

I was trying to look up information about what constitutes indoors and outdoors to see what I could do with the lot and didn’t find what I was looking for, but I did see someone recommending using garages for vampires (which I never think about building). I could only make the garages and driveways fit for the front two apartments.

There are four apartments in the vampire castle. The two at the front have garages. I tried to build large common areas that would allow them to do more activities inside and I placed items for taking care of their needs (like common bathrooms) near the entrance, in case they do wander outside.

I made sure none of the apartments are touching each other to prevent constant noise annoyances, so there are some narrow passageways within the castle. On the far left I made a hallway on the edge of the building in case sims enter or exit the lot on that side, so they can dart inside quickly. I got a little creative with the passageway between the right apartments to create more exterior walls. With so many interior walls, putting walls up for picture taking is going to be a challenge.

The two front apartments and the back right apartment also have an upstairs. The back left apartment is one story.

I decided to make Benjamin Farmer my test sim for this lot. (After this, I tried to remember to wait for the landlady to go inside before choosing an apartment. Luckily, he was fine.)

This is a view of the common area from the front of the building.

I originally had restrooms at the front of the lot (to Benjamin’s right in the picture above) but I consolidated them to make room for a mail room. Unfortunately, I had to give up that idea. The game kept crashing when I was playing Benjamin and I think moving the mailbox and trashcan inside was causing the problem. At least this lot hasn’t been crashing for me since then.

I wanted to make food easily available for vampires coming inside during the daylight, but I didn’t want to try putting a refrigerator in the common areas, so I decided to add a bar instead. So this turned into a rec room with a bar, chess table, and pool table.

Benjamin meets the other bachelors who have taken the empty apartments.

The garage idea is not working as expected. It doesn’t help when they go outside, then enter through the big door instead of entering from the internal doors. Benjamin and Brett both refused to enter the garage through the safe way, so I think they would be better off not using them at all.

Every time I tried to play Benjamin in this lot the game crashed, so none of this saved. Ultimately, I decided it made more sense for him to stay where he was, since he has ties to his old apartment lot. I’m probably not going to play him by himself since he doesn’t age. I ended up moving him in with his main love interest Lindsay Vajayakar for now.

I had better luck with the other families I moved into this lot. Brett and his youngest daughters move into the apartment at the front left.

On the first day I made a mistake and hired two nannies while Brett went to work.

“What are you doing here? I thought this was my job.”

Before they moved, I found the right mod to cure Brissa of vampirism. Yay! Here’s what she looks like as a non-vampire toddler.

In the new apartment, the nannies are showering Brissa with attention.

“Who’s your favorite nanny? It’s me Nanny Esther, isn’t it?”

“Oh move over, Esther! She wants to play with her Nanny Brooke. Don’t you, sweetie.”

Then the nannies compete over who gets to feed Brissa and get out way more bottles than one toddler would ever need.

After observing the nanny madness, Blaire is so glad when her daddy returns home from work to save them from the out of control nannies.

Brett has the next day off and invites Sheridan over. He’s working up to asking her on a date, when Blaire comes home from school and interrupts them to show off her report card.

I tried to build as close to the road as possible, but of course they would find the narrow strip that I turned into a flower bed to play catch in the sunlight. *sighs*

I know Brett had rolled the want to marry Sheridan, but I’m not sure if it’s still locked. Sheridan is still showing no interest in marriage. If they do get married I don’t know where they would live. I would hate to move Brett out of his new place right away, but Sheridan is heir to her household. She did want to be a vampire last round so maybe this visit is her checking out what it would be like. If they did get married she would be like a mother to his daughters, so it would be good for her to get to know them.

Brissa has her child birthday this round.

And Blaire reconnects with her older sisters. Mercy may be at university, but that doesn’t stop them from being close.

Chastity stops by, but Blaire doesn’t seem to know what to think about her older sister.

I was worried about Chastity last round. Seduced into an engagement by Count Ray, turned into a vampire, then cast aside, tormented by vampire ghosts, and living a life of crime. It felt like Count Ray had trapped her and was holding her prisoner and she needed a family member to reach out to for help.

Chastity: If you had given Miranda and I our mother’s inheritance, maybe I wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

Chastity: You would think Ray has money, but we have to harvest money trees constantly to make ends meet.

Luckily for Chastity, Count Ray had a change of heart. Maybe committing to someone for all eternity was giving him cold feet. Maybe he just needed more time to make sure. But over the course of the season they made up from the broken engagement and he rolled the want to get engaged to her again.

Chastity was thrilled and accepted his second proposal. I hope he doesn’t break her heart again.

I hated to move them right away after I remodeled their house, but I decided it would be better for them to live in the vampire apartments where Chastity won’t be so isolated from her family.

She’s so happy about these developments that she can’t help kissing Count Ray up the arm before they head inside to check out their new home. They moved into the back left apartment, behind her father and little sisters for the start of the next season.

Count Ray brought Contessa Lilly and Vlad’s tombstones with them in his inventory. I’m not sure where to put them yet.

Miranda didn’t get a chance to visit this season, since she was busy giving birth to her second child.

Baby girl Candace is seventh in line to the throne after cousin Laura.

Miranda and Calvin’s household must have been uneventful this round, because that’s all I have from them. I might have to have Brett give the older girls some money, so that Miranda and Calvin can move into Brett and Clarissa’s old house which is more befitting Noble class sims. They can’t afford to move right now.

#ts2 #the sims 2 #sims 2 #clarett household #clarissa and brett #Noble Class #chastity and miranda #royal kingdom challenge #royalkingdomchallenge #vampire apartments

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andrasteisolde · 2 years

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Chapter VI

Save for occasional laughter and shouting emanating from the great hall, the castle sat silent, and save for what guests remained at the feast, the occasional guard patrolling the grounds and the royal family tucked in their beds, the castle stood still. Despite his earlier misgivings, Merek had thoroughly enjoyed the feast, but having had his fill of food and drink and having lost the last few rounds of a drinking game Dionysus Rhys had initiated and ultimately won, he had slipped out of the great hall under the pretense of using the privy and returning, neither of which he planned to do. Wandering the halls, head buzzing from too much mead, he leaned against one of the stone walls and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop spinning. With his eyes closed, his other senses now heightened, he could hear muffled voices echoing off the stone from deeper in the castle and could faintly smell lavender, the Queen's scent. At some point, Andraste had taken the same path as he and the realization made both his heart flutter in his chest and his imagination run wild; the thought of a secret rendevous with her Highness in the dimly lit passageway both cleared his swimming head and aroused him. Before he could truly fantasize about her and the way he wished to touch her, the voices that had seemed so distant were now dangerously close to where he was. Opening his eyes in alarm, wanting to avoid being spotted and sucked into another meaningless conversation with whoever inched closer, he shoved off the wall, retraced his steps and instead of turning the corner to the left, he went right. His body pressed against stone, head tilted to the side to better eavesdrop, he made out two distinct female voices, one which sounded vaguely familiar.

"---the audacity of presuming the Queen would want him escorting her to the parish. Why would any other than the Knight Commander escort her Highness when he is not laden with duty. And did you see how Sir Dionysus Rhys watched him after uttering such foolishness?" "I think it brave," the second female said, the lilt in her voice jarring his memory, "to ask so boldly to accompany the queen. If his plans are to join the Queen's guard, and I do so hope they are, what better way to accomplish it than by volunteering to escort her? Has he not already proven his actions to be just?" "'Tis plain to see any and all his actions to be just according to you, Lisette. There is little doubt that you fancy him. Your reddened face more than gives it away." "I cannot deny that I do harbor feelings for Sir Merek. He's quite easy on the eyes, chiseled and muscled, and has already proven to be chivalrous," Lisette said quietly. "Perhaps it also does not hurt that his posterior fits in his trousers so nicely." "Ebris!" Lisette shouted, then covered her mouth with her hand. "Calm yourself. I only speak what you will not so readily admit. You are not the only to notice his assets." Both women laughed, and Merek found himself grinning ear to ear. "Riordahn's ball is fast approaching and Merek has been bade to attend, which is the perfect time for you to find out if he lusts for you in return and for you to put your shyness to bed. Now, let's away. I must fetch some fresh linen for her Majesty and I know she awaits you as well." "Aye, to fetch some cherry cobbler. Her cravings are without end." Again laughing, the two women headed down the passageway away from Merek. Once he was sure they were long gone, he emerged from his hiding place and came to the part of the hallway where he could either go right, following the two ladies, or go left, hoping to find... What exactly was he hoping to find? He knew what he was trying to avoid, any and all confrontation with Dafydd. Fighting the urge to go right, wanting despertely to see the Queen again before leaving the castle, he reluctantly went left.

The corrider seemed to be endless. Despite making a few turns, he was almost certain he had passed that same painting of King Atticus, Andraste's father, more than once, and each time he did, the imposing figure stared back at him as if boring a hole through him, uncovering the truth as to why Merek was in the Queen's company. Wincing under the glare from the former king, he turned back and this time instead of turning left, he took a right and then another right. Realizing he was endlessly lost, his only hope someone finding him, he turned and halted to a stop. Standing in an archway facing the throne room, he spied a lone figure sitting on the throne. Even without the dim lighting from the numerous candles in the throne room casting shadows, he knew instantly who it was. Hesitant, thinking he could leave unnoticed, he slowly backed up but was stopped short when the figure spoke. "Ah, her Highness's hero in the flesh." Cursing under his breath, Merek stepped through the archway and into the throne room proper and leaned against one of the walls, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes watching the speaker wearily.

"The hour grows late. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me." "'Twas my wish, but it seems that that, amongst my other wishes, has fallen deaf upon the ears of The Watcher. Tell me, Father Dolane, how must I word such things in the future for The Watcher to hear my prayers?" "Such a smart tongue. One would think you would respect a priest, of all things." "Show me a priest, and I shall." Smiling at Merek, it not quite reaching his eyes, Dafydd stood to his full height and seemed to puff out his chest. "You have me at that, but enough of this banter and to the matter at hand. It seems you have made quite the impression on the Queen," Dafydd said, swirling a goblet of wine whilst sneering, his tone laced with what almost sounded to be jealousy. "You took my words to heart, finding a way into her good graces and gaining an audience with her. 'Tis a shame, however, that that meant saving that brat of hers." Dafydd took a drink of his wine whilst Merek balked at his words. "He's just a boy, barely older than an infant. Idly standing by and letting him be trampled is not something I or any other decent folk would do. I can see how that would be hard for you to grasp." Ignoring the quip, Dafydd continued on, taking yet another sip of wine, but this time letting it linger. "A boy today, aye, but in a few years he will ascend the throne. You had the chance to nip that in the bud, yet you chose to intervene. It, however, makes no difference to me how the child and the rest of his family perish, be it by accident or by the executioner's noose, just that it occurs." "You are gravely mistaken if you believe I will help you murder innocents. That was not part of our deal."

Merek shoved off from the wall and started towards Dafydd who looked unconcerned. "Perhaps I was not clear when we first spoke. Think, Merek. In order for me to claim the throne, I need any and all obstacles out of my way and that includes all members of the royal family, including those unborn. I care not if you are the hand that wields the hammer, but I do need you to find the proof I seek in order for the hammer to strike. That was part of our deal. I do not necessarily need you, Merek. If need be, I can find all the proof I need myself or even fabricate it, but I included you out of the kindness of my heart because I know how much you care for your sister. Although, I must say, she would make quite the queen next to my side." The anger drained from Merek's face as Dafydd pushed past him and started walking toward the archway Merek had entered through. "No," Merek said, shoulders slumped, dejected, "leave Caroline out of this. If there is proof to be found, I shall find it, but I will not commit regicide." "Good," Dafydd said, nodding his head and straightening the front of his wrinkled priestly robes. "I knew you would see things my way. Now, I expect results, Merek. I want to see something incriminating against the Queen soon as a sign of good faith of our deal, or I shall have Caroline brought against her will to me. I would hate for her to learn the reason for her prediciment is because of her brother." Seeing the angst on Merek's face, Dafydd laughed and started to move through the archway, stopping short to speak over his shoulder. "Oh, and Merek, do not think I do not see the way you look at her. I do so hope she has not clouded your mind or the task at hand. If I can offer some advice, I would tread carefully. Not only am I watching you, but so is Knight Commander Dionysus Rhys and he tends to be... very protective of what is his and his alone." With that the pauper priest vanished around the corner. Angry and disgusted, sitting down on the throne, Merek held his head in his hands unaware that he was being watched. Sighing, running a hand through his hair, the sound of an object striking stone brought him back from his self-loathing. Standing abrupty, scanning the room with alarm, he turned toward one of the archways that led to the kitchen and saw it -- a candlestick. Cursing, he moved to the candlestick and picked it up. Squinting in the dim light, scanning every inch, he gently placed the candlestick down and hurridly made his exit. As if there was not enough on his plate. now he had to figure out who had overheard them and what he could do to ensure their silence.

Previous // Beginning

#sims 4 #ts4 #obrien legacy #sims 4 medieval #storytelling

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

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B2:S - Chapter 5

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be lots of Viren deets, Best Boy Soren deets, some writing/continuity stuff, worldbuilding appreciation and half of a theory, Detective Rayla, Moon Temple geeking, Claudium and dark magic, and more!

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

(I know for darn sure that I wrote up a post for chapter 4, but I can't find it anywhere so I guess Tumblr ate it and I'll have to redo it at some point, but today is not that day)

Viren, my evil dude, my bad guy, coming in clutch with the worldbuilding and backstory again! If you want to know decades of information, you gotta talk to Viren. Or read his scenes, at least. Here, he seems to not sleep much when he has a big problem to analyze his way through. Solutions trump pretty much everything else in this guy's life, and he's had a really hard week with a lot of new and complicated problems. Of course he's getting sleep-deprived trying to find his way through them all.

Harrow put so much trust in Viren when he made him High Mage! He just threw himself extra hard at that Lady Justice blindfold, didn't he? Didn't really want to see what Viren was doing in his magic study, so he left Viren to his devices. And Viren has a lot of devices.

Also, this is fascinating: Viren made the secret passage to his "less official study" in Katolis Castle! And he was inspired to do so by the way his own mentor kept the Puzzle House. What else could a Puzzle House be, except a place with secret passages? Yay! secret headcanon that "the Puzzle House" is just "Katolis Castle" from Kid Viren's perspective tho

So either Viren built all of those passageways, or at least the ones to his dungeon. Which means he has to have, or know where to get, a stash of those glowing blue Moonshadow crystals. Hmmm.

I can't wait to learn more about Kpp'Ar and young Viren, btw. From this description of Viren and all his literal secret ways, it feels like another parallel between Viren and Runaan, with the whole "secretive paths, members only, insider knowledge" type stuff. Only the really cool members of this cult club get to know the secrets, and guess what, kid, you're cool now but you can never tell anyone, okay? Our secret.

Yeahhh, that'll never backfire in any way for either of them.

Kpp'Ar calling puzzles and secrets "man-made magic," though. Yes sir, knowledge is indeed power.

This chapter mentions Runaan by name, from Viren's perspective. Generally that would imply that Viren knows his name, even though assassins do not share their names, and Runaan didn't seem to give his to Viren in the first book. However, there was a scene in book one where the last paragraph switched perspective from Viren to Runaan - a technique that's very common in visual media like movies and shows and gives you that "ohoho they left the room and didn't notice this, but you do!" vibe. Using Runaan's name there in book one, where Viren couldn't see it but readers could, helps them keep track of the assassin's story arc while maintaining Viren's racism.

So in book two, in which Runaan has no onscreen scenes (alas), using his name in a scene that calls back to the events in book one helps us remember what happened in that dungeon cell. It would be a bit muddier to recall the specifics if Viren kept thinking about Runaan as "Elf." So I'm cool with the perspective nudge because it serves a narrative purpose: clarity. But I'm also enjoying the angst of considering that, somehow, Viren learned Runaan's name either during or after the coining spell. Mwa ha ha haaa. (Obligatory "Keep my pretty name outta your mouth" goes here)

Okay, back to Viren's scheming! He took the mirror because it was human-sized in a dragon lair. He knew it didn't really fit there, and that made it interesting, so he stole it. But he realized it was really powerful when Runaan wouldn't tell him squat about it - the assassin's instinct to protect Xadian secrets from human hands meant that Viren was holding a very powerful Xadian secret. And that just made him want it all the more. Ah, Runaan, if only your relationship with lying was, like, the exact opposite of what it is. Nyx could've spun Viren a believable tale in 2 minutes flat.

Also of interest: Viren considers his cursed coins to be a final fate. He expects Runaan to remain in his coin forever. With the Chekhov's coins still extant in the storyline, we can assume that they'll come up again eventually, but Viren has no current plans to do anything with his elf money except carry it around.

It's worth noting that Viren admits that he got impatient when he trapped Runaan in the coin. Runaan's first fate in Katolis was supposed to be death at Soren's hands, but Claudia "saved" him from that. His next fate was to become spell components, but Viren's frustration with his stubbornness "saved" him from that fate, too. So now he's in a coin, where no one can chop him up at all. Yay? No, boo!

We get one last line about Runaan before Viren shifts gears: he makes a point of noting for us that Runaan's shackles are still locked shut. However much of Runaan made it into that coin - body, soul, hair care products - he was magicked there, pulled right out of his restraints.

The creepy black liquid that Viren pours right into his eyes is the last of a powerful potion he got from Kpp'Ar, and its recipe is ancient! Humans used it back in the age of Elarion to see through the illusions of the world. And we get a delightfully creepy bit of description about the preparation of this serum, which makes it abundantly clear that it's a Moon magic-based concoction, harvested from eyeless vipers on a moonless night, with the threat of irrevocable madness ("madness" by whose definition, though) if it's done wrong-

Hang on. Hold up. This is a Plato's Cave reference. OH MY GOD.

No no I'm fine, this is brilliant. Sorry, sorry, I couldn't figure why there was so much description for a potion prep that Viren didn't even have to perform himself. But now I get it. I see the light. HA. I should make a separate post for this, it's amazing.

Anyway, for reference, the humans who used this serum were called the Oracles of Ophidia, and Ophidia is a taxonomy group that includes all modern snakes. Can you say "creepy ancient snake rites"? I can! Woo!

Viren activates the serum with a spell, but apparently he's never done it before. He's not sure if it's supposed to be hot and bubbly, and he worries that it's been tainted by moonlight.

Oh, I do hope so.

The magic potion hurts, a lot. Viren will do just about anything, to himself or anyone, to do what he believes is necessary. He just risked madness and blindness to find out what this mirror does! Viren. Can you just. Take a nap or something. Have a Snickers.

This chapter gives us a fun clue that I don't remember from the show: when Viren's vision clears and he can see, his reflection has white pupils and the room reflected in the mirror has inverted colors. You know where else has inverted colors?

You know who else got white pupils for a hot second?

Okay, now it makes sense! Viren and Lujanne were both seeing into the realm beyond life and death. Him with his moon magic potion, and her with her moon powers on a full moon night at the Moon Nexus. Which is Very Interesting! Is it a direct hint about Aaravos's location, or just a separate cool detail? Orrr, does it look like a direct hint because Aaravos is actually trapped in the world beyond life and death, but it's actually separate and we'll see something about white pupils again later on?

Viren really does have self-esteem issues, we all picked up on it with his rant at his reflection. He throws a fit when he catches himself wondering if he's actually worthless. In the book version of his tantrum, he shoves the mirror and hurls a candelabra instead of flipping a table. He didn't need to shove the mirror to set the fire, but it's in here. Foreshadowing that perhaps, if push comes to shove, Viren will choose himself over Aaravos? Giving Aaravos time to peek through and see that the coast is clear?

Soren, my boyyyyy. He has a rough night at the Moon Nexus because two sides of him are fighting with each other. He struggles to understand Callum's friendship with Rayla, and he also fantasizes about chopping off Rayla's head. One of these is a pretty ordinary thing to do. The other is Soren's internalization of what he needs to do to gain his father's approval. If he brought his dad a chopped off elf head every week, he'd probably feel a lot more confident because Viren would praise him a lot more.

Okay, okay, omg, is it just me, or does the "Moonshadow Madness" story, as it's told in the book, seem like Soren just doesn't know what a monsterfucker is? He thinks an elf bite puts humans under a spell. But vampires are sexy, and some people want them to do more to them than just bite them. A passionate kiss under the moonlight could look very bitey, especially if one of the participants has horns and you're already culturally trained to hate them. No yeah, I'm already headcanoning an actual human-elf kiss that got misunderstood by an observer long ago.

it's Lujanne isn't it, we all know, because what is a love spell but a sweet soft illusion, I mean how else does she get supplies for her Caldera, I ask you, and also Corvus was totally sent to investigate once and he told Soren at camp what he saw

And then back to magefam angst: Soren pretending that his sister's nose-tapping is stupid, even though he actually thinks it's cool, just because their dad thinks it's stupid. Viren, istg. Let your kids like harmless things. It's so cute that Soren taps his nose back at her, though! Like they have their own sibling code. I hope we get to see the nose tap again, especially now that they've chosen different sides. It could mean so much, that they're not too far apart yet.

Rayla knows what buttery pancakes smell like. I love this. Do Moonshadow elves have butter and pancakes, does Rayla eat a stack of eight giant pancakes in the morning? Orrrr it is just illusion food? I don't care, let Rayla have pancakes! Everyone loves pancakes. Pancakes will save the world. this message brought to you by the fact that I can't eat pancakes rn, send help

I love that Rayla is both sus of the pancakes and hungry, and that combines into a very motivated "I will get to the bottom of this" attitude. She kind of goes into Poirot Mode when she inserts herself into Soren and Ellis's conversation about Ava, explaining about the wolf's illusion leg and segueing into her claim that the pancakes taste sus. Claudia confirms she used dark magic, and Rayla is furious. It's different than the show's version in that it puts Rayla in detective mode, as the only Moonshadow elf in the scene, and boy does she take that role seriously. Also, she doesn't actually swallow the dark magic pancake bite. It ends up on the ground just like Lujanne's grubs from that earlier meal. These poor kids are so nutrient-starved. You guys gotta eat!!

Rayla's determination and prejudices and the fact that she super knows Harrow is dead all dovetail to make her try repeatedly to persuade Callum that Soren and Claudia are Not To Be Trusted. It's nice that the book keeps taking the time to point out that Rayla is Well Intentioned But Flawed, just like Callum and pretty much every other character in the show. No one is Right All The Time, no one Knows More Than Everyone Else.

Callum loving the sound of Claudia's unique voice is so wholesome. When you like someone, it only makes sense that you like all the things about them that they can't change - like the sound of Claudia's voice. Her choices with dark magic, not so much!

Claudia seems to have the same concerns Soren does about Callum's relationship with Rayla, but she comes out and asks him. The inherent possession implied in "your elf" is interesting, though. Elves are not people to Claudia. They're enemies who can be disassembled for the magic inside them. So maybe more like robots than living beings, if she knew what a robot was. Maybe she heard Soren's "Moonshadow Madness" story and realized he totally missed the kissing implications - but she didn't, and now she's genuinely worried that Rayla could kiss Callum under a full moon and enchant him to do her will. Good thing it's only a half moon, then!

Okay, Callum nervously making a puppet hand and then not knowing what to do with his hands and freaking out about itching and moving and pointy elbows is such a ND mood. The sudden stress of knowing that someone else is noticing your existence and maybe you're Not Existing Right, amirite? Ugh, poor Callum.

The Moon Temple! Omg it's so pretty in the description! Made to be beautiful and useful, full of knowledge but also allowing light and life inside (butterflies and vines). Lujanne, when can I move in, please? Also, it's all the more angsty because Lujanne is the only one who gets to see this beautiful place, but it has lots of chairs and shelves and tables, and it was meant to be used by lots of people. :(((

Claudia knows some of the runes on the walls. She isn't in a hurry to copy the rest of them down or anything, either. Her spellwriting is very precise, and she's a skilled mage. Her father would have made sure she was aware of the dangers of drawing sloppy runes, as much as he made her aware of the dangers of doing dark magic wrong. And the whole point of dark magic is that it's easier to learn than primal magic. Claudia supports her dad and their shared knowledge and life path. She's not gonna go nuts over an elf library she can't translate.

Side note: Between Claudia knowing some Moon runes and Viren building a secret passageway and a dungeon and lighting it with the same blue crystals that Lujanne and Ethari use for light--and Claudia exclaiming that she loves ruins--I wonder once more if there are really Moonshadow ruins somewhere in Katolis, which Viren has found and looted. Father-daughter relic hunting trip, maybe while Soren is away at camp? Omgsh that would be so wild!

Callum out here having a Viren moment with his "I feel powerless unless I've got magic that lets me help" vibes. God. I love their complicated mirroring. One of the hard differences between them is that Callum is very sure dark magic is bad because you have to kill stuff and take its power to cast spells, and he doesn't want to be a person who kills and takes like that. The line he walks to be nice to Claudia on their tour of the Cursed Caldera because he likes her, while telling her that he doesn't want to do her magic, like, ever, is so fine that it might as well be a shifting shadow on the ground. It's a very fitting conversation to be having during the half moon, with its tricks and little white lies.

Callum being out of the castle and his comfort zone, having to deal with the fact that the Claudia he loves is not quite the Claudia who's chasing him down across the kingdom, but of the two of them, he's the only one with a problem with this.

They say that if you really want to get to know someone, you should spend time with them outside their comfort zone - in heavy traffic, with a small baby, taking care of a new pet, trying a new skill, following unfamiliar directions, etc. While the castle is familiar territory for them both, Callum's never really found his comfort zone yet, while Claudia is pretty comfortable with her growing skill set. The creepy part starts to kick in when Callum begins to realize that Claudia's comfort zone encompasses a whole bunch of stuff that seems like it should make her uncomfortable... but it doesn't. But that'll be for a future chapter!

#book two: sky spoilers #book two: sky #b2:s #tdp spoilers #viren #harrow #rayla #runaan #callum #claudia #soren #lujanne #moonshadow elves #aaravos

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sunsetcurve · 3 years

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learn to love without consuming (1/4)

fandom: knight squad relationships: arc / ciara, minor or one-sided arc / oc and ciara / oc word count: 4,603

a/n: eek. it's finally here. if you follow me here you know that i've been working on this for a few weeks (months?), but the idea has been sitting in my drafts for basically forever. almost since i watched the show to begin with. the recent resurgence of the ks fandom prompted me to dig this back up and gave me the motivation to actually try and finish, because fuck it! i love my babes and i want more of them.

so quick note is that this picks up pretty soon after the season 1 finale but disregards basically,,, everything that happens in s2. s1 and the finale proceed the same way except prudy never finds out ciara's secret, so she and warwick don't know at the moment. this chapter was initially gonna have more scenes that drove the plot/romance arc but once i got upwards of 6k with a few major scenes left i decided it would be best if i split the chapter up, so for now it’s just a lot of me trying to work around the convoluted knight squad lore to establish my own. i know that's not exactly what everyone is here for, but i promise things on the romance/action front will pick up soon. i'll place warnings as detailed as i can get without spoiling in the tags and notes as i go, but just anticipate fairly significant violence by chapter 3.

anyway! i have talked enough. the title is from thus always to tyrants by the oh hellos, the rating is t for swearing/violence, there are three more chapters that are in the process of being written, and reviews are like crack as far as i'm concerned. i really hope you like this! thanks for reading <3

dedications: this fic is first and foremost for @ciara-knightly, who is not only my amazing beta but also the whole reason this fic exists. she helped me so so much with the development of the plot and worked through it with me even way before i decided to really start writing it, and i wouldn’t have been able to do this without her. all of the notes she left after beta-reading were so so helpful and really made this whole fic make sense so basically i owe her my entire life. she inspires me to be a better writer all the time and i love her. everyone say thank you shona!!! also tagging my lovely friends and some people who have expressed interest, who are in no way obligated to read this; @juliesdahlias @mistyskiesrambles @dr-rigatoni @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @julies-molinas @soni-dragon @yagorlemmalyn @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @onetwothreefarkle @bitchmilsky

summary: “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”

read it on ao3

The morning before training that day, Arc is testing his skills against a heavy bronze padlock when Ciara enters the squad room and drops a brown paper bag on the table in front of him.

“These,” she announces as he raises an eyebrow at her, “are for you.”

He pulls open the package and is instantly greeted with a rush of warmth and the smell of vanilla. “Dragon puffs?” he says, half in awe. It’s a clear bribe, but he can’t help but shove a sugar-coated sweet in his mouth anyway. They’re an Astorian original and possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted; he’d tried them once at a bakery near the castle and hasn’t stopped thinking about them since.

“Okay, what do you want?” he says then, words muffled around the cream and pastry.

Ciara pulls a face at his manners, but still manages to blink innocently at him. “Can’t I just do something nice for a friend?” she tries, but it’s half-hearted.

He swallows and grins at her. “Nice try, Princess. Your dessert deliveries always come with an ulterior motive.”

Huffing a sigh, she sits down next to him. There’s this subtle air of anticipation lingering around her, one he can only sense based on how in tune they are after so long of being teammates. The two of them have this easy way of reading each other now; they’ve been spending more and more time together, something having shifted in their dynamic after the battle against Ryker. He can’t quite place what it is, but he knows it’s only brought them closer. “Do you know what the Council of the Five Kingdoms is?” she asks finally.

He shrugs. “Sure. Nobles from each kingdom used to have a big ball every year to talk trading and politics and other boring stuff…”

“Except there hasn’t been a council since Ryker’s invasion, because the kingdoms have been isolated and preoccupied with their own safety,” she finishes for him. Her fingers tug at the lacing of her leather gauntlets; she’s nervous, but he still isn’t sure why. “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Arc chokes on his second dragon puff. “You want me to be your escort,” he says flatly, once he’s finished coughing, “to the Council of the Five Kingdoms?” Normally he’d jump at the chance to spend a night dressing up and eating castle food. But the council is a decidedly different scene; there’s a set of formalities, politics underlying everything, and too many chances for him to expose his lack of knowledge when it comes to Astorian customs. Not to mention that Catalias’ royals will be there. He doesn’t know if he can stomach looking them in the face, knowing what they did to Seagate.

Ciara grimaces. “Look, I know it’s not exactly your thing, but my dad won’t let me go alone. And this really means a lot to me.” Her eyes are pleading, and Arc feels his resolve chipping away.

“Can’t one of your actual guards go with you?” he tries. “Or, Prudy or Warwick or someone?”

“I’ve already talked to my dad about it,” she explains. “You’re the only Knight School student he’d let protect me, because you already proved you could when Ryker invaded. Besides, if something were to happen…you’re the one person who knows I can handle myself as Ciara.”

There’s this brief stretch of silence where Arc works his bottom lip, and Ciara looks as though she’s debating something. “Also,” she adds finally, with the soft flicker of a hesitant smile, “I thought it might be fun to go with you.”

Arc blinks at her, caught off guard by the admission. There’s this sudden buzz in his chest that he can’t push away; in truth, he doesn’t like the idea of her spending the night with someone else either. Maybe, by some miracle, this will actually be a good thing. “Alright,” he relents. “I’ll be your escort.”

Ciara’s face breaks into a grin. “Yes! Thank you!” She throws her arms around him, and he’s shock-stilled, a rush of warmth flooding through him as he hugs her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are shining with excitement. “Okay, I’ve gotta go tell my dad you said yes, and there’s a million things to do, but I’ll see you at training later. You are the best.”

“I expect dragon puffs for life!” Arc calls after her as she disappears through her passageway. He leans back into the couch, lightheaded, and in that moment, he realizes abruptly that there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

And he is so completely screwed.

Two weeks later, Arc is standing outside Ciara’s bedroom, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

It feels odd to be out here in the open. Generally his visits to her chamber are accompanied by an air of secrecy, but tonight, he’s a guest in the castle. He’s dressed like it, too, decked out in the guards’ typical formal wear: pressed brown pants, a white shirt laced up the front, and a navy leather jacket trimmed in gold, with Astoria’s crest on one shoulder. He looks kind of dashing, honestly.

Despite the confidence boost his new look offers him, his hand keeps drifting to the hilt of his sword. It’s sheer force of habit; he only associates this brewing sense of apprehension with battle, and his muscles are responding in kind. He’s glad, at least, that he turned down the other guards’ offer to lend him one of their ceremonial blades and instead has the familiarity of his own. Hopefully he won’t need it, but it’s a steadying presence all the same.

“Almost ready!” Ciara calls from inside, and Arc carefully unclenches his fingers from around the leather grip of his sword. He has to keep it together tonight; she’s made it clear how much this means to her. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass her in front of nobles from all five kingdoms.

Well, four, he reminds himself. Seagate won’t be attending. There isn’t anyone left to represent them.

The thought makes his stomach twist.

He’s saved from having to dwell on it by the sound of Ciara’s door unlatching. “Better prepare yourself, Princess,” he teases, leaning against the wall, “I look pretty good, and the last thing we want is for you to get too smitten—”

He breaks off as she emerges from the doorway, all the air in his lungs leaving in a sudden rush. He’s trying hard not to be the cliche of a guy scraping his jaw off the floor at the sight of a pretty girl in a dress, especially not like this, with Ciara—but he can’t help but think that it’s ridiculously unfair of her to come out looking like that. Her dress is a pale blue, falling gently off her shoulders and cinching at her waist, and her tight curls are weaved with strands of gold and tied into a low knot, some of them falling loose to frame her face. There’s a crown of gold leaves and rosebuds settled in her hair.

“You...um…” Arc searches for his voice, “you look amazing.” His mouth feels dry.

Ciara smirks and reaches up to adjust the collar of his uniform. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’m definitely smitten,” she jokes, like it’s nothing for them to be flirting openly. It should be nothing. Except his skin burns where her fingers brush against his neck, and he suddenly wonders if she can hear his heart pounding.

He clears his throat. “We should probably get to the ballroom.”

She nods. “Give me your arm,” she says, looking at him expectantly. When he raises an eyebrow, she continues, “You’re my escort, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He lifts his arm obligingly, his cheeks warm.

“I really wish we’d had more time to go over Astorian customs,” she breathes as she takes it, more to herself than anything. “Between training and helping with preparations, I’ve been so busy…” His nerves must show on his face, then, because she squeezes his arm gently and amends, “Sorry. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just stay close to me, okay?”

“Not a problem,” he grins without missing a beat, and Ciara scoffs and shoves him, the smile tugging at her mouth taking all the bite away from it.

They can do this, he thinks. The two of them have kept up appearances for each other for months now, have fought and trained and battled Ryker together. They’re Arc and Ciara, unstoppable duo. One little party should be nothing.

As they make their way down the hall towards the ballroom, flanked by guards, Ciara lowers her voice. “When we get there, most of the nobles should be inside already. The herald will announce my father first, then us, and then each of the other three kingdoms. We’ll be beside the thrones as they come in—you’ll stand by me, left side—and once they’ve all been announced, we can leave the thrones and mingle. Bow to each of the rulers as they come by.”

They had, at least, practiced his bow. Arc swallows back the dread in his throat; all he has to do is stand beside her and greet the other royals, it’s easy enough. For a moment, they linger outside the entrance to the ballroom, until an official-sounding voice announces the King. “We’re next,” Ciara whispers to him, eyes glinting with excitement. “You ready?”

He nods back at her, and the voice calls, “Accompanied by Sir Arc...Princess Angelica of Astoria!” They step into the ballroom, greeted with applause. Arc doesn’t think he’s ever been in a place this lavish; the walls are white, accented in deep gold, and the floors are polished to a gleam. The ceiling looks hand-painted, ornately decorated in constellations and swirling designs, and crystal chandeliers dangle over their heads, casting a golden glow over the whole room. He tries not to look too awe-struck.

They make their way to the platform on which the thrones rest, Ciara nodding and smiling and waving at the other nobles as they pass. She stands next to her father, and Arc takes his place on her other side, placing his hands behind his back and trying, for all the world, to look like he belongs there. He wonders suddenly if he’s stood too close to her, and if it would make things worse for him to shift over now, and if his indecision is showing on his face—

And then, almost imperceptibly and hidden from the ballroom’s view by the folds of her dress, Ciara reaches over and links her pinky with his. It’s a tiny gesture, a friendly reassurance, but Arc feels a tide of warmth swell in his chest all the same. He lets his gaze flit to her for just a moment, and her lips are graced with a small smile as she tugs his finger gently.

His breath hitches, and he fights to keep his face a passive neutral as the herald announces the next kingdom and he turns his attention back to the doorway.

“Presenting King Hugo, Queen Luciana, and their son Prince Isaac of Catalias!”

Arc’s stomach turns as the couple enters, trailed by their son, all three of them swathed in lavish red and gold. Their reputation precedes them; he knows little about the prince, but the king and queen are infamous for their hoarding of wealth, their favorance of the rich nobles and landowners of their kingdom over the common people. Arc knows them best for what they had done to Seagate.

His hand twitches for his sword, but he fights against the instinct.

True to form, the two have a haughty look about them, all starched clothes and stiff smiles as they bow to Ciara and the King. The two of them return the greeting with Arc following their lead—grudgingly.

“I am so pleased you could join us tonight,” the King smiles, a little tight-lipped. “It is high time that Astoria and Catalias united again.”

King Hugo nods back. “I couldn’t agree more. The honor is ours.”

Arc detects a veiled sort of tension between the two of them, hidden well underneath the cordial formalities. He glances at Isaac, whose eyes are trained intently on Ciara even as he and his parents move to greet the other guests. Something about it is unsettling.

He’s so focused on Isaac that he almost misses the herald’s announcement of the next kingdom. “Queen Damyanti, and her children Princess Aadhya and Prince Kavan of Khurjan!”

Queen Damyanti is the picture of elegance, draped in silver silk that almost seems to glow against her dark skin. Aadhya looks around fifteen, with the same deep eyes and regal expression, and Kavan must be ten or so. He grins toothily as the three of them approach the thrones and bow.

The King’s expression is much warmer now. “Queen Damyanti. It has been too long. I trust Khurjan is doing well?”

“Not quite as well as Astoria, perhaps,” she replies, and it’s teasing, no sharpness to it. “This ball is absolutely lovely. Princess Angelica, you look so beautiful. Just like your mother. I was so sorry to hear of her passing.”

Ciara’s eyes go soft. “Thank you, Queen Damyanti,” she nods back. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“You as well. It’s a shame your sister couldn’t make it, but hopefully we’ll all gather again soon.” She gives a small, departing nod and joins the rest of the nobles, Aadhya giving them a bright-eyed smile and Kavan waving enthusiastically as they follow her. Ciara laughs.

“And finally...King Jesper of Vysalt!”

Arc is confused for a moment; he wonders if he had remembered the name of Vysalt’s king wrong. Then a young man with a head of dark curls and a smattering of freckles against tawny brown skin enters, his crown just slightly crooked. His eyes are wide and dark, and a jagged, white scar cuts across his cheekbone. He can’t be much older than they are.

“He’s the king?” Arc whispers to Ciara under his breath as Jesper makes his way over to them. “How old is he?”

Her expression twists a little in sympathy. “Seventeen. He wasn’t supposed to inherit the throne so soon. His parents were killed when Ryker’s army took over his kingdom.”

Arc isn’t sure what to say to that. He knows what it’s like to lose everything to Ryker—he can picture the flames every time he shuts his eyes. But he hadn’t known about Vysalt or the fate of its royals. They had been close allies with Seagate at one point, one of the only other kingdoms without much wealth, and their king and queen had been known for their generosity.

Somehow Arc had thought the damage had been done to Seagate alone, but now he wonders how the other kingdoms fared, if they suffered just as much. If any of them came out as unscathed as Astoria did.

“Your Majesties,” Jesper says as he bows, and there’s a note of pity in the King’s expression as he returns the gesture. Arc can only imagine how he feels about someone so close to his daughter’s age having to run a kingdom on his own.

“King Jesper. How are you doing?”

It’s a more personal question than he had asked the other royals, Arc notes. Jesper smiles easily; it’s soft, highlights his deep dimples and makes his dark eyes glimmer. “Well, thank you. Vysalt is recovering with time. As am I,” he adds, voice quieting for a moment.

The King nods back. “That’s good to hear. Let us know if there’s anything Astoria can do to help.”

Something flickers in Jesper’s expression, hard to read and gone so quickly that Arc wonders if he imagined it. The young king bows again before moving to join the others, but not before he catches Arc’s eye and smiles warmly. It surprises him—the other royals had hardly given him a second glance—but he returns it with one of his own. Beside him, Ciara lifts an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and something else he can’t place.

“What?” he asks quietly, and she shakes her head, glancing away.

“Nothing.”

He wants to pry, but the King is clearing his throat, getting ready to address the room. The chatter dies down as all eyes turn to him.

“My fellow Astorians,” he says in his deep, booming voice, sounding more formal than Arc has ever heard him, “and my guests from our neighboring kingdoms...I am honored to welcome you to our castle, and so pleased that we could all be in attendance tonight.”

Not all of us, Arc thinks, but no word of Seagate comes up.

The King continues, “For decades, our kingdoms have been isolated and divided by Ryker’s armies. We have long suffered under his forces, but his threat is gone for good. Thus, tonight is more than a council; it is a symbol of our victory, a symbol of our unity as we move forward and rebuild. So enjoy yourselves! After all, we have so much to celebrate!”

To Arc, the sentiment feels hollow. He got his revenge, and of course he’s glad that Ryker can’t hurt anyone else, but it doesn’t change the fact that Seagate is in ruins. It feels suddenly difficult to celebrate with the weight of his village’s absence lingering in the air around him. The rest of the partygoers don’t seem to share his hesitance, though; the room breaks into applause and cheers, several of the guests raising their goblets jovially.

Ciara gives him a subtle nudge, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Now we get to mingle,” she grins, leading him off the throne platform and towards the crowd.

He follows dutifully as she heads toward the table where the other kingdoms’ royals have gathered, Astoria’s king staying behind to greet the other royals. Queen Damyanti is in conversation with King Hugo and Queen Luciana, but she doesn’t seem entirely pleased about it, and Jesper and Kavan are laughing at something Aadhya has said. Isaac hovers next to them, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He has his father’s golden hair and clear blue eyes, but the frown on his face is entirely his mother’s.

It disappears, though, the moment he sees Ciara approaching them. “Princess Angelica,” he greets her, with a little too much enthusiasm for Arc’s liking, “I’m so honored to finally meet you. You’re even more radiant in person.” Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and kisses it swiftly. Arc narrows his eyes.

Ciara gives a forced-sounding chuckle and curtseys, pulling her hand back. “Thank you, Prince Isaac. I’m glad you could make it. Allow me to introduce Sir Arc, my guard and escort for the night.”

Arc bows—and if he never has to bow to another pompous royal again, he thinks, it’ll be too soon—and Isaac offers him a dismissive sort of half-smile. Any further interaction they would’ve had then is thankfully avoided by the other royals noticing Ciara’s arrival.

“Hi, Princess Angelica!” Aadhya says brightly, with a neat little dip of a curtsey, “I’m Aadhya.” When Ciara and Arc begin to return the gesture, she waves her hand with a tiny scoff. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Formalities. Just come sit.” She returns to her chair and pats the seat next to her, and Arc decides right there that he likes her.

Ciara takes the offered chair, and Arc takes the only other open spot, in between her and King Jesper. As Ciara launches into conversation with Aadhya, Jesper turns to him.

“Hi,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Jesper.”

Arc bites back a laugh at the unnecessary introduction. “I know who you are, Your Highness,” he replies lightly.

“I know. I was just trying to give you an opening to tell me who you are.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. There’s no prerogative behind his words, no assertion; Jesper’s grin is almost bashful, his voice easy and bright. He doesn’t sound like a king, just a seventeen-year-old boy trying to flirt. Arc can’t help but return his smile.

“I’m Arc,” he says. “Normally I’m a student at Knight School, but I’m the princess’s guard and escort for the night.”

“Wait,” Aadhya pauses her conversation with Ciara to lean over and look at him, “You’re the Arc who defeated Ryker?”

“I helped,” Arc says with a shrug, and the princess’s eyes go wide. She turns to Ciara.

“Were you there too?”

“I was—” Ciara pauses for a moment, “hiding. I was hiding. Arc got me to safety.”

He grins a little at her, tongue between his teeth, knowing it must be killing her to hide what she was actually doing. She narrows her eyes and kicks his leg under the table in response, a silent shut up. He lifts his eyebrows, like, I didn’t say anything, and she rolls her eyes in an entirely non-subtle manner.

Across the table, Queen Damyanti is watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow, Arc notices belatedly. She has a mildly amused look on her face, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she states, “Battling Ryker face-to-face must have been quite the experience.”

“What was it like?” Prince Kavan asks eagerly from beside his sister.

Aadhya elbows him. “Kavan,” she hisses, but Arc just grins.

“No worries. It was…” he trails, trying to think of what to say and suddenly aware that all the royals’ eyes are on him. He shifts in his seat. “It was scary, obviously. He had the Armor of Astoria, and a whole army with him, and most of the Astorian knights under his spell. But, y’know. We Knight School students are pretty formidable. We all took him on together. Wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise. I wasn’t half as scared as I would’ve been without my squadmates watching my back.”

He glances at Ciara, who smiles softly and nudges his foot, gentler this time. Jesper has that same unreadable look on his face and Aadhya has her chin propped in her hand, her expression amazed, but Queen Luciana gives a snide sort of scoff.

“It’s a wonder it took so long to defeat him, then, if a group of students cut him down so easily,” she says. “Perhaps Ryker was never as great a threat as we all made him out to be.”

There’s a cut of silence across the table in which Jesper visibly stiffens. “With all due respect, Queen Luciana, Ryker’s attacks were devastating. Or have you forgotten what happened to my parents?” he demands, without any respect at all. His eyes are blazing.

“I’m merely pointing out that the only real damage done was to the less...fortified kingdoms,” she sniffs. “Ryker only breached Catalias’s walls once, and he was driven out rather quickly.”

“Well, not every kingdom has Catalias’s resources.” Ciara sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully, frustration masked well behind them.

King Hugo gives a huff of a laugh; his blue eyes are cold. “My dear princess, you have no cause for indignation. Astoria lost the least to Ryker, what with your,” he waves a hand, “magic bubble.”

Ciara opens her mouth but falters, brow furrowed, and across the table, Queen Damyanti speaks up. “Nevertheless, Ryker was still a formidable enemy to all of us. We were only prepared for his attacks because he targeted Seagate and Vysalt first. And Seagate’s destruction is a clear example of his power.”

“Oh, even you can’t argue that Seagate was rotting long before Ryker got to it, Damyanti,” Hugo replies swiftly, and Arc’s breath catches in his throat. Queen Damyanti shrugs in agreement, her expression passive; Arc almost stands up, but Ciara’s hand on his leg underneath the table stops him.

“Don’t,” she hisses, just barely loud enough for him to hear, “Let me handle this.”

Though as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. Before she has a chance to speak, Jesper is already bristling, his voice sharp: “As if Seagate’s corruption justifies the destruction of its people?”

“It’s thieves and criminals, you mean?” Isaac scoffs. “Seagate was a wasteland. The kingdoms are better off.”

The words ring in Arc’s ears, alongside the pounding of his blood. They sound painfully similar to what Ryker had said to him on the mountain—rats and thieves, I did the five kingdoms a favor—and he thinks fleetingly that he’s going to be sick. He’s always known that Seagate was looked down on by the other kingdoms, but hearing them say so casually that what happened, the flames and the destruction and all of the death, was deserved—

“The people were only thieves and criminals because Catalias took advantage of them,” Jesper argues. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that it was your government that poured money into the gangs of Seagate for their own profit and allowed them to stage a coup in the first place.”

The words are deadly and cold, but Arc feels a flash of admiration for Jesper; the king has no obligations towards Seagate, and yet defends it like his own. King Hugo’s gaze hardens. “You’re blaming Catalias for Seagate’s problems?” he says with a derisive laugh. “If anything, Ryker’s attacks only revealed that Seagate was a kingdom full of people that weren’t worth saving.”

“That’s enough,” Ciara says abruptly. Her hand tightens on Arc’s leg, and he can no longer tell if he’s the one trembling or if she is. There’s this burning fire behind her eyes; she looks, Arc thinks briefly, the same way she does in battle. “What happened to Seagate was a devastating tragedy, and I won’t let you treat it as otherwise. Those who disagree aren’t welcome here.”

It’s a weighted statement, one she doesn’t entirely have the formal authority to make, but no one dares to contest it. A heavy silence settles over all of them. Arc doesn’t know how long he can sit there with all the heat under his skin; he doesn’t remember when his hand found the hilt of his sword, only that he’s gripping it tight enough that the leather bites into his palm. He wants to stand up and tell them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for him, a thief from Seagate. In truth, the only thing holding him back is Ciara. In a battle between her steady hand and the storm in his chest, she wins without even trying.

He doesn’t say anything or look at her, but her gaze flits to him for a moment and she just knows, standing up. Before she even opens her mouth, Isaac is on his feet too. “Going so soon?” he asks. “Would you care to dance, Princess?”

She looks at him coolly for a moment. “I would, actually.” And then, she turns to Arc, offering him her hand, “Sir Arc, dance with me?”

Arc blinks up at her and takes it as he stands. “Absolutely, Princess,” he says, letting her lead him away from the table and glancing back only long enough to catch the dumbfounded expression on Isaac’s face.

#oop #knight squad #knight squad fanfic #tiara thief #tiara thief fic #writing #my writing #fanfiction #arc #ciara #ks #//umanawrites #learn to love without consuming

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bestworstcase · 3 years

Text

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 5-6

- mixed feelings about eugene’s first impressions of cassandra here. on the one hand, she did make a snide remark about him being a thief, which must sting when he’s already making an active attempt at self-improvement and attending classes in criminal justice. this isn’t tts eugene - who spends 6-7 months loafing around the palace basking in luxury until cass drags him for being self-absorbed and lazy. this eugene has a work ethic and seems to feel some actual responsibility regarding his new role as rapunzel’s consort. it’s not fair for cass to make a snap judgment about him based on his past and decide to be rude to him because of it.

on the other hand… he and rapunzel did just barge into her space against her will and her subsequent prickliness was reasonable, which eugene doesn’t seem to have any awareness of. and taking into consideration the likelihood that this cass is supposed to be about 17 while eugene is an established adult, that isn��t a fun vibe.

- sort of amused by the role reversal of eugene, in the licensed fanfic cassunzel s1 au, is the one who introduces rapunzel to the library. i guess the key to unlocking rapunzel’s romance option is to not show her the books. but also, why is eugene the one showing her around lol

- did he steal from the coronan palace so much that he just knows where everything is

- the dialogue in this chapter is… hm

“You can take these books back to your room if you want,” Eugene said.

“I can?” I said, staring at the stocked shelves around me.

“I think I’ll open a window,” Eugene said. “It’s a little musty in here.”

like what’s going on here? is this a dialogue bug introduced by spot editing that didn’t get patched before publishing? does eugene have adhd? is this a romance novel™ thing to demonstrate that while eugene and rapunzel talk to each other plenty they’re not on the same wavelength to such an extent that raps asks a question and eugene responds with a complete non-sequitur, which will be contrasted with how completely rapunzel and cass ‘click’ together later? hello?

- one point in favor of the romance novel™ theory is that immediately after this eugene conks out instead of sharing in rapunzel’s discovery and exploration of the library and it is implied he is having a fun flynn rider dream ie he’s lost in his own fantasies and oblivious to rapunzel’s. symbolism!

- anyhoo, this is when the plot device of the ‘lost lagoon’ book of poems turns up. i will say that, having spent the better part of my teen years working in an actual library, it beggars belief to say that a book got shoved behind other books in a popular section (sports) by mistake and got left that way for so long that dust blooms out of it when it’s finally cracked open again; likewise, anyone who attempted to intentionally hide the book this way is an idiot. my dude, you are in a palace riddled with secret passageways. maybe hide the secret book there?

like it’s not even well-hidden. rapunzel pulls out one (1) book from the sports section and immediately spots it. which also just feels dumb. like… there’s a million other ways this book could have been hidden. inside another book would have been more believable. rapunzel rips a bone-dry book of census records off the top shelf because she’s insatiably curious about corona’s people and surprise! it’s got this slim little book of poetry crammed inside it. like ??? i know it’s juv fic but make an effort

- coronans canonically speak english according to this i’m die

- rapunzel hides the book from arianna just… because, and i can’t help but feel this is another case of anxiety written by someone who doesn’t quite get it. she’s ‘just not ready’ to share this book of poems that means absolutely nothing to her yet except that she thought it sounded pretty.

but like. this girl grew up with gothel, who made a habit of belittling her interests, thoughts, feelings, and desires. everything rapunzel had she had because gothel deigned to give it to her, and anything she valued could have been snatched away just as easily. in the film it’s made clear that rapunzel hides pascal’s entire existence from gothel, and while the reason for this isn’t spelled out, it’s clear to me that she was afraid gothel might hurt or get rid of pascal should she learn of his existence. so, like. this is all a recipe for rapunzel having this general anxiety about things being taken for her and with this fear being linked to mother figures it makes sense that arianna would tend to trigger it especially. there is a perfectly obvious, understandable reason for rapunzel to be terrified of sharing anything she found by herself and sees value in or is excited about with her new mom, even if she knows rationally that arianna would never take it from her.

as it is, it really comes across more as an arbitrary plot device to keep the lagoon a cassunzel-only thing.

- there’s a lot of odd characterization decisions in this book but i think rapunzel being resistant and reluctant with regards to the idea of having a human companion is probably the weirdest. ??

- arianna feels like she’s characterized the way a lot of fanworks characterize her, i.e. the authorial mouthpiece who (in the case of cassunzel fic specifically) overtly ships cassunzel and does things to facilitate that relationship. don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see her doing stuff at all, but… i dunno, i find this brand of arianna doing things just a little wearying. let her just be her own character.

- implication is that arianna and the captain agreed that cass would be rapunzel’s lady-in-waiting, arianna okays this with rapunzel and then tells rapunzel to announce it to cassandra at this public holiday feast. with no prior warning. wow. i think the kindest possible reading here is that the captain has been telling arianna that cass would be delighted and honored to receive this position and arianna assumes he’ll give cass a heads-up as a courtesy beforehand, but that paints the captain in a pretty bad light on account of him lying and essentially manipulating the queen in order to force his teenage daughter to accept this huge responsibility that she vocally does not want. in any case, absolutely nobody involved in this shitshow gives a damn what cass wants.

- lagoon comes in hard with the saporian!cass symbolism l o l. rapunzel reads a saporian poem out loud, not knowing what it means but loving the sounds, while daydreaming about becoming friends with cass.

- arianna seems to genuinely believe cass will be thrilled to have the lady-in-waiting gig sprung on her, which seems to lend credence to the theory that cap has been talking it up as something cass wants. or the intention here is to paint arianna as an out of touch noblewoman, but i don’t think that’s what howland was going for. i don’t know, it’s an odd conversation.

- eugene calls cassandra “sport” lmfao

- lagoon cass has never read a book in her life, apparently

- i don’t want to keep harping on this too much but it keeps leaping off the page at me; cass’s behavior throughout this dinner scene really just bleeds teenagerhood. eugene and rapunzel both make actual stabs at conversation by asking her about things they know she’s interested in, and cass brushes them off/stonewalls them. in tts, on the other hand, cass is actually pretty open to deep conversations with both rapunzel and eugene—it’s just that they never. ask her about herself. eugene goes 6-7 months before he asks cassandra a personal question in cassandra vs eugene, which if i remember right is the only time he asks her a personal question. rapunzel gets very invested very fast in becoming friends with cassandra, but she does it by strong-arming cass into being her partner in a contest, and when cass decides to open up to her it isn’t in response to rapunzel asking her things. the dynamic is totally different.

- actually now that i think about it - lagoon cass feels a lot like the cranky new dreamer version of cass (you know, the flavor of new dream fans who resent cass for ‘being mean’ to eugene, ‘being controlling’ of rapunzel, and ‘stealing’ eugene’s narrative spotlight). this cass is rude, she does come off as a bit spoiled and very bratty, she is nasty to eugene for no good reason, and while i do sympathize with her on the grounds of her evidently being a child i don’t find her to be especially likable or compelling as a character. if cass acted like this in tts i think the cranky new dreamer contingent of the fandom would have a much stronger leg to stand in - especially if she was still supposed to be 22.

like… this:

“So,” Eugene said, distracting me. “What’s it like to be the daughter of the captain of the guard? You obviously have a thing for weapons.”

“So,” I said.

“Have you been training since you were a little kid?” Eugene pressed on. “Do you have friends in the castle?”

“No,” I said. “Who needs friends?”

“Jeez!” Eugene muttered while Rapunzel whispered with the queen. “I don’t need just any icebreaker here, I need a pickax.”

I rolled my eyes.

this is way more interest in cass as a person than eugene shows in tts… like ever. at this point, eugene has met cass ONCE for a few MINUTES and he already knows more about her than he does in cassandra vs eugene, after six or seven months of frequent contact. yet cass scoffs and gives him monosyllabic answers and radiates way more hostility for way less reason than she displays even in tangled before ever after. i think eugene is totally justified in going, yeesh, what’s this kid’s deal?

- rapunzel goes straight from “i’d like you to be my lady-in-waiting” to “you’re my new lady-in-waiting!” without waiting for cass to answer. and i mean, at this point it is a done deal, queen’s orders and all, so i can’t hold this against rapunzel at all. but man, the adults involved in this decision sure aren’t concerned at all about making sure rapunzel learns how boundaries and consent works.

How was I going to train? How was I going to live the life I was born to live?

Fury heated my blood as I stared down the moon.

heh.

i wonder how much howland knew regarding the planned villain arc, because on the one hand lines like this are drenched in foreshadowing, and she’s done a much better job establishing cassandra’s belief in destiny than tts did. but on the other, had she known about the gothel twist, she would surely have known that cassandra is several years older than rapunzel, and that doesn’t square with how cass… acts.

this is half-remembered hearsay so take it with a grain of salt, but i seem to recall something about cass, in her original conception, being younger than rapunzel (and also aware of her parentage, and secretly villainous all along). could howland have been working from information given to her during the transitional stage between that proto-cass and tts cass? that would explain a lot.

- the last paragraph of 6 is the most effective passage in the book thus far:

This was a decision that had bars around it. I couldn’t protest without falling out of favor with the king and queen, and then there would be no way I’d ever be allowed in the guard. I couldn’t argue my way out of this with my father. A royal assignment was the final word. My fate had been sealed. I fell to my knees and stifled a scream.

#lost lagoon reread #rta #cassunzel

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gerbiloftriumph · 3 years

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The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 6/8 - Fractals

~*~*~

The instant Alexander dropped below the entrance hall floor, he started clawing at the slide, trying to dig his toes into the walls, the slide itself, anything. His gloved hands slipped uselessly off the walls, and he skittered and bounced like a ball on a track, slamming into sharp bends that he couldn’t see in the dark. There were no footholds, no handholds, no outcroppings, nothing, and by the time he’d shook off the pain from crashing into another curve, there was no curve to grip (not that the slick walls would have afforded him any sort of leverage had he been prepared, anyway).

He didn’t know where this track was going, and he didn’t think it was anywhere good, and he wanted out. He wanted out right now.

Claustrophobic, shoved into a tiny, dark space, punishment for breaking a cup. Stretched and pulled like taffy for forgetting to wash a plate. Battered and bruised and frightened and angry and cold and tired and done.

He had rescued himself from Manannan. He would rescue himself again.

Fierce terror and anger rose in him, and he forced the emotions together, channeled them into what little fragmented magic he knew, and he snapped his fingers. At first, nothing, and he did it again, and again, muttering half remembered words he’d stolen from Manannan, and again, until finally the magic caught in his fingertips, and heat poured from his hands, and he slammed against the wall, and it melted away before him and sent him screeching down another road, one he made himself, and the new melted tunnel vanished beneath him and he felt himself falling, falling—but he saw in the split second before impact that he was probably going to land on something softer than the floor.

~*~*~*~

Normally, Graham liked mazes. Hedge mazes were lots of fun, he thought, and he’d always been fond of the corn maze Royal Guard Number Two organized every autumn. Even better when there were puzzles scattered around, just to make it extra tricky and entertaining.

But normally he wasn’t freezing to death, and normally he could see the sun, and normally he knew what the end goal was. Knew there was a way out. This one probably had a way out, but it didn’t seem to be following any rules, and he was starting to doubt. He felt like rooms were circling around, sending him in every direction aimlessly. He’d tried going through left-most doors, but then he’d gotten confused and turned around in a couple of the larger emptier spaces and now had no idea where he was headed. He was sure he’d already been in some of the rooms, corridors entwined and intersecting. There was an overall slow downward slope to his route, like he was going deeper into the castle, and he wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted.

The place seemed to be falling apart, too, perhaps a consequence of the castle moving and jarring against itself as it settled. He had to scramble over huge ice blocks and squeeze past fallen pillars. Had to find keys to doors that were locked before him and locked behind him again. None of which was an easy feat with his wrist entirely frozen over and his elbow starting to stiffen and his head starting to feel foggy (from the cold of the room or the cold of his arm, who could say). Strange carvings in the walls leered at him. Tunnels narrowed until he was hunched over, or swooped out so that his footsteps echoed around him.

He hadn’t found any signs of life. Just statues and sculptures that made him wonder if his curse had a solution at all. Distressingly realistic humans carved of clear blue ice, in all manner of dress and features, scattered the rooms. Reaching, cowering, curled up broken in pieces on the floor. He had the oddest sense they were watching him, moving when he wasn’t looking at them.

Sometimes, there were sounds, but mostly they were of the sinking ship ice-creaking variety that made him think the place was going to fall down on top of him.

Take this new sound, though. It was perfectly chilling. Sounded like someone screaming, but muffled by layers upon layers upon layers of ice, a fractured sound in the walls. Until, quite suddenly, it wasn’t muffled, and the ceiling opened up into a slushy hole, and Alexander, flailing, dropped out of it, landing on top of Graham. The two collapsed in a tangled heap of cloaks and scarves.

Startled and unwilling to immediately accept the presence of Alexander in this icy prison, Graham instantly slipped into the babbling safety of terrible jokes. “Aaah, ice to see you, son, but this is snow place for a prince. We’ve already had fall, you know. I winter why you’re here. Have you snowflaked on your mother? That’s a cold thing to do, you know.”

Alexander stared wild-eyed, uncomprehending. Frost slicked back his hair.

“Ah, sorry, not the time.” They stood a little unsteadily, and Graham leaned back to look at the tunnel Alexander had apparently blasted open. “That’s...” he struggled for the right word in his alarm, “impressive.” He glanced at his son, and he quickly smoothed his expression into bland kingly interest. “Could you explain why you’re here and not safe in the castle where you should be?”

“We were worried,” Alexander said, still breathless, still staring up at what he’d done. He knotted his fingers together. “You hadn’t...you just left, and we couldn’t...we had to come.”

“We?” The floor seemed to drop out from beneath Graham. “You’re not going to tell me your mother and sister are here, too, are you?”

“Um.”

“Valanice is here? Of her own volition? No one invaded Daventry Castle or forced her to come or anything, she decided on her own?”

“Yes.”

“Ohh, shining stars.” He was in trouble.

“You just left,” Alexander repeated defensively. “We weren’t going to leave you to freeze.”

“I’m not going to freeze.” And there was a sharp note of anger in his voice, he realized, a snap that he wasn’t sure if he meant or not.

Alexander looked like he wanted to argue, and his eyes were on Graham’s arm (which was definitely colder, definitely locking up, definitely aching), but all the fight went out of him. Especially after hearing the frustration in Graham’s voice, the words choked in his throat. Arguing wasn’t something that came naturally, not after Manannan’s treatment. Not after Graham’s irritated tone. Whatever he’d been going to say or do just...stopped. He hovered on the front of his toes, like a bird trying to take flight, and could do or say nothing more than that.

Graham sighed, and then smiled at his son, apologetically, gently. “Nothing like the Crackers for snowballing right into danger. I’m surprised Number One didn’t send you back.”

“We didn’t see him. We, um. We think something happened to him.”

“Hmm?”

“It looked like there’d been a fight. They were gone. All of them. We never even saw them.”

And that felt like a slap. Graham blinked. The castle had been empty, lonely. No human was here, he would have bet his adventuring hat on it. And yet. He glanced at the ice sculptures leering at them, wondering if they’d crept a little closer while he and Alexander were talking. Maybe not that empty after all.

But they couldn’t leave the way Alexander had come, that was clear. The hole was high above them, perfectly glossy with smooth ice, reflective as a mirror. And Graham wasn’t sure which direction he’d come from, now. His head was getting fuzzier, his thoughts starting to splinter. Going back wouldn’t do them any good: his own slide down into the maze was long and cold and slick and behind a series of locked doors by this point. They’d have to go forward. If only he knew which way forward was, and if only he could guarantee there was a way out in the end.

He’d been distracted by Alexander and news of Valanice for a few minutes, but the pain of his arm was coming back at double strength, slicing through his thoughts, a pain that pulled his attention in every direction and made him feel all the more helpless. Useless.

He rubbed at his frozen wrist, staring at the gaping hole above them. It really was something incredible. Alexander had blasted it with some sort of heat, but the slush had already refrozen into sharp, cruel icicles dangling above them. Deadly. Magic, deadly. His arm, deadly. He wasn’t at all sure he liked his son knowing how to do something Manannan could do. Magic. What if it killed Alexander just as soundly as it was killing Graham?

He drew himself up, took refuge in his knightly training and kingly history, found the confidence he needed to project. Regrettably, it sounded like chilly annoyance when he spoke: “We must find Valanice, Rosella, and the guards. We’ll figure things out as we go.” He chose a direction and set off, praying to all the stars that he wasn’t backtracking.

~*~*~*~

Gwendolyn spent the day trying to find Gart, and Gart kept avoiding her. Every time she thought she saw him down a hall or in a room, he managed to get away from her. She wondered if Aunt Rosella had taught him about all those alcoves and tunnels that she had liked to hide in as a child, and she wished she knew the castle as well as he did. Gwendolyn had grown up in the Green Isles, as far away from here as it was possible to get, and hearing Grandpa’s stories about the secrets of Daventry’s castle had sparked her interest.

But she knew she wouldn’t get to discover the twists and turns of the passageways. Gart was right about that. She would be going home soon, and he would stay here, learning to be a good king.

Her father Alexander had relinquished his claim on Daventry’s throne long ago, changing the line of inheritance to Rosella’s family. Gwendolyn knew it was because he’d fallen in love with her mother, Cassima of the Green Isles, and had submitted to her authority and rule on the other side of the world. He loved it, loved the little islands with all their characters and abilities and interests, loved the smells and the sounds and the feel of the place. Loved Cassima.

He had found a home, in the end. Gwendolyn couldn’t help but wonder if it was meant to be her home, too, or if, like her grandfather, like her father, she was meant to wander, to find something to call her own. She didn’t begrudge Gart’s inheritance, not even a bit, but she was jealous of his confidence that this was where he belonged. That he had so much trust in his future when she was questioning so much. When she wanted what was best for everyone, best for both countries, both families, both lives…but wasn’t sure how her happiness fit into the equation, too. Which made her feel guilty; she had so much good in her life. She didn’t deserve these doubts.

And yet. And yet, she doubted and worried and fussed, nevertheless, which just made her feel all the more guilty.

This was why the stories mattered so much. The stories were a way to explore and learn safely, to carve a road to decisions. If only Gart would listen to the stories, too.

Or if he would at least stop running away from her. She bit her lip, tugged up her hood, and hurried down another passageway, his name burning her throat as she called again and again with no response. Feeling lost in the labyrinth of the castle, not at all sure which way to turn next.

~*~*~*~

Royal Guard Number One shivered. “I hate being cold,” he muttered. His teeth chattered so hard that it sounded like he said every word twice. He was sitting on his helmet since that was warmer than sitting on the ice block chair that had been provided, blowing puffs of smoke as he tried to keep his fingers limber. Not that he had his sword to swing anymore, which made the exercise mostly pointless. Even with his quilted padding, even with his scarf and earmuffs and mittens and everything, he felt like he was turning to ice as solidly as Graham was.

He didn’t even have the others to huddle with for warmth: those strange living sculptures had easily determined he was captain of the little operation and had hastily separated him from the rest of the Royal Guard. He’d blinked away the cobwebs and shadows and pain just in time to find himself being flung face first into a frosty little cell. The door had slammed and locked behind him while he extricated himself from a snowbank.

In the distance down the hall, he had been able to make out No2 shouting something before being silenced, accompanied by an angry crack of ice against metal, and then...nothing after that. No sounds from his men or ice guards. Just the chilly creaking of the castle’s walls. He tried shoveling his way out (surely this place was no different than the pretend castles he had helped Rosella build when she was a toddler, a snow castle you could kick your way through in a pinch), but the blocks of ice were as hard as any actual dungeon wall he’d ever faced.

“I’m getting too old for this sort of nonsense.” He wondered how the others were getting on, and very much hoped they hadn’t been split up. Especially poor Larry, who possibly shouldn’t have been allowed to come considering how his bad arm locked up if it got too cold. Hopefully he and Kyle were together. If any of them had been hurt, those ice monsters were going to catch hell from Number One.

He had to get up and try to find another way out. He knew he did. But it was just so cold. In a minute, maybe, he’d stand up. If his knees weren’t frozen in place. For now, he blew on his fingertips again.

There was an incredibly loud crash from outside his door. It sounded like someone had knocked over a tray of glasses, shattering every single one on the floor and then stomping on them for good measure. He sprang to his feet, reaching instinctively for the sword he didn’t have, as the cell door swung open.

Princess Rosella leaned against the door frame, grinning at him. Around her, the anxious faces of the other royal guards appeared.

“Having trouble, Number One?” she asked.

“Not anymore, Princess Rosella.”

She handed him his sword, and he buckled it around his waist without looking at it, visually checking over all his men instead. They looked rattled, frost limning their uniforms, but otherwise all were accounted for, all seemed safe. He nodded sharply, satisfied, and marched out of his cell with his helmet tucked under his arm. Ice crunched beneath his feet like shards of glass.

“Ice guards,” Rosella said dismissively. “Not paying a shred of attention. Easy to break, turns out, if you can get them to hit the ground right.”

“Might I ask how you’re here, Princess Rosella?”

“You might,” she said, playing along as drily as him, and then she broke character by snickering.

Rosella, Alexander, and Queen Valanice (ohh, shining stars, if the queen was here then they were in trouble) had found Graham missing (No1 wasn’t even remotely surprised, just annoyed) and had hurried to the castle, where they’d been promptly trapped (meaning he couldn’t send her home, so don’t even try to order it, she insisted). They hadn’t found the king, or the royal guards, but they had found nasty little trap doors inside the hall, which split everyone up. Rosella’s slide had sent her bumping and shrieking with laughter down, down, down into what was probably a dungeon cell but which had been recommissioned into a breakroom by whatever minions this castle supported. Someone, likely not an ice guard, wasn’t pleased with all the snow around, and had made up a straw nest for taking naps in. She'd fallen into this nest, unharmed and giggly.

The cell-turned-breakroom was at the far end of a long series of twisting tunnels, made of dark blue and black ice that reflected her shadowy shape back at her. Her explorations went entirely unnoticed by anyone for a good long while. She’d eventually found the rest of the guards cuddled together in a heap of armor and scarves and gloves behind a locked door, and they’d hastily explained what was going on.

Armed with expectation, she wasn’t surprised when she saw her first ice guard, and she deftly dodged and slipped through the tunnels and open cells until she found the keys she wanted. It had been a feat worthy of anything her father had ever done on any of his adventures to sneak the keys out from the guard room unnoticed by the strange magic creatures. It had involved a bit of string, her tiara, and one of the windup Battle of Wits miniatures she had been carrying in her pocket from an earlier game with Alexander.

A sight to behold, totally memorable, a proper shame no one else had seen it. She gathered up the keyring and hurried away.

She had been unlocking the Daventry team door when the ice guard spotted her. It rushed her, grabbed her, and she would have been completely done for, adventure at an end—if the key for the cell hadn’t already been in the padlock, and if No3 hadn’t been turning it the rest of the way, and if the rest of the royal guards hadn’t burst out to protect their princess. The lone ice guard didn’t stand a chance.

Most of the sculptures from this dungeon area were now fuming behind locked doors, and a few more troublesome ones were now so much chunked ice, blue shreds of animation magic rising like steam before disappearing.

“Easy,” Rosella finished.

“Excellent job,” No1 said. He bowed to her, as befitting royalty. And then they exchanged a very complicated handshake that ended with a spectacularly silly fist bump and the two of them leaning back-to-back. No1 straightened quickly and gave an imperious glance over his men, silently suggesting that if anyone spoke of this moment again, they would be docked pay. “Now then. I imagine King Graham has ended up in some sort of unpleasant trap as well. Princess Rosella, would you perhaps like to assist in another rescue?”

“Always.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing down one of the long dark blue halls. “I heard the strangest noises coming from that direction. I didn’t check it out without backup, though—thought you’d be proud of that. We should probably investigate.”

“A fine idea. Shall we?”

“Let’s shall.”

~*~*~*~

The maze was definitely deteriorating. Walls sagging, pillars crunching. Perhaps the weight of the castle was heaviest here, pressing down on the honeycomb of tunnels. Maybe it was something to do with its movement, takeoffs and landings shaking things loose. Graham was vaguely certain he hadn’t been here before. But only vaguely. The rooms still looked about the same, the only difference being the types of statues leering at them, and his head was getting fuzzier and the pain of his arm was starting to pound in his ears in time with his heartbeat.

Graham dizzily recognized that Alexander had started taking the lead, but Graham was too preoccupied to say anything much about it. He was focused on his hand, cradling his arm, careful not to bump it against the debris and ice blocks strewn around the rooms that Alexander was pushing out of their way. Sometimes, Graham thought the ice blocks could have been moved a little faster. He almost said so, that anger rising in his chest again, a cold desire to hurt, but then decades of diplomatic leadership kicked in and he realized what he was about to say. He bit down sharply on his tongue and turned a snarky critique into a vague compliment, but then he was back to quietly moping and not paying much attention.

His teeth were starting to chatter as the ice snaked up his body. He yanked his cowl up higher, trying to trap warm air, to do anything to help. It didn’t help at all. Alexander kept glancing back at him, which made the puzzles take even longer, his fingers made clumsy by hesitation and uncertainty.

This room was different. Someone had shoved straw in the corner, between pillars and the wall and some ice blocks, making a sort of sleepy nest to sit in that was warm against the perpetual chill of the labyrinth. A hideaway, Graham thought, and that made him smile a bit, remembering how much he’d loved to hide in Triumph’s stable when he wanted away from everything. The scent of hay was comforting, and snapped through his bleary disinterest, made him stand straight and be aware of his surroundings again. Whoever had made up this little comfortable bed had access to the maze through a tunnel splintered through the wall by a fallen pillar. They must have taken an ice pick and made the tunnel just barely wide enough for someone to squeeze through single file.

“Ah. A short cut,” Graham said. “I’d bet that’ll take us out of the maze and into more inhabitable rooms.” Hopefully warmer ones, too.

Alexander nodded, inspecting the scrapes and scratches marring the narrow tunnel walls. The two men squeezed through the tunnel, which narrowed and widened and pressed and pulled. Alexander looked queasy and Graham’s arm ached, but they wriggled through without too much difficulty.

As hoped, this area felt considerably more lived in and used. The chilly silence of the maze was behind them. Graham could hear something metallic clanging and echoing nearby. He smiled at Alexander, pleased to have escaped. He pushed open a door—and walked into the center of a crowd of goblins.

There were probably two dozen rock goblins standing around. Most were clutching shovels and were in the middle of scooping snow out of huge hampers and wheelbarrows and into icy furnaces belching snowy clouds up huge chimneys. Some had ice picks, to break up heavier chunks of snow. All of them had scarves and hats and mittens dragged over their armor. Every head turned, and every eye was on Graham and Alexander, and the door swung shut behind them with a click, and Graham mumbled, “Oh. Zards.”

The goblins spun their shovels and held them like spears. Apparently, they didn’t have their real spears with them. The ones with the ice picks still looked as threatening as ever, though. All approached, slowly, encircling the two intruders, hemming them away from the door (not that there was anywhere to go—back into the maze wasn’t a real option). Their helmets revealed not a single emotion, and Graham stepped back unconsciously, swallowing. He’d run into goblins a handful of times since his awful experience in his twenties. They were part of Daventry, like the squirrels. And, like the squirrels, they had their own ruler. There were treaties. There were rules.

But goblins had never been the sort to follow rules.

Something sharp pressed against his shoulder blades, and he froze. It was a shovel, surely, but sharp and heavy enough to cause serious damage, and wielded by a spearmaster. He would never forget the pressure of a spear held against him, and it sent him spiraling back, back, back, and he felt young and inexperienced and out of place again, at a loss to defend himself and his friends. But this time, it was his son at his side, looking absolutely petrified with an ice pick point tickling his ear.

That couldn’t stand. His son had faced enough. Graham wouldn’t let anything hurt him now, not if he could help it. Graham’s fuzzy resolve hardened and he stepped forward, in front of Alexander, his good arm raised to defend, forcing his cold anger in his chest to help instead of hurt.

One of the goblins stepped forward to match him. It wore a hat with a fluffy white bauble sewn onto it, perched almost rakishly over its helmet. Goblins all had uniquely designed helmets, and this one’s forward swooping curl sparked a memory... “I remember you,” he said to it, sternly. “You stole my adventuring hat.” And had been one of the more enthusiastic ones when it came to flipping Graham upside down and shaking him hard to knock loose contraband in his prison cell—he'd had that goblin’s grip imprinted as a bruise on his legs for a month.

If it were possible to see expressions through those helmets, Graham thought the little fellow would be grinning. It swept itself into a low bow, flipping the multicolored scarf it wore like a lady’s ballgown skirt. Definitely one of Acorn’s scarves, Graham decided: he was sure he could spot the little artisan tag sewn near the ruffle. At least one mystery had been solved. Possibly more. Those were probably Amaya’s ice picks.

The shovel that had been at Graham’s shoulders swung low and the shaft whacked the back of his knees. He fell forward, landing hard on his knees. The same thing must have happened to Alexander, because he too fell with a startled cry. Graham remembered this, knew what would come next. Now that he was at the goblins’ level, they’d pull out the rope, bind his hands behind him, and march him away for stars knew what purpose.

But the goblins were chittering amongst themselves in their scratchy language, and there was a general movement of bodies and weapons as something new approached. Something hard clamped down on Graham’s shoulder, on his arm, as tight as a manacle and absolutely freezing. He looked up, startled, and Royal Guard Number One stood above him, entirely utterly horribly frozen through like Graham’s frozen arm, his icy cold hand grip—no, wait, not Number One. The mannerisms were wrong, the uniform just a touch off kilter.

Sculpture.

A living sculpture.

Who would possibly want ice guards to look like his Daventry ones? Well, everyone, honestly, Graham thought with a vague touch of glowing pride. No1 had trained the very best. It wasn’t surprising at all that someone would imitate that glorious Crimson Colada uniform for their own regiment. Even if this example of it was a little...abstract and malformed.

Which, he slowly realized, meant that whoever lived in this castle knew Daventry. Or at least had seen his royal guards before, knew of their uniforms. But who? How? Why?

What else did this ice castle have? If a yeti had walked around the corner walking a herd of wedzels on leashes, Graham would have thought it much more sensible. What next? Sentient scarves? Talking cats?

The goblins looked annoyed, like they’d lost something fun they’d been looking forward to playing with, shuffling back with fingers drumming on shovels and picks. Multiple ice guards hauled Graham and Alexander back to their feet, their hands digging like claws into the captives' shoulders. No need for further restraint, not with these things holding them.

The ice guards barked something at the goblins, and they skittered and scattered, rushing back to work. Their language was odd, brittle, and...backward? It somehow seemed reversed. But the goblins had understood well enough, and were back with their shovels, frantically scraping huge piles of snow into the furnaces, in seconds. As the ice guard harried and hustled the two royals through the room, past the bustle of workers, the king watched the furnaces. He was thinking of blizzards, of clouds heavy with snow, of a center to the storm that appeared to be coming from a single point. Number One may have been right after all.

Another ice guard, apparently there to watch over the goblins and prevent laziness, snapped something, and the goblins scurried to work faster. The last thing Graham saw was the forward-curl goblin straining under a very heavy load of snow, whimpering something unhappily. And then Graham and Alexander were dragged out of the furnace room and propelled along corridors and stairs, past alcoves and curtains and cheerless rooms, heading up, up, up, toward the center of the castle and the tower that loomed over everything.

#i don't actually have any decent ice jokes here graham took every single one of mine and i have nothing left and shall simply drift #this fic is skating by so quickly; we're quite close to an ending #kings quest #king graham #rosella (king's quest)#king's quest #alexander (king's quest)#this post is protected by the royal guards #ch4 #fic'ing #(i have someone currently reading the last chapter today; they'll let me know if it'll stay 8 or if it needs to grow to 9 chs long)

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ohscorbus · 4 years

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Scorbus Anastasia au where Albus got amnesia after escaping death eaters and one day while working at the bookshop he was raised in he meets a boy called Scorpius who says he’s a Potter and can bring him back to where there’s still one Potter left in the family meanwhile Delphi’s looking to end the Potter bloodline for good starting with Albus

I know literally nothing about Anastasia but based on just that AU you’ve outlined? I’m so here for it. Does he get amnesia as a child so he grows up not knowing who he is or does it happen to him as an adult? Either way, it’s super interesting to think about who Albus would be without the Potter legacy and Scorpius. On one hand, a weight has been unknowingly lifted off his shoulders. He’s free to be just Albus without everything that comes with being a Potter. He’s safe to walk the streets without whispers and befriend strangers without fearing ulterior motives. But on the other, is he aware that he’s missing whole pieces of himself? Not just his identity, but the love of his family and the power of the friendship he’s left behind? I guess that’s why I love the idea of him finding a life in a bookshop so much. It’s a place full of stories which would suit someone who doesn’t know their own. I can just imagine him reading book after book and wondering if his old life was like the life in these pages. Did he have friends and adventures and his own library of books? Or maybe there were dragons and banquets and castles! That one always makes him laugh, but it doesn’t stop him from daydreaming. Which is exactly what he was doing when the beautiful blond walked into his shop and dislodged more than just the books on the counter. Suddenly he’s got his story and it’s overwhelming and full of complications and implications no amount of fiction could have ever prepared him for. I bet there are days in the following weeks where he longs for the quiet safety of his bookshop again. But at least here he has Scorpius now. He doesn’t know quite what that means but he knows what he’d like it to mean, and so he decides to write his own story from now on. Like I said, I have no idea what actually happens in Anastasia but I’m guessing they live happily ever after? Because Albus and Scorpius certainly do.

So! Funny story. I wrote that previous paragraph the day I got this message but I decided it wasn’t good enough so I bought a copy of Anastasia so I could watch it and properly engage with this AU. But honestly? I didn’t really enjoy the film. Sorry! I think as lost heirs go, I’m definitely more of a Tangled fan. So I’ll give you a mash-up of Anastasia and Tangled, swapping out the royalty aspect for magic and I’ll turn it into a ‘choose your own adventure’ because I couldn’t decide which route to take. Enjoy : )

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I don’t like the idea of Scorpius as a con man. Instead he’d be a dreamer with a connection who’s still looking for Albus after everyone else has given up. He loves stories and myths but to him, Albus is a real boy. He remembers him. Grew up and lived with him inside those castle walls. He’s not a legend, he’s a friend. So when he accidentally stumbles upon him in the muggle bookshop he just knows it’s him. Except Albus takes a lot of convincing but as he learns about the Potters and the existence of the wizarding world, he finally starts to remember odd things. The book he used to read to his sister. The jumper that used to belong to his brother. His mother’s perfume. His father’s eyes. An actual castle. The boy who would sneak him sweets during class...

Scorpius never hides who he is from Albus. The best friend. The suspect. The shunned. But as they keep meeting to discuss his past (which of course neither of them secretly think of as dates), Albus doesn’t just remember his kindness. His sugar supplies. His knowledge of the secret passageways in their school. He also learns how he takes too much sugar in his coffee now. How he still sings some of his words and doesn’t care who hears. How his book recommendations make him question if he has a bookshop too. (He doesn’t. He’s just an uber nerd.)

But Albus is still a cursed child. Delphi is still out there with her augury sidekick, following them across the country as they finally make their way back to….

[If the Potters are still alive then read ONE. If the Potters are all dead and the only family left is Molly Weasley, read TWO.]

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ONE

...Godric’s Hollow. Harry and Ginny never moved out of the cottage, even once James and Lily grew up and moved out, just in case Albus ever returned home. They never stopped looking for him. The stolen spare, the Daily Prophet calls him. But to them, he’s still their fourteen year old boy who went missing in the night. Although their clock says he’s lost, not dead, years of false leads have left them exhausted in every sense.

Albus still isn’t sure about magic and even more so when Scorpius explains it can be tracked, so the two of them travel like muggles across the UK. They survive runaway trains and dementor attacks but eventually make it. Yet Harry refuses Scorpius entry on sight. They can’t bear any more false hope and especially not from a Malfoy. The last person to see him alive before Albus disappeared from his dorm. He’d heard rumours about him trying to clear his name but showing up here with someone full of false memories? He’ll see him in Azkaban for this. It’s crueler than anything his father had ever done. But then suddenly Albus is right there. And as Harry steps back, his son steps forward. Over the property line and through the wards like only a blood relative could do. They take their reunion to the kitchen and process with tears and tea, but it’s the clock with his name on saying he’s home that finally makes it all sink in. He’s Albus Potter. He has a family. (He even finds out dragons are real and that one really blows his mind.)

The wizarding world is overjoyed with his return, but the fact it was Scorpius who found him only darkens his name with suspicion further. So Scorpius leaves so Albus can enjoy his family. Except everything doesn’t just fall into place for Albus. This life is as overwhelming as he feared it would be. He already loves his family but it doesn’t stop him from missing his bookshop and his cat, but most of all, Scorpius. Ginny finds him watching the crowd at his welcome home party and knows exactly what he needs. She tells him to go. That they are always going to be here but Scorpius won’t be. He hugs her in thanks and promises, then runs after the man who changed everything. He catches up with him just as Delphi finds them both. There’s a final showdown in which Albus helplessly watches as Scorpius sacrifices himself to save him. That’s when it happens. The anger over what had been done to him and what his family and friends had been through collides with the prospect of a future without Scorpius, and Albus explodes. He doesn’t understand it but he feels the power all the way down to his fingertips as it finds its purpose. She never stood a chance against the raw energy and emotion of a Potter fighting with his heart for justice.

Once she’s been stopped once and for all, Albus and Scorpius return to his bookshop and make a life for themselves. Albus never really uses magic again. What he’d felt with Delphi had scared him. He’d lived his life without magic and was happy to carry on doing so. Although he did immediately have a fireplace installed at his parent’s insistence. He grows used to his brother dropping in unannounced and disturbing the peace. He learns to expect his mother will always check in to see if he’s okay even though he’s an adult. He looks forward to visits from his nephews and nieces and even turns a corner of the shop into a child friendly reading area for them which is equally as loved by his customers. His dad kept his location out of the press but made sure everyone knew Delphi was to blame. Scorpius is free. But he never leaves Albus and the old cat and their bookshop. They live out their days surrounded by stories but loving their own the most.

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TWO

...The Burrow. Molly Weasley never gave up hope on her grandson. Her clock never lies. His hand still says he’s missing, not gone. The rumours say she’s driven herself mad staring at it. But they don��t know Molly. They mistake her insistence as delusions which only appear to increase in desperation with each new false lead. Another green eyed boy who’s read a few books about Harry and wants the glory. But they never know what song her daughter sang to her children at night. They never know what her son in law cooked for them every Sunday morning. They never know his favourite place to read or how he hates pumpkin juice or when he got that scar on his elbow. The last encounter broke her heart for the final time. She decides to pack the clock away and refuses to see any more young men claiming to be her grandson. She’ll live out her days knowing he's alive and that’ll have to be enough for her. But then suddenly Scorpius Malfoy finds her while she’s out shopping. He says he’s found him but she stops him before he can explain. She can’t go through this again. Unlike the rest of the wizarding world, she doesn’t believe Scorpius had anything to do with the attack, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t unfairly blame him for surviving. He was sleeping over at the Potter house the night it happened. He had managed to escape in the chaos but somehow Albus had slipped through his fingers as they ran and was never seen again. She can’t look at him now without painfully reliving the what ifs. So she turns and walks away. That’s when she sees him. Albus is stood outside the creature emporium, gently stroking a small tawny owl. Just like the one he got when he was eleven. He’s twenty seven now but he’s still got his dad’s hair and small stature. He’s even got his own pair of glasses over those green eyes she hasn’t seen in over a decade, and when they turn to look straight at her she knows for sure. She takes them both back to the Burrow and watches as Albus walks around the kitchen. He looks at the pans which are cleaning themselves and the overflowing shelves of trinkets and moving photos and stops in front of his own portrait surrounded by what he presumes is his family. Scorpius quietly explains he’s lived as a muggle all these years. He didn’t come back because he couldn’t remember. Any of it. Molly’s heart breaks all over again as she walks over to Albus and tells him about them. How Ginny was fierce and Harry a hero, how James was brash and Lily bold. But the one thing they all had in common was how much they loved him.

The wizarding world is shocked by his return but the fact it was Scorpius who brought him back only seemed to give the rumours of his involvement some credibility. So Scorpius leaves so Albus can enjoy life with his grandmother. Except everything doesn’t just fall into place for Albus. This life is as overwhelming as he feared it would be. He loves his grandmother dearly but he misses his bookshop and his cat, but most of all, he misses Scorpius. Molly finds him on the sidelines watching the crowd at his welcome home party and knows exactly what he needs. She tells him to go. That she’s always going to be here but Scorpius won’t be. She’s lived her life and she won’t stop him from living his. Not after he’s already lost so much. That’s all he needs to hear and after a hug, he’s running after Scorpius. He manages to catch up with him just as Delphi does. There’s one final showdown. Albus helplessly watches as Scorpius sacrifices himself to save him and that’s when it happens. The anger over what had been done to him and the loss of his family collides with the prospect of a future without Scorpius, and Albus explodes. He doesn’t understand it but he feels the power all the way down to his fingertips as it finally finds its purpose. She never stood a chance against the raw energy and emotion of a Potter.

Once she’s been destroyed once and for all, Albus and Scorpius return to his bookshop and make a life for themselves. Albus never uses magic again. What he’d felt finishing Delphi had scared him. He’d lived his life without magic before and was happy to carry on doing so. Although he did immediately have a fireplace installed at his grandmother’s insistence. She checks in with him every day and their chats over tea quickly become one of his favourite parts of the day. Some of the others? Waking up beside Scorpius every morning in their little apartment above their bookshop. Listening to Scorpius read to the younger customers in their newly painted kids corner. Watching his usually shy cat snuggle up beside Scorpius like he’s known him all his life. It wasn’t what he expected, but he’s definitely found his family and his home.

#albus potter #albus severus potter #scorpius malfoy #scorbus #text post #long post #mypost #Anonymous

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belladxne · 4 years

Text

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 3

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,454

chapter 3: who do you follow when there’s no one else around you? (tell me where i need to go)

Eijiro’s quiet while they prepare lunch, but Inko doesn’t press him. She seems content to wait for him to express what’s bothering him, while they both go about their parts. She keeps up a constant commentary, explaining the steps to everything she does to prepare and cook the food, and all the seasonings she uses, even though Eijiro hasn’t asked.

She’s either determined to teach him to cook, or just to keep him distracted from the thoughts weighing in his head, but either one is appreciated. At one point, he struggles to keep his hair out of his face as he cuts up the pork he’d hunted down earlier for their meal, and she jumps up from her seat with more agility than he’d expect from someone her age, proclaiming that she has just the thing.

She rummages for only a few moments in a pot at the other end of her small, one-room home, before coming back to him with a few short lengths of string and handkerchiefs.

“Here, sweetie,” she says, as she folds one of the handkerchiefs a few times until it’s a thin strip, and then helps him secure it around his hair as a headband. “You can keep these. They’ll come in handy with that hair of yours.”

She’s maybe the absolute kindest person in all of Hyrule, and Eijiro’s so glad she was here when he awoke. One hundred years—in which he’d been… been resurrected, apparently. And in which the kingdom had fallen apart around him. He could have woken up alone up here, with no help, but instead he has Inko, and he’s so grateful.

He must have been silent too long, though, because eventually as she’s just finishing up the cooking, she sighs gently and asks, “Eijiro, dear, what’s on your mind?”

“Oh.” He echoes her sigh, though his is a lot heavier, and looks down at his hands. He’s been thinking about it, too much, on and off ever since he saw the words on the map. “Well, it’s… I found out the name of the place I came from, the one I was asking about. It’s, um, it’s the Shrine of Resurrection.”

He knows what that word means, okay, he knows—and—and why else would he need to sleep for so many years? And how else could he sleep for so long and come out of it so young? He looks up at Inko, chewing nervously at his lip.

“Inko, do you think I’m dead?” he asks, somewhat pitifully.

She stares at him for a couple of moments, before “Oh, honey,” escapes her abruptly in what sounds like a laugh, though it’s not unkind. She just sounds sympathetic, if a little amused. “No, no, sweetheart. Of course you’re not.”

“But… I mean, what if...”

How could they know, really? He can feel himself pouting again as he looks at her with big, worried eyes, but she tilts her head at him with a fond, if concerned expression. “Eijiro, trust me. I’ve been in this world a very long time. I’m probably one of the most qualified people around to tell you you’re not dead. By the time you get to be my age, you’ve learned a thing or two; I promise I could tell if you were.”

Eijiro nods, but he continues to gnaw at his lower lip in thought. A slightly amused huff escapes Inko, and she stands, wiping her hands clean on a rag she’s had set aside, before she marches around the table to pinch at his cheek teasingly.

“Ow, ow!” he whines, wiping at the spot she’d pinched even though it hadn’t hurt that bad. She chuckles, moving back around the table to move their lunch—sautéed mushrooms and herbs, with seared pork—onto plates for both of them.

“See?” she asks, the laughter lines around her eyes deepening once more. “Couldn’t feel that if you were dead. You’re flesh and blood and very alive, dear, I promise.”

He sighs again, but he does feel better, and he manages a small smile that he’s surprised to realize is genuine.

Gods, Eijiro loves meat.

Inko was right, and he’s glad he waited to eat before tackling the shrine. There’s a monster camp just outside of it, and he’s downright gleeful about getting to have that fight on a full stomach—and he can’t imagine how much worse it’d have felt, to have to fight past them with arms still shaky and achy from the climb down the Great Plateau Tower.

When he finally steps up onto the level surface before the shrine, admittedly, his shoulders and muscles all feel sore and protest at most movements, but they’re still steadier than they might have been. There’s a pedestal, just to the side of the gate into the shrine. The gate looks similar to the doors that had kept him sealed into the Shrine of Resurrection, with interlocking panels pressed together—but these ones lie horizontal, instead of vertical.

He hears a tune sound from the Sheikah Slate, and as he pulls it from his hip to approach the pedestal, he sees that the map now displays two new emblems—another bright blue one, where the tower is, and an orange one here, at the shrine. It also displays a name over this shrine—Oman Au Shrine.

It’s a little less straightforward than ‘Shrine of Resurrection’, but it doesn’t really matter, he guesses.

He looks down at the pedestal, and the incredibly helpful advice of, ‘this isn’t complicated,’ flashes through his mind, making him chuckle as he moves to press the Sheikah Slate to this pedestal, the same as he did to get out of the Shrine of Resurrection. This time his slate has to confirm instead of authenticate, whatever either of those things even mean, and then the voice delivers another new phrase.

“Travel gate registered to map.”

He wonders what travel gate means, turning to look behind him curiously as the large circular emblem in the platform behind him lights up blue, again with that strange blue energy clouding off of it for a moment. And then, after a chime of “Access granted,” the door just past the pedestal begins to open—this time the panels swiveling in, instead of sliding past each other.

It’s… just a hollow little nook? He expected maybe a stairway or passageway leading down, but it’s empty in there, but for another slightly smaller circular emblem on the floor inside. It’s patterned differently, but it’s also lit up. Cautiously, Eijiro goes to stand on it—gods, he hopes this structure isn’t about to shoot up into the sky, too.

Instead, the circular marking on the floor shifts, and smoothly—and gently, thank the Goddesses—it begins to sink down. Eijiro watches, wide-eyed as this apparent platform just—floats? Seemingly suspended by nothing, as it slowly lowers him through a dark tunnel, lower and lower into the ground. He can’t quite see yet where the platform is taking him, so he cranes his head instead to watch the sliver of sunlight up above slowly shrink with distance.

When he finally emerges from the bottom of the chute he’s been descending down, and the shrine opens up around him, it’s—

Oman Au Shrine is otherworldly. It’s hard to believe that the rest of the world even can exist, somewhere far above this.

It’s not dark and claustrophobic like the Shrine of Resurrection was, and there isn’t a thick layer of dust choking the air or the same atmosphere of abandonment, despite what Inko had said about no one being able to enter. There’s an unnaturally bright, blue-ish light that beams down from the entirety of the ceiling. Unlike the Shrine of Resurrection, this space is—it’s huge, much more open, and instead of the curved walls of the Shrine of Resurrection sealing him in, nearly everything here is angular, compiled of rectangles or squares.

Something… something about the structure reminds him of a child’s construction out of blocks—like not all of the shapes fit together quite how they’re supposed to, bits of black and tan stone jutting out just a little farther here and there. It adds all the more to the unreal feeling of this place.

An altogether new feeling hits him as soon as he steps down from the platform—unlike with the voice that calls to him from the castle, which he almost hears, though the sound is more in his mind than in his ears, now a sensation of words washes over him, but it’s not at all like hearing them. It’s barely even like feeling them. It’s like the words are just… appearing in his mind.

To you who sets foot in this shrine… I am Oman Au. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, I offer this trial.

There’s a sensation just ghosting at the edges of his mind with the words, something that feels ancient, but… not malicious, at least? It’s deeply unfamiliar and unsettling, and he knows he’s never experienced anything like it in his life, but he gets the sense that whatever entity or force just—spoke?—to him, it’s very, very old.

Off to his left is another pedestal with a black, somewhat-pointed stone suspended above it, just like at the tower, so Eijiro gets to work.

This time, when the glowing fluid drips onto his Sheikah Slate, it’s not a map that appears on the screen. It says it’s a... rune? He doesn’t know exactly what that means in this context, but he does know that Sheikah use runes in their magic—is that what this is? Is this gonna let his slate do magic? Let him do magic? Oh, he so wants to do magic.

Eijiro can fucking do magic.

He’s never felt this cool in his life, slinging giant chunks of metal around like they’re weightless, through the power of whatever odd tether forms out of the slate when he activates the rune. After he’s worn out the fun of marveling in his new unchecked power—(okay, it’s a little checked; he can lift anything made of metal, but he can only move it so fast and only up to a certain distance, and he can’t even lift metal objects that he’s standing on, which is lame)—he finally moves on to the trial that’s apparently set before him.

It feels like less of a trial and more of a hands-on lesson to get him used to the rune. There’s more than a few opportunities for him to get creative about moving obstacles, finding things that are out of his reach or not immediately visible without use of the rune, and stacking or arranging things to get around to places he otherwise couldn’t reach.

He quickly feels like a pro at toppling walls of obstacles, making metal bridges, and climbing metal boxes. It gets almost boring fast, and the only things that throw him off, and that he could have done without, are the automatons sprung on him about halfway through, when he still has the slate out and isn’t suddenly ready for combat.

By the time he’s using the rune to heave open the hulking metal gates at the end of his trial, wincing from the results of that battle—the machines had shot lasers at him, lasers! And though he’d hardened in time, his skin still stings, feeling burnt and raw where the beams had hit—he feels like he’s been here ages. The slate says it’s been more like only an hour and a half, but he’s still way too ready to be done already.

Past the gates is an odd, elevated—platform? Or altar, or something like that. Eijiro freezes in his spot when he lays eyes on the spectacle before him. There’s two tiny sets of stairs, only six shallow steps to each, leading up to the odd platform, which is encased on all sides by some glowing blue screen or window. But it’s what’s inside that transparent blue wall that gives him pause, because—

Because that’s definitely a dead guy. Oh, gods, that’s so a dead guy, sitting there.

Eijiro only continues forward very begrudgingly, closing in to notice that this freaky, shriveled and mummified form with long white hair is in some sort of meditative pose, with his hands shaped together to form a triangle. He’s also pretty distinctively wearing clothes that remind Eijiro of traditional Sheikah garb, a hat slung over his back that’s of obvious Sheikah make, and, oh, Eijiro shouldn’t neglect to note the shadow people’s symbol painted blatantly on this man’s forehead. He’s also shirtless, which Eijiro can respect.

Reluctantly, he climbs the steps, coming to a stop at the small, railed-in landing at the top of the second set. Oh, he’s way too close to this dead guy for his liking. Is there something he’s supposed to do here…?

There are a few seconds spent shuffling awkwardly in place, hoping for something to happen as he alternates between looking at the mummy and the Sheikah eye that hovers between them on the glowing window, before Eijiro finally sighs. He’s gonna regret this, but fuck it. He clearly is supposed to do something, so he—with every instinct in his body screaming at him not to—reaches up to touch the Sheikah symbol on the partition in front of him.

The whole thing shatters, and he jumps.

Again, he gets that suggestion of words, not heard or felt but still somehow there, and he knows without a doubt that their origin is this dead Sheikah before him. They’re a little stronger now that he’s closer to the source, but still a foreign and indistinct feeling.

You have proven to possess the resolve of a true hero. I am Oman Au, the creator of this trial. I am a humble monk, blessed with the sight of the god Bakusatsuo and dedicated to helping those who seek to defeat All For One. With your arrival, my duty is now fulfilled. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, allow me to bestow this gift upon you. Please accept the strength of my spirit.

Eijiro blinks, brow furrowing as he wonders what that means—but then he sees what it means, as suddenly, a compact, hazy cloud of purple—he doesn’t even know, energy?—seeps out of the monk’s chest, and—and begins to drift towards him.

A little alarmed, Eijiro staggers half a step back in a probably less-than-manly move, eyes flicking between the monk and the approaching haze—but before he can make the decision to bolt, unsure what the hell that substance is exactly, it touches his chest and begins to absorb into him. He yelps, one hand reaching up to clutch over his heart like he can somehow pull the essence back out of himself, the other clinging at the railing like a lifeline so he doesn’t tumble down the stairs in his attempt to reel away.

He feels… he doesn’t know, something blanket and course through him, the feeling deeply unsettling and he wants to ask this guy to take it back.

May Bakusatsuo smile upon you.

As Eijiro watches, the monk before him starts to—to disintegrate, freaking him right the hell out as the mummified Sheikah dissolves into greenish particles that float away upwards. His eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of his head and he’s half a second from hyperventilating as he stares, mouth agape.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods, did he just get possessed? He doesn’t want to be possessed! He does not want some weird ancient monk to pilot him around! Not cool! It’s not cool!

He needs to sit and have a moment before he can make his way back to the platform out of the shrine.

Inko is waiting for him when he does get out of the shrine. He steps out into the sunlight, still unsettled but comforted by normal fresh air and surroundings again, and she steps up onto the surface at the entrance of the shrine, meeting him.

“How did it go, sweetie?” She looks him over, eyes crinkling warmly in the way he’s used to. “You have a different sense about you. You look a little heartier.”

This is the last thing Eijiro wants to hear right now, and he looks at her in alarm. “I seem different? What do you mean? Different how? Do I still seem like me?” Oh, he’s so possessed. He’s so possessed by a weird old dead monk man. This is the worst.

Taken aback, Inko blinks owlishly at him. Concern coloring her expression, she steps closer with furrowed brows. “What do you mean? Of course you do.”

“But are you sure?” he asks, a little desperate.

“Yes! Eijiro, sweetheart, what happened in there to have you in this state?”

The story comes pouring out of him all in one breath, voice only getting more hysterical as he goes. “I don’t know, I—I went in there and there was a trial? Sort of? It wasn’t really hard at all it was just kind of teaching me how to use a new thing on my Sheikah Slate and there were machines that attacked me and then there was this weird old dead guy at the end of it and he said he’d give me ‘the strength of his spirit’ and then this weird purple stuff came into me and now I think I’m possessed!”

Inko stares. Eijiro stares back, probably a little wild-eyed and frightened. Not for the first time today, Inko’s eyebrows lift high on her face, and then she shakes her head as she reaches out to place a hand on his arm. “Eijiro, honey, don’t you think you’d notice something different about yourself if you were possessed?”

“Maybe?” He’s so desperately hoping she’s right, but he’s just a little freaked out right now. “Just—I don’t know, what if, like, my own thoughts are different so I’m not even thinking like me and that’s why I don’t notice?”

“I think if you were possessed by something that made you think differently, you wouldn’t be worried about being possessed at all,” she reasons, firm in her stance. After a beat, she tilts her head and asks, “Are you always this paranoid about silly things?”

“No!” He can’t help but be defensive. “I mean. I don’t think so?” Given a moment to process the whole conversation, he finds himself a little embarrassed, dropping his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a really weird day, Inko.”

She chuckles sympathetically, patting his arm comfortingly. He doesn’t want to come out from behind his hands, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. “How about we get to thinking about your next step, hm? What happened while you were in there? Did your voice speak to you again?”

Eijiro doesn’t even want to get into the happy little jump his heart performs when she refers to the voice he’s heard so much as his, so instead he focuses on taking a deep breath and removing his fingers from his face. He shakes his head, trying not to be disappointed.

“No, I haven’t heard from him again.” He’d really been hoping that using Sheikah technology was the key to prompting him to speak but… apparently not. “Um… okay, so. I got down into the shrine, and this, um, really old Sheikah monk, who was like, shriveled up and mummified? He said it was a trial. And when I finished the trial, he said...”

Eijiro’s brow furrows as he tries to remember, exactly. He’d gotten pretty distracted and weirded out, afterwards, so the words hadn’t exactly had time to stick.

“He said… that I have the resolve of a true hero? And some stuff about Bakusatsuo, and that he was supposed to help anyone who wants to fight All for One.” Thinking back on it, Eijiro definitely starts to feel a little silly, now. Obviously, the monk wouldn't possess him if he wanted to help him. “And then he said he was giving me a gift, and he, like—disintegrated, after sending some weird purple… stuff into me, I don’t know, that’s when I got weirded out.”

Inko hums thoughtfully, considering. Just when she’s opening her mouth to respond, Eijiro spots an old, battered metal crate nearby and remembers.

“Oh!” He’s already whipping the slate out in his excitement, activating the magnesis rune. “And I can do this now!”

He uses the slate to grab the box, lifting it into the air—Inko lets out a quiet cry of, “Goodness!”—and moving it away from them, before dropping it with a heavy thud and beaming at her.

“That looks awfully handy,” she admits with an indulgent smile. “Just be careful with it. So, if that shrine gave you an ability like that, and was placed there to help you fight All for One, it stands to reason that the others will probably help you, too? There are a few more shrines even here, on the Great Plateau. Maybe you could go to them, while we figure out how to get you down?”

Moving to clip the slate back to his belt, Eijiro’s eyebrows raise. “There are? Where?”

Admittedly, he’s not exactly eager to have more of that weird purple… mist, or whatever, thrown at him, but this magnesis thing is cool. If the other shrines have other runes for him… maybe one of them could be something that grants him the ability to get down from the plateau. So, even if the thought of dealing with that again makes him a little uneasy, he knows he has to man up. He’s not going to save anyone if he’s too scared to even face dead guys trying to help him.

“You could probably see them all from the top of that tower you raised,” Inko suggests helpfully. “Your Sheikah Slate should also have a scope feature that will let you mark the shrines on your map from far away.”

“Really?” He hasn’t even found that feature. It’s not his most pressing issue though, because he finds himself looking dubiously at the tower in the near distance, ahead of them. He sighs. “Man, I’m not looking forward to climbing all the way up there. Down was hard enough.”

Inko chuckles agreeably, clearly understanding of his plight. “Your slate has something for that, too. To help you travel places faster.”

“You mean the map?” he asks, brow furrowing. He guesses that would make sense; having a map that moves with you and shows you exactly where you’re facing in relation to your destination probably speeds things up a lot more than using a regular map and constantly having to orient yourself.

“Oh, you know about the fast travel on the map already?” Inko asks, sounding pleasantly surprised, and Eijiro blinks. The shrine had said something about a fast travel gate, right?

“Um… no?” he answers honestly. “Wait, how do you know all this about my slate? I thought you said you didn’t know a lot about Sheikah stuff?”

An amused huff escaping her, Inko gives him a chiding look. “Sheikah Slates were around one hundred years ago, young man. I may not know much about Sheikah buildings or how they all work, but your slate is another matter entirely. I’ve heard quite a bit about what they’re supposed to be able to do. Now, pull out your map.”

“Oh.” He does as she says, but as he’s bringing up the map he can’t help but furrow his brow as he realizes her wording. She made it sound like she was around one hundred years ago. But she still doesn’t look old enough for that—unless she was, like, a baby, and aged really well, and even then, a baby couldn’t work a Sheikah Slate. Probably.

“All right,” she begins, moving beside him to peer at the map with him. He notes with some interest that the emblem for the shrine where they stand is no longer orange on the map, but blue like the other emblems. “So if you tap on the tower on the map, it should let you move there quickly.”

He does as she directs, watching as a message appears on the screen, bearing two words, each separated and outlined: ‘Travel’ and ‘Cancel’. “Like this?” he asks, finger already moving unthinkingly to tap the word travel.

Before Inko can answer, Eijiro is ripped violently out of his body.

Describing the sensation of fast travel would probably be impossible. One moment, Eijiro is normal, and the next—it’s like he’s blacked out, except not at all because he can still think and panic, but he can’t feel his body, like at all. Can’t keep track of any part of himself. He feels so disjointed, unable to gain any sense of equilibrium or awareness of his surroundings or the orientation of his own limbs, and the whole while he feels like he’s hurtling through the air at horrifying speeds.

And none of that comes close to describing the discordant sensation of all of his senses reassembling themselves all out of order, as he’s placed on the circular symbol on the top of Great Plateau Tower—placed gently, but that’s too little too late.

The instant his feet hit the surface, Eijiro topples over, and it’s all he can do to scramble to the edge of the tower before he’s emptying what’s left of his lunch over the side. Oh, gods. That was the most jarring experience of his life. That was so bad. What the fuck.

Pressing his forehead to the tan stone that ridges the edge of the tower, Eijiro groans, wind whipping his hair all around his face.

“I’m never doing that again,” he swears under his breath to himself, voice thick and arms wrapped around his stomach. He fucking means it, too. That was godsdamned awful.

It takes more time than he’d like to admit to compose himself after that, but once he’s finally pulled himself to his feet he can at least say that the scope feature is way easier to find and use than it could have been. There’s tons of shrines, it turns out—he can make out so many from up here, but most of them are well out of his reach, until he can get off of the plateau. It’s not even a full minute before he has the three shrines Inko had told him about marked down on his map, with glowing beacons that appear on the scope when he moves it over them.

One of them, he notes eagerly, is easily reachable, too; not far at all where it sits surrounded by ruins.

It’s just… he can’t help but despair, just a little, because now begins the process of climbing all the way back down. After the worst ascent of his life. Again.

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbk #bkshm #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro #bakugo katsuki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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yandere-wishes · 5 years

Text

Sweet Blood // Yandere!Vampier! Malleus Draconia x reader//

There had always been an eerie atmosphere surrounding Night Raven. The elevated edifice along with the ghoulish woods that surrounded it had been outcasted from the luminous tiny villages and civilizations that occupied the same land.

Inside the laws of life itself seemed to be mangled and tormented, giving birth to a monstrous manner of existence. The entire student body seemed to be living double lives that they themselves were not aware of. Their form of speech, comportment, socializing and the methodology that was taught, differed vastly from those of the exterior world.

This had left you pondering most restless nights as to how someone as ordinary as yourself had been permitted to attend such a surreal school.

The night began like any other, the moon hung in the onyx tapestry of the sky, shining rays through the large glass windows littering the hall walls. The sound of mysterious hooting and chirping filling the night with only a slight sense of livelihood.

You rushed down the noir passageways to your first class. Feet hitting the navy tiles in a fast-paced tempo. Your mind was scattered, lungs heavy and heart even heavier. Never did you notice the large crack in the flooring. Toe boxing slipping between the parted marble, you crashed knees and palms first onto the hard, cold tiles. Pain shot through your body, skin tore away freeing an oozing red liquid. Salty tears pricked at the corners of your pretty eyes. Shaking you brought yourself to rest on your bruised knees, staring down fearfull at the wide-ranging gashes on your flooded palms. You were about to start crying when you heard footsteps stopping in front of you, through glossy eyes you looked up and the mysterious person.

Malleus Draconia a third year and dorm leader of the ever-mysterious Diasomnia stared back down at you. Murky emerald green eyes were fixed on your red palms in a dazed and feral manner. He slowly, almost predatory crunched down to your level, He gripped your right wrist tightly digging his black nails into your tender, soft flesh. Yanking it closer to his mouth he began to lap at the blood with his tongue. With a trembling airy noise leaving your mouth, you attempted to squirm and wriggle out of this tight grasp.

"Stop" he demanded, lifting his eyes for a millisecond to send you a warning glare.

When you didn't heed and continued your feeble attempt to free yourself, he grabbed the collar of your uniform and roughly dragged you closer to his chest. Incaging you between his free arm and knees. Your tears began to flow again, not at the stinging pain but at the unorthodox thing he was doing to you. Minutes flew by like hours as you remain trapped, close to the dragon boy.

"Malleus-sama where are you? The class has already begun!"

Finally you though, never had Lilila's voice sounded so sweet to your ears. He quickly jogged up to your capturer and tugged on his shoulder.

"Come on already" The "older" fae whined.

Reluctantly Malleus released you as you melted to the floor a shacking sobbing mess. Lilia couldn't have cared less and simply walked away only looking over his shoulder to note if Malleus had pursued or not.

His shadow never left you and ever so quietly he whispered "Your blood tastes to fresh and sweet...I want more". He then walked over to where his companion was tapping his foot and huffing impatiently.

Despite how preternatural the school's atmosphere may have been, it couldn't have been as terrorizing as it was now. Everywhere you went you caught a glimpse of raven-colored hair and even darker horns following you. You'd also began to note a presence in your room in the dead of night. Something was watching you as you attempted to fall into slumber. In the afternoons when you'd wake up, your body seemed to be littered with small puncture wounds or scrapes. Everywhere except your neck.

Mozes prattled about some war which happed only forever ago between the four branches of dark fairies when they'd first immigrated to the "human world". You could practically feel your brain melting in boredom. How you longed for that sweet-sounding bell to simply ring, but once.

A poke to your back jolted you out of your thoughts. You spun around to find Silver handing you're a letter with a dark green seel. His expression was one of boredom, eyes fixed on the professor and not bothering to address you. Blinking, you slowly plucked the letter from his outstretched hand.

"What's this for?" You asked curiosity lacing your voice.

"Don't know~" Silver paused letting out a long yawn. "Don't care"

You shot him a quick glare before turning back in your seat. Carefully you cracked open the seal letting little crumbs fall onto your lap.

Gliding the letter out you began to read.

Dearest (Y/N)~

I deeply apologize for my eccentric behavior in the hallway yesterday. You'd find that I'm not habitually so idiosyncratic. As a means to repent, I would be delighted if you were to accept my invitation to dinner tonight in the Diasmonia dorm.

Sincerely yours~ Malleus Draconia (Dorm leader of Diasmonia)

Your heartbeat quicked as you put down the letter. Was that maniac serious why would you accept his invitation after the stunt he'd pulled. No no, this was too much no way in hades where you going to that cursed dorm to meet with the diabolical man.

After the bell had finally rung, you began to walk to the exit. Planning on just relaxing in your dorm room. As you stride towards the door, a string hand rapidly wrapped around your wrist and pulled you forward. Tracing the arm to its owner you quickly noticed that it belonged to Silver.

"Silver what the heck! Let me go now!"

The silver-haired boy didn't even acknowledge you. The more you tugged attempting to liberate your arm the tighter and tighter his grip got.

Had Diasomnia always been so far? It seemed to take you and Silver hours just to get there. After what only felt like hours of walking did the gothic noir castle. The hulking oak doors seemed to open on their own once they spotted Sliver. He didn't stop, he continued tugging you up a flight of stairs not bothering to address you even as you tipped and tumbled.

Finally, he led you into a large room. It seemed over-decorated and rather victorian to say the least. A thick sadness loomed in the room, manifesting itself in tiny dust particles covering every inch of the room... except a jet black dress with neon green details that laid lifeless on the king-sized canopy bed.

"That's yours" Silver gestured to the dress with a lazy smirk" I'm sure he'll like it". With that, he spun on his heels and marched out.

When the door slammed behind him you quickly rushed to the window. Ready to jump out, you suddenly noticed how high up you were. Muttering curses under your breath you walked over to the bed. Slumping on it you glared at the dress. "What in god's name is going on?"

Finding no other immediate solution you reluctantly through on the dress. Brushed your hair and knocked on the door. Silver pushed in open permitting you to exist.

"Malleus-sama is waiting for you on the fifth floor in the dining room." Monotonous as always.

You practically ran up the stairs taking them two by two. The sooner you found Malleus the sooner this nightmare would be over. When you finally reached the top of the velvet cover stairs you say the green-eyed boy waiting for you outside of an open room. You quickly jogged up to him.

"Malleus what is the meaning--"

He left, slowly walking into the room. An action practically ordering you to follow. Entering the room you quickly noted the lavish and immense dining table. It was covered by a pitch-black table cloth. And yet no food there was simply a golden jewel oriented cup.

"What's the point of going to such extravagance to invite me to dinner if there isn't anything to eat" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at the raven-haired boy.

"My, my how rude you are little beastie. I go to such troubles to make this meal enjoyable for you as well and you speak to me in such a manner?" His brows frowned and lips split into an easy smirk.

"Yes, Malleus you are supposed to make an evening entertaining and enjoyable when you invite guests over. That the whole point of a dinner party." Was he so clueless?

"Guest? My whatever gave you the inkling that you were to be my guest?"

Your mind rushed back to the letter, re-reading it and trying to find some clue as to what he was saying. "You apologized for your rube and frankly nauseating performance yesterday!" At this point you where fuming how the dare he treats you as such was this all a game to him.

"Humans aren't very bright now, are they? The letter was a formal apologie yes, I don't usually treat my food in such a foul manner. Then again I'm mostly used to attacking my meals."

You slowly stepped back preparing to make a run for the door. Food, was he planning on eating you? Was he truly a sick psycho as you'd previously suspected? As you began to turn, he quickly lunged towards you, causing you to fall whilst he hovered above you.

He opened his mouth teeth began to grow sharper and sharper until they were practically miniature knives in his mouth.

"What- what are you?" Fear soaked your voice, the room began to spin. Your leg hurt so badly, there surely must be something broken.

Malleus shook his head, eyes locking with yours. "Dear (Y/n) I'm no different than any other creature in this school, we are all bloodthirsty, no difference there".

Slowly things began to fall into place. That's why they were so different so peculiar. The ideologies and behavior in this school were so monstrous because they were monsters!

His teeth slowly descended onto your neck, pocking and cracking the delicate flesh. It felt like thousands of needles being plunged into your skin simultaneously. Pain coursed through your neck traveling at lighting speeds to your arms and legs and every other inch of your being.

"Malleus stop please it- it hurts" you whimpered.

He pulled back to stare at you, bright crimson dripped from between his fangs, spilling over your dress and his clothes. Carelessly he wiped the back of his sleeve over his mouth.

"(Y/n) you should be thanking me! Not complaining so much! You'd be dead by now if I hadn't deemed you worthy of being my blood bank." He was furious pale face turning ever so slightly red.

"I'm not food Malleus! You aren't permitted to keep me!" You screamed tears flowing from your eyes and voice cracking.

"I can do whatever I please with a useless human such as your self! I'm eternal I rule over the night. You and your kind are nothing more than overly selfconscious monkeys."

His fingers wrapped around your neck and slammed your head down.

"I own you (Y/N) you are mine to feed off of, mine to do with as I please, YOU ARE MINE".

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witcherdoaks · 4 years

Text

Spring Day: Ghost

Word Count: 2,080

Warnings: None, just a short intermittent chapter

Previous post in the series: A Brief Reunion

Masterlist: Spring Day

Ciri located Geralt and Yennefer along the path when word reached her of the bard’s passing. The young woman refused to leave Geralt’s side for which Yennefer was thankful. To Ciri, Jaskier had been an odd comfort, a tie to her royal life with all his fussiness and knowledge of high society manners, but more than that, he was a reminder to fuck all and live life. She was no stranger to death, so his death meant she’d have one more name to carry with her until her own demise. Now it was her turn to look out for Geralt as best as she could without making the witcher feel claustrophobic.

For his part, Geralt pulled off a convincing act if one wasn’t paying attention. More than once his shoulders would tense, and he would quickly excuse himself whenever a different bard attempted renditions of Jaskier’s songs at taverns. Then there were the people who knew the bard would travel with him in spring and summer telling him it was such a shame the talented young man had passed. Ciri noted all of this and the manner with which the Witcher avoided towns and people even more, so she was relieved when they made it to Kaer Morhen that winter, especially after that trip to Oxenfurt.

The famed academy had received news of the bard’s passing in mid spring. They sent word for Geralt to head to the campus by the beginning of summer, so the pair reached Oxenfurt some weeks after that. Geralt looked positively green as he was led through the halls to Jaskier’s living quarters. Ciri had offered to deal with the officials and everything else about the visit, but the white wolf turned her down. He had to do this himself, he said.

“Professor Pankratz left you his possessions in the event of his passing, lord knows why,” the stick thin old man said in a tone that revealed he knew the why and very much disapproved of it.

Geralt only nodded stiffly while Ciri glared daggers at the man. Eventually they reached their destination, and the old man told them that any items left behind would be repurposed for the university or would be discarded. They had only four days to go through everything. For the size of the office and living quarters, it was a lot. Books were piled high on every corner of the rooms, most of which Geralt knew he would never need but had to convince himself not to take as they would serve the university well. There was also no possible way Roach and Ciri’s stallion would be able to take everything. The young woman recommended rifling through the tomes regardless; it had been her grandmother's habit to place papers or other in between pages of books. Maybe Jaskier was the same.

Several books later, they had many dried flowers in between sheets of paper and cotton. Eventually Geralt found a rather large book where the dried flowers were probably destined for. As Geralt turned the pages, he realized there were herbs and other dried medicinal plants placed carefully in pockets on each side of a page. Annotations and captions filled the pages next to the specimens, detailed descriptions of their properties and the occasional wayward comment. The bard must have spent a great deal of time developing the book.

“We should take that one,” Ciri said, looking at the contents from over his shoulder. Maybe it would prove useful in the future.

The Witcher agreed and set the book aside. As he glanced around the room, there were still piles of unsearched tomes everywhere and a disarray of parchments strewn all over Jaskier’s desk. Geralt sighed, tired of looking through tomes in a place that was saturated with Jaskier’s scent. Even with his Witcher senses, he would get accustomed to the smell, chamomile and apple blossom faded into the background, bringing with it unacknowledged comfort. Only for him to notice the scent again and be reminded that the bard was gone. It made Geralt’s throat constrict in that familiar way, yet his eyes were no longer able to express his sorrow.

“Why don’t you take a break, Geralt?” Ciri asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He glanced at her, and she squeezed his shoulder, giving him a slight nod. Geralt knew he wouldn’t be away for long; he couldn’t let Ciri do all the work, but stepping out of those quarters was quite literally a breath of fresh air.

Every step took him farther away from the bard’s living quarters, making it easier to breathe and settle his thoughts. There were very few students roaming the passageways. Those that were gave secretive glances in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking, for which Geralt was grateful.

He hadn’t been paying much attention where he was going and found himself walking along one of the bridges connecting the two islands eventually. There he stopped, leaning on the stone parapet. The view before him was idyllic, blue hued mountain ranges were peaking above the forest line. His sharp eyes could make out the crystalline snow caps at the apex before they shifted back to the river‘s water, impossibly opaque but not in a murky, muddy way. The Witcher wondered if Jaskier had ever stood here, overlooking the same scene. Would he come here to clear his head, to get away from the students who surely filled the halls in the winter? What would occupy the bard’s mind when he stood here?

“Witcher!”

Geralt turned in the direction of which his title was called. A woman dressed in orange and green was walking down the bridge toward him. The feather in her red-orange beret was fanning out every so often.

“I heard you were here,” she cheerfully explained her approach. “It’s nice to meet you in the flesh instead of in a ballad.”

Her cheerful demeanor slipped from her face as he continued to stare at her, wondering why she had approached him at all. None of the other students had done it. Still she continued past the mounting silence.

“If you require assistance sorting things out, I’d be happy to extend my stay.” The woman looked almost hopeful as if she wanted him to ask her the favor, “I was passing through to retrieve any parcels Dandelion may have left me.”

Her voice went soft at the end, and she looked wary now.

“Dandelion?” Geralt asked, tilting his head.

“That was what we called him here at the Academy,” she cleared her throat and looked away, “Jaskier, I mean.”

Ah, here it was. Another facet of Jaskier’s life that Geralt didn’t know. A trivial detail of the bard’s life, which Geralt would have never known had he not met this stranger. THis knowledge left an acrid taste in his mouth. He’d never again be able to discover tidbits of Jaskier from the source itself. All new knowledge of Jaskier would be received from those that knew him.

Geralt must have been glaring when the woman glanced at him because she took a step away.

“Yes, well, I must be going,” she hurriedly excused herself, “my offer stands, Witcher.”

A pool of guilt seeped into Geralt’s core, making him grimace. She hadn’t been at fault, and she was only being kind by offering to help. Yet he scared her off. He sighed and started walking back to the living quarters. In the distance, a flash of red orange made a turn into one of the buildings, but he kept walking. It was too late to do anything now, he convinced himself and continued walking.

When he got back to Ciri, the young woman had made considerable progress with the books and even had some of the students cart off the items they had already inspected. The two of them continued their perusal of the quarters. That which they didn’t need or felt immediately attached to was donated to the academy. Geralt was left with a sparsely used journal, the tome and other nicknacks of the bard’s while Ciri took with her a small ornate table mirror and a scarf she had gifted the bard some years prior.

It was late evening on their last night at the Academy that Geralt saw the woman again, looking to deliver a package to him. He took the package in hand and accepted the words of comfort that left her mouth, wondering how much of Jaskier she knew, before closing the door on her.

At night when the candle allotted to him had burned a quarter of the way down, Geralt sat with the bundle in front of him on the table. Ciri had gone to sleep some time ago. It was just him and his thoughts now. The bundle beckoned him, and he reached out to hold it in his hands. It barely weighed anything. The scents coming off it were smoke from a hearth, ink and that woman. It had been with her person for a couple of days at least, so that made sense.

Gently he untied the strings holding the parcel together. As the fabric fell open, the smell of dried ink intensified, yet it now mingled with chamomile and apple blossoms. At the very top of everything was a folded piece of parchment. With one hand Geralt unfolded it and his eyes landed on the topmost line in the bard’s script.

My dear Priscilla

And that’s all he read. The parchment malformed and wrinkled with the force he used to fold it. The bundle now felt like lead in his hands, but he knew he couldn’t be rid of it. It was still a piece of Jaskier after all, so he rewrapped it and tied the string as securely as he could before shoving the entire thing into his satchel.

Geralt blew out the candle and went to sleep.

Even weeks later, Jaskier’s scent lingered on his belongings.

Of course it did, Geralt had carefully wrapped them in cotton sheets to stow away in his travel bag. He had transferred them to a chest as soon as they reached Kaer Morhen. The bundle the woman gave him lay on the table of his room again. It remained there for a better part of the winter, purposely forgotten in favor of training and renovation of the castle. By now the scent of her was nearly gone, overwritten by the Witcher keep.

It was at this time, months after the incident, that Geralt took the parcel in his hands and unwrapped it with utmost care. Letting the chamomile and apple blossom soothe over his nerves and pounding hear. He smoothed out the wrinkled parchment and opened it to read.

My dear Priscilla,

Fate must have smitted me if you are reading this letter. I would hope I’d have died without regrets, but I rather doubt that is the case — at least where our infamous white wolf is concerned in the time I write this letter.

I could shower you with praises for your natural beauty and talent. Except I fear that would be a waste of time as you already know how even the proudest of songbirds stop to hear you sing.

Instead I will call upon your vast intellect and sensitivity to make the choice you feel is best, both for him and for my legacy. I leave to you some of my most private compositions. Many of these have not been finished or if they have, are not composed to my quality of my liking. I know you value an artist's integrity and would never betray this trust which I have in you. Unlike that pompous idiot Valdo Marx, seriously beware of him and kick him on his miniscule family jewels the next time you see him in my honor.

Back on topic, I’ll leave it up to you whether you wish to keep these writings or hand them off to Geralt of Rivia, who for the last couple of decades has occupied my heart and mind and is the subject of many of the present compositions.

Please don’t punch him. He has apologized as I’ve told you countless times, and you would only be breaking a hand or wrist if you carry out vengeance in my name. I do not wish for him to hurt more than he is. He hides it well, Priscilla.

Thank you, dear Callonetta.

Sincerely yours,

Dandelion

#Reincarnation AU #netflix the witcher #this took longer than expected #way too long for the amount of words i have imo #hope you enjoyed #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #Jaskier #Cirilla of Cintra #ciri is a caring daughter

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ohvalleyofplentyyy · 4 years

Text

Frozen in Time

one-shot | master list

A/N: Hope y’all like it :) my requests are open btw if yall want me to write anything for you.

She stood at the edge of the stone balcony, overlooking the vast forest below here.

Small streams of smoke rose in the distance from the neighboring town, close enough to see but too far to reach. It was ironic really, all those capable bodies to come free her yet not one dare challenge the witch who kept her captive.

She’s there for a reason, they said.

It must be her destiny, they whispered.

She propped her head up on hands, both elbows balancing on the cold stone that crumbled beneath the very touch. “Maybe it will one day cave in and I’ll fall.” She mumbled to herself.

It was lonely in the castle, the girl hadn’t spoken to anyone since she was seven years old. She often wandered the hallways, speaking to the portraits that weren’t torn in half or eaten away by moths.

She gazed out into the horizon from the only place she could watch freedom pass her by. The witch had cast a spell onto the windows of the castle, blacking them out and making them unbreakable. Sure, there were small windows in various parts to light the rooms and hallways, but this balcony in the tower was the only spot she could feel the wind on her face or see the trees sway below her. Their tallest branches just out of her reach.

Too far to climb down and escape from either…

The girl sighed and got up, her dress protesting as it was too small for her now. The sleeves that used to cover her wrists came to her elbows now and the once floor-length dress now mid-length. It was a faded pink, and the bodice had little bows and embroidered roses along the collar.

Sometimes she would run her fingers across them and try to remember the people that must have loved her so much to add these details into a little girl’s dress.

As she walked through the hallway, light streaming in from above through tiny planes of glass, each a different symbol, she traced her fingertips on the wall, dipping into each grove and cut in the rock. The first day she was here, the girl had run through the whole castle looking for a secret passageway out, and she never found one.

The girl never ate or drank which was surprising, but she never felt hungry or the need to quench her thirst. Her lips were never chapped and she was always as clean as a person could have been in a magical prison.

She often wondered if the witch that had enchanted the castle, then maybe she had enchanted her as well.

To be a porcelain doll in a glass cabinet, forever, in the house of eternity.

The young captive didn’t know how long she had been here, time seemed to mess with her. Some mornings she would look out the balcony and the trees were a lovely orange, a day would go by and they were baren of leaves and had a small coat of snow covering them.

It couldn’t be the seasons, she thought. Those happen so slowly and this seems to happen in a mere week. Also as peculiar as that, the young maiden swore she sometimes saw for a moment people standing beneath the castle looking up at her.

It must be my imagination…

On one particular night, a strange noise woke her. The girl immediately sat up in bed, and low and behold, an arrow with a note attached to it was embedded into the post of the bed frame.

She snatched the note, full of adrenaline and hope.

It read,

I cannot free you from outside, you must do it on the inside of the castle. Mark these symbols in the place the outside world can come into the castle. Trace in blood.

The girl ripped the sheets off her and raced to the wooden desk across the room, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled the fake base of it up, revealing a small dagger. She took it out and held it in her hand with the note in the other.

Where does the outside come in?

As she wondered, a gentle breeze passed into the room and she quipped her head to the balcony.

Of course!

In the shine of the moonlight, she put the note in the center of the ground before her and with the dagger, cut a small line across her lower calf. When the blood pooled enough, she dipped her finger into it and drew the symbols in a half-circle like the balcony was shaped.

Then, the symbols started to glow a hazy green.

The girl darted up and grabbed the old cloak she had found in her first year from exploring the old rooms. She pulled out from underneath the bed a pair of old worn riding boots that once upon a time a girl must have used to ride horses here. They fit pretty well, and given that these were the only pair, they would have to do.

In one quick dash, she rounded up all the nick-necks she had collected over the years from the castle. A marble, a sparrows feather, her favorite book from the half-destroyed library the castle housed, the dagger, and a pendant.

She paused for a moment with the pendant.

It had been the only thing in her possession when she had been taken. It wasn’t much to go on, but there was a beautiful family crest that must mean something and could lead her home.

Home…

Her details of home were fuzzy, she didn’t know if it was the magic that effected her loss of memory or just time, but she didn’t have a solid notion of where she came from. Bits and pieces, like the warmth of fire against her skin, the laughter in a large room with music playing in the background, the sound of water being poured to a bathtub.

Shaking her head of the thoughts, she put the necklace around her neck, grabbed the note, and made her way to the front wooden doors which she hoped her opening at this very moment. She practice jumped down the spiraling staircase and bolted to the entryway.

But when she got there, nothing had changed.

The second she realized this, the girl dropped to the ground on her knees, shaking with a sob stuck in her throat. It was as if fate was playing a cruel joke on her. She took a breath and started walking back to her room, through the hallway of moonlight.

That's when she gasped.

The symbols in the glass panels all shine into a line on the stone floor, but they all looked incomplete in the moonlight somehow.

Every time she had come this way in the daytime, the sun had been at an angle that kept the shadows from falling into this position.

The only reason she hadn’t realized this sooner is that this hallway had always been too cold for her to want to come through at night and too painful to see the door that could have been her escape out.

The wooden doors had these beautiful bolts that always puzzled her the few times she had looked at them. They had no keyhole and seemed to be melted into the doors. After trying and failed to pry them off the doors, the girl had decided that trying something else may be more beneficial and with that, she never thought of them again.

She moved with quick haste to the first light marking and took the blood that was still condensing around the wound. The girl looked back and forth at the note and symbol, then connected the two where it seemed to need an extra piece.

They fit together perfectly.

The symbol started to glow green like before, but this time it changed and turned purple.

A lock popped on the door. Her eyes widened as she watched from the hallway as the top lock disintegrated.

She quickly got to work on all the others, sometimes having to rub away the blood and start again, but the end result always ended with a pop! and dust crumbling to the floor. On the last symbol she paused, this would be the moment she’d be free and to be quite honest, it scared her.

I haven’t been outside these walls for so long. How will I adapt to the world I only grew up watching from a window?

The girl looked down at the pendant and smiled.

Someone once loved me outside these walls, and if I can find that sort of love again, I’ll be fine.

With a shaky swallow, she traced the last symbol.

Instantly, the lock popped and then the doors started to glow a vibrant yellow from the seams and then dissipate. She walked over and pulled the handle.

It opened.

When she stepped out onto the soil, she couldn’t believe it.

Trees are so big.

The ground is so soft.

The young girl turned to look back at the castle and with one final glance, closed the door and stepped away from the entrance. The castle crumbled upon itself as she did that, and all that was left were ruins.

“Shh!”

Hm?

The girl turned to see where the noise came from and then remembered.

The note!

“Hello?” She called out, suddenly, the rustling came to an end and two men came out from behind a large tree. One, visibly shorter and with a bit more spunk in his step, had a vivacious blue tunic on and a lute strapped to his back. The other man was huge and remind her of the giants she read about in the fairytales she found in the library years ago. He had white hair that resembled moonlight and these extraordinary amber eyes that made her curious beyond measure. He was also holding a bow.

She walked toward them, “Are you the one that sent the message?” She asked, holding up the note. “Yes, took you quite a while to get it.” The gruff man said. She scrunched her eyebrows together, “What do you mean, this flew into my room only an hour ago.”

The what she presumed was a musician, came out from behind his rather beefy friend. “What do you mean an hour ago?! We sent that 2 and a half days ago into the castle.”

The young woman took a step back, “What…” The white-haired man’s eyes zeroed in on the pendant that had caught the moon’s rays with her movement.

Then his face drained of what little color was in it.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, pointed to her necklace.

“It’s my family crest I believe. Do you know the story of how I got here? A witch I believe kidnapped me and imprisoned me here, this was the only thing I had with me.”

The man then put his hand up to his forehead, “Fuck.” The bard, sensing his friend's concern, stepped forward. “What’s your name? I’m Jaskier, and he’s Geralt.”

The girl thought for a moment, “It’s um, Y/N I think.”

Geralt and Jaskier made eye contact with surprised looks on their faces. “What? What is it? Why does it matter?” “Because, Y/N, your kind— or family, died out over 667 years ago.”

“That’s not possible! I—, I—… I was going to find my family.”

Y/N crumbled to the ground, tears welling in her eyes. “What am I suppose to do now?” She looked down at the ground. The two boys looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

“You could come with us.”

Her head shot up, “Huh?” Jaskier watched forward hesitantly and crouched to her level. “Well, it’s not the most conventional plan but after we get you caught up with the few last hundred years and maybe some clothes that fit, you’d be a good travel companion.” He turned back to Geralt, “What do you think?” “Her family line was known for their immortality and special abilities, it could be useful in the future.”

She stood up at the mention of her family, “You know my history?” He nodded, “It’s folklore, but in a pinch, yes. We can probably find some books on it, though they’ll be very rare.”

Y/N smiled and took Jaskier’s hand, pulling him up. “This isn’t what I was looking for, but I’m thinking it’s a good alternative. Thank you.”

The three started walking away from the castle crumble that some of the townsfolk may have heard so it would be best to not be in the area at the moment. “So you know you’re a fairytale too right?” Jaskier said as you stepped over a large branch. “I’m what?”

“Yeah, you’re the Princess of the Time Capsule Castle, people throughout history have come to take a glance of the castle in hopes of seeing the girl frozen in time. They say that during some days, you could see a girl looking out from the balcony frozen in a specific position on the stone ledge.”

She laughed, “Are you serious?” “Yeah, I used to hear stories about you when I was little.”

The girl smiled.

This wasn’t the love I was hoping to find, but I’m glad it’s the one I found.

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#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #the witcher jaskier #jaksier #jaskier x reader #the witcher #witcher #geralt fanfic #one shot #witcher one shot #witcher x reader #reader insert #netlifx #plentyyywrites #geralt x y/n

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sharada-n · 4 years

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I got this request over a year ago I think, which is a testiment to how slow I am with these sometimes. Still, I had a lot of fun writing for a fandom I haven’t tried before, and this request was just too cool to pass up - even if i did butcher it and turn it into more angst than hijinx.

Not sure if you still follow me, Anon, or if you’ll ever see this. But thank you so much for the request!

(Read on AO3)

The Pale King was a busy bug.

Hallownest as a society functioned much like a machine with many intricate parts, each cog turning just as it should individually while still dependent on each other, but keeping them all running properly was not an effortless endeavor. No matter what the denizens of his city might think.

Maybe it was his own fault. He had rather enjoyed playing the part of the detached ruler, taking pride in projecting an image of ease with which he operated, some might have called it superiority, keeping to it in dignity even when the first signs of sickness started to plague his people. Panic posed a danger as much as any actual disease could and he refused to let it spread, determining what needed to be done with level-headed purpose.

Rarely did he stray outside of the palace and if that had granted him the image of a god among his people then so be it. It was something he would neither deny nor discourage. But the truth of the matter remained that there were indeed things that took exertion and ruling Hallownest was one of them. Between tending to the many facets of the kingdom there was precious little time for anything besides duty and if the citizens of Hallownest at large would never realize that, he didn't mind. He had only hoped that those few creatures with the honor to belong to his inner circle and witness his efforts would know better.

Apparently that had been too much to hope for.

"Do tell why you presume to bother me with such inane questions?" he asked, his back turned upon the one stubbornly blocking his doorway. Maybe if he ignored her long enough, Herrah would realize he was preoccupied and did not have the time for frivolous affairs today – or any day for that matter.

"Oh, my dear Wyrm," she drawled back, the words spoken with such fake affection he was more than certain she was just trying to vex him, "however did you come to the misunderstanding that this was a mere question? I was making a demand."

"I do recall you're quite good at those," he murmured, unsure if she had heard but finding he cared little either way. To be curt, it was her own ultimatum that had gotten them into this situation to begin with, so it was only fair she would bear the burden. He turned around and added louder: "You know your time with her is dwindling. Why would you want to squander the feeble amount you have left?"

Herrah waited a moment, the reminder of the concomitant of their deal probably unpleasant for her. She made a sound, low and prolonged. "As hard as it will be for you to imagine, I am a queen in my own right. Sometimes that means I have pressing responsibilities to uphold for my people."

"Why do you not just command one of them to look after the child, then?"

"Because..." And he could tell she took great pleasure in her next words, "the child is yours as well. Last I recall you were there when she was created." As if to emphasize this she pushed the thing towards him. It was small, with a cloak that got close to brushing the ground and which had the typical burgundy coloring that the Pale King had come to associate with Herrah's retainers.

The child looked at him, its expression somehow curious despite the likeness to his own children, who had deceivingly unreadable features by design. It titled its head sideways, falling back to remain closer at its mother's side. Seemingly it was as pleased about this new acquaintance as The Pale King himself was.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Her name is Hornet," Herrah answered, "and honestly it doesn't matter much as long as you keep her save and alive for the foreseeable future." She turned to leave, the child hesitating for a moment, as if to follow, but eventually being persuaded by practiced obedience to stay where she was.

She stood in the room silently, gaze fixed upon the Pale King as he resumed his work. He ignored her for the time being, bending over the ancient-looking tomes once more. There was a lot of lore on higher beings, most of it unfamiliar even to himself – as ironic as that was – and he had spent too much time already consulting them on anything that might pertain to the infection threatening his people, clearly divine in origin.

After a few moments, his thoughts were disturbed again, this time by the child, who had crept closer to the desk during his distraction. She leaned forward slightly, maybe trying to read the crumbly papers but there was a fundamental lack of understanding on her face. The Pale King closed the book, brushing away the small cloud of dust it blew up.

"Very well," he said, gesturing towards the door, "you are old enough to entertain yourself, I presume?"

"I'm nearly grown," she answered, taking him off guard. His own children did not speak – also by design – but it made sense for this one to not have such restrictions.

"Follow."

They walked along the winding passageways of the White Palace, barely acknowledging the few bugs they met on their way. Hornet stopped occasionally at the large windows, the view certainly very different from how Deepnest looked. The Pale King did not know if Herrah didn't take their child outside often or if she just had a latent curiosity for the world. Regardless, he supposed it would aid her in her future as queen and indulged it for now.

Eventually they came upon the room he was meaning to, opening the heavy door with some difficulty. The vessel stood at attention on their arrival, dark cloak wrapped around themselves securely, though just slightly shorter than Hornet's own. When the king entered, they bowed curtly. It proceeded to stay perfectly motionless and wait for further instructions, though their head inclined slightly towards the stranger now in their room.

"Hornet, this is your-" the Pale King considered his own words. Treading into unfamiliar territory was not his forte. "Your sibling, supposedly." That didn't sound too far of from the truth. "I do believe you two will be able to keep each other company in here."

Hornet looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

Suppressing an annoyed huff – not very becoming of a king, now was it? – he turned towards the door. "Back to more important matters, such as running a kingdom."

He was barely a few feet further or Hornet's hand seizing his cloak stopped him, though he pulled it out of her grasp quickly. "I don't want to stay in here," she said. How she had so quickly transformed from the silent child Herrah dropped at his chambers into this demanding little thing was beyond him.

"Well, what do you want then?"

Though the question was not meant to be answered seriously, Hornet seemed to consider it for a few moments, gaze flitting around the room. He had to admit it looked a bit modest, with far simpler decoration than the rest of the castle and not much in that way of furniture. The crib his queen has placed in the center of the room long replaced by a simple cot with no sheets. The vessel did not sleep – by design, once again.

The theory of its conception had left no need for toys and besides the training it underwent, both intellectual and in combat, supervised by the Pale King himself and his most favorable and skilled courtiers, it did not leave its room. There was no need to. All it was meant to know was the reason for its birth – the purpose it was created with and the duty it had to fulfill – and the skills necessary to accomplish that goal. It would not care for these formalities either way.

But Hornet was different, with a strong will of her own most likely inherited from that infernal mother of hers, and would not be placated by mere afterthoughts. She apparently had mused on his question long enough, for her small hands balled into tight fists and she spoke with conviction. "I want to see the rest of Hallownest. I want you to show me."

"Absolutely not."

Though her face remained impassive, the displeasure she felt at his answer was more than clear. "Why not?"

"Because the city is vast and much too fickle for us to go traipsing around it like fools," he answered, "my time to too precious to waste away on frivolous-"

The vessel had chosen this moment to politely step forward, giving another bow. But in their hands was clasped the purple-covered book The Pale King remembered giving them less than a fortnight ago. Their reading speed was incredulous – something he himself took pride in as one of its teachers – and they had most likely finished it already. Usually, they would wait to be called upon instead of taking initiative like this however.

"Very well, if it can't be helped," he relented, "The library and the sentinel will have to do, so we can abstain from doing the full tour."

He could tell Hornet was not completely satisfied, but such was the life of royalty. It would do the child some good to learn she could not always get what she wants. Her mother too...

How long could Herrah truly stay gone for after all?

The library of The White Palace was truly a marvel in architecture. Even when considering all of Hallownest, its ceiling-height windows and metal-gilded chandeliers alone were impressive enough in their own right to make regular homes pale in comparison.

There was a bustle of activity when they arrived. Scholarly bugs of various occupations eager to consult the vast collection of knowledge stored within these bookcases and artifacts. But as The Pale King made his way to the particular section he had intended to, one filled with texts on the history of his kingdom, many left the room with polite bows and muttered greetings, unable to meet his gaze. It wasn't proper conduct to stay in the room when the king entered.

Only Monomon remained, ever oblivious to the presence of anything or anybody when she was occupied with research. Her student, a young bug the Pale King had seen only in passing before, lingered at her side, carrying books to and fro at the teacher's request.

"Go pick out what you will," the Pale King told the vessel, who had already put the book they had brought back where it belonged. Their memory also was stronger than average. They trotted off to the back of the row of shelves, occasionally stopping to inspect the covers. Hornet hesitated for a second before following them. He could hear her talking to them softly, too quiet to make out what she was saying. They nodded at her in answer.

The Pale King sighed and inspected the pages Monomon was studying, marred in her own scribbled handwriting, and completely illegible for himself. She had ruined an increasing number of the books in his possession in this manner "One only hopes you do progress like this," he said.

Monomon looked up at him, maybe just noticing his arrival but unsurprised either way. She beckoned her pupil forward, taking the remaining book in his arms to lay it open in front of her and then sending him away again in search of something new. "Progress takes time."

"Time that is in short supply."

"We will compensate." The cloth around her form billowed slightly as she moved. "You brought the little one, I see. They are advancing as hoped?"

The Pale King waited, considering the idle meaning of the word hope in such a context. "More or less."

"Less?"

"They are everything we need it to be, surely. Anything beyond that is not of consideration."

Monomon nodded, using one appendage to adjust her mask. "But you might think yourself cruel still?"

All his retainers were carefully selected, their talent undeniable and their merits to Hallownest's progression even less so. Monomon was more knowledgable than most any bug in the known realm. Sometimes a bit too much so – and the Pale King is reminded yet again of her ability to surmise that which is not meant to be obvious.

"Everything we do, we do for this kingdom," he said, "not out of cruelty."

"These are not mutually exclusive, Your Majesty."

He waved his hand, a clear sign this particular thread of conversation was over with. There were many trials still ahead of them, bridges they would need to cross once they got there. But for the time being there were more pressing matters on his mind.

She seemed to take notice, as she closed the book in front of her – took the new one delivered by her pupil, who stepped back and waited patiently for further instructions on what to fetch next – and inclined her head. "And the other one too, I saw. Herrah's offspring?"

This wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss any more than the last one, but at least it left him with righteous indignation about his current circumstances. "She sprung it on me. How does one even take care of a child?"

It was a rhetorical question, he was not seeking Monomon's knowledge, especially since childrearing was probably not among her many areas of expertise. Still, she looked up once more, then behind him. "I do believe not leaving them to fall to their deaths might be a good start."

The Pale King turned around just in time to foresee the disaster waiting to happen. Hornet had climbed one of the ladders used to obtain books held on the higher shelves, balancing on one leg precariously while her small hands reached for her intended prize instead of holding on to anything solid. The vessel stood bellow, pointing to the particular book they had requested. Monomon's pupil was standing next to them, task forgotten and instead observing the spectacle with confusion.

A moment later Hornet was on top of them. It seemed at least the other two had broken her fall with their bodies, now squeezed underneath a flurry of cloak and flailing limbs. She had righted herself in an instant and with impressive agility, brushing herself off and looking away embarrassed. "Are you alright?" he heard the pupil ask as he made his way over.

"I'm fine." Hornet turned towards the vessel, holding out the book she had somehow managed to grab on her way down. "This is the one you needed, right?"

The vessel clasped it to their chest, standing a little straighter. They didn't express their gratefulness outwardly but seemed happy with the acquisition of new reading material. The book was almost too big for them to carry, with a dark green cover and golden lettering. The Pale King didn't think he had ever seen it before, but then again there were probably many objects in his collection he hadn't.

He sighed. "Are you done with your antics?"

"They're not antics," Hornet objected, "I'm being responsible. Mother says responsibility is an important virtue for a queen."

"I'm sure she does," the Pale King said, ushering the two out of the library. They greeted Monomon in passing, back to being completely absorbed in her work. Her pupil waved at them and the vessel waved back.

From this height the palace grounds appeared even more massive than they already were, the walls barely more than faint lines on the ground one could just as easily miss. Beyond them stretched mostly darkness, but the Pale King knew where the gaping pit of the abyss was located, as well as the passageways that would lead you to the City of Tears and the Stag station above them – the direction Herrah had surely taken.

Hornet had pressed herself against the glass, unafraid of heights as she had proven to be in the library. The few bugs moving around far below were nearly indistinguishable, but she seemed enthralled with the sight nonetheless. The view was unique to the palace after all, and not something you'd encounter anywhere else in Hallownest, let alone Deepnest.

The vessel stood motionless. The Pale King could not recall how often he had taken them here, sometimes for lessons and sometimes merely for a change of scenery. He was not one to be emotional – or ascribe meaning where it shouldn't be – but perhaps part of him considered it only fair they got to see the world they were destined to sacrifice their being for, or at least the bit that remained them.

Even now large parts of Hallownest were rendered abandoned by the infection, with many bugs already giving in to its thralls. Dying out quicker than any of them had anticipated.

"It's beautiful," Hornet said, softly, like the unknowing child she was. Some stray droplets of water slid down the window, residue from the city above.

"It is only a small part of many," he answered, "but together they form one whole that is worth protecting."

Hornet looked at him, tilted her head up all dignified and it reminded him of her mother in more ways than one. "That's what a ruler does, right? Protect others, whatever it takes?"

At that moment the Pale King wondered what Herrah told her daughter. He wondered what she had left unsaid.

"Whatever it takes," he agrees, looking at the vessel, mute and waiting, the book still held tightly against the front of their cloak, watching the dying world below.

They stood there for a while longer, before he finally pulled the curious Hornet from the window again. "There is still more of the palace to see," he told her, noticing the vessel perk up at his words. She could also hardly suppress the surprise in her next words.

"I thought you did not have time."

"A king can make time," he said, leading the way back to the staircase in swift strides, "didn't your mother tell you this also? Perhaps not since she seems to be running late herself. But as it were, I'll take it on myself to make sure you don't get in trouble until then."

Hornet sputtered, quick to defend the honor of both her mother and herself as they made their way down, the vessel following obediently in their wake.

#hollow knight #The Pale King #the hollow knight #hk hornet #Idk what the tags are aaa #my writing #just read it on AO3 honestly it reads way better there

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snowbellewells · 4 years

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“Over the Realms and Through the Woods, to Arendelle We Go”

A @cssecretsanta2k19 gift for @xhookswenchx

“Over the Realms and Through the Woods, to Arendelle We Go”

By: @snowbellewells

This is my belated @cssecretsanta2k19 gift for @xhookswenchx ~ and I truly am sorry for making you wait extra days, Lovely. It was such a busy December, then I traveled home, had family engagements, and so on. But talking with you and learning different things about the show and the holidays that you enjoyed, put this idea in my head early. I just needed the time to write it down. I have very much enjoyed being your Secret Santa. I hope that your Christmas was Merry, that you will have a Happy and Blessed New Year. Please enjoy this story gift just for you!

Summary: Emma and Killian take their crew on a holiday road trip to visit old friends and make new Christmas memories… A CS canon divergent in which the realms have been joined as they were in Season 7’s finale, but Henry has not left the Land Without Magic as he did in Season 7. I always imagined him going out into the non-magical world for college, to write books, and so on (at least once it became clear they weren’t all going to make a permanent move back to the Enchanted Forest). So for the purposes of this fic, he is home for the holidays from college, and Emma and Killian also have two little ones of their own. I used the daughter of my fictional invention, Morgan Ruth Jones, rather than Hope. She’s appeared in some of my other fics, and I’m kinda attached to her. I’ve gathered you enjoy original CS kids in your writing and reading as well, so I hope you won’t mind that liberty taken. I know that Westley Graham is not as completely original as I thought it was when I dreamed it up, but I love it too (especially since the show gave us so many Liams to keep track of already without naming a son of Emma and Killian’s Liam David as I once would have done). Westley for the character in “Princess Bride” (‘As you wish’ makes that seem appropriate) and Graham for the hero they should have been naming baby boys after in canon. You also said you really enjoyed the “Frozen” characters in 4a, so I have tried to incorporate them - and found it to be a fun new character writing stretch. I truly do hope you will find this fun to read!

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

“Papa, how much longer?” a tiny voice piped up from the backseat over Killian and Emma Jones’ shoulders with the wheedling tone only a four-year-old’s impatience could muster. “Are we almost there?”

Emma glanced over at her husband with bland exasperation and humor mixed together before swiveling in her seat as much as possible to look back at their daughter Morgan where she sat in her car seat behind Killian, idly alternating between swinging her feet and singing little nonsense songs she made up for herself, staring out the window at the changing scenery as they traveled from one united realm to another, heading ever steadily north toward Arendelle to visit Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, and Morgan’s best friend Sonja, Princess Anna and her husband’s little girl.

Henry, comfortably on his long winter break from his senior year at Boudoin College, had his nose buried in a detective whodunit, and though he was usually quite patient with his much-younger sister, he seemed to be craving some reading time to himself that Emma was willing to humor. She would like to keep them both fairly quiet so that Westley Graham, their youngest at just barely five months, didn’t wake up quite yet from where he was peacefully sleeping in his own backward-facing car seat between his two siblings and where Emma could reach him if needed.

Killian, for his part, chuckled indulgently, his sparkling blue gaze sliding back over to return Emma’s look before answering his little girl, seeming infinitely patient and making Emma love him even more all over again “We are getting closer, little Love,” he assured calmly. “You’ve been very good - and we should be there within the hour now.”

For a moment, Morgan merely nodded and hummed to herself in satisfaction as she watched the scenery pass by out the window. Once they had left Storybrooke behind, the buildings had given way to the forest, thicker and more wild as they had passed through the land of Emma’s birthright rule - the Enchanted Forest. Since then, the forest had thinned out, and slowly the flatter land became foothills, which then turned into snow capped mountains - something which really did seem to almost sparkle before their eyes - not to mention the imaginative view of a toddler. But it wasn’t long before she piped up again, still obviously a bit impatient and unable to hold it in. “Papa? Can you sing a song? … Please?”

Emma snort-laughed at the way her husband’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, not expecting that particular request if his expression could be any indication. Shaking his head, he admitted defeat rather easily for a once-fearsome pirate of the Seven Seas, especially when she playfully jostled his shoulder, egging Morgan on and adding the she would like to hear him as well.

It wasn’t long before Killian’s clear, strong voice was ringing out within the walls of their newer smallish SUV, having left the Bug at home in favorite of more passenger leg room and space for the wealth of presents they were bringing along, both from their immediate family and her parents and other Storybrooke folks who had come to know the Arendellian visitors when they were in the Land Without Magic some years back. The tune her pirate had selected was a rollicking sea shanty - one of their daughter’s favorites - that he and his crew had once sung on the Jolly Roger many years ago as they circled the waters of Neverland endlessly. His song and its playful, raucous melody seemed practically bouncing around the interior of the vehicle, swaying with the rolling buoyancy of its rhythm and pulling Henry from his reading to grin at the song he had heard countless times before. Thankfully Westley didn’t seem in the least disturbed, sleeping right through the impromptu serenade, and Morgan was giggling and clapping her little hands along with her papa’s song. Emma soon found herself singing along as well, watching her family in their joyous uproar, and marveling at the reality that this was the sort of cozy Christmas journey she could have now.

Killian seemed so into his song, and his children’s entertainment, that Emma couldn’t help checking to be certain he was still paying attention to the road ahead. It hadn’t really been until the last couple of years that Killian had begun to take over some driving duties for them on longer trips; having learned to drive capably well before that, but never fully becoming comfortable with - or trusting - their “horseless death traps”, as he often called them. Modern automobiles still seemed smoky, loud, and entirely too unpredictable to a person long used to ships on the sea or riding horseback and in carriages - not to mention one whose first experience with them had been being run down on the road and seriously injured.

All the same, he shot her a look of exaggerated affront as he finished singing, waggling those wildly expressive eyebrows of his at her and pressing his hooked arm to his chest in further drama. “Honestly, Wife? Don’t you trust me more than that by now?” Taking his hook from where it covered his heart, he gestured out the window to indicate the lane beside them. “I may not be as old a hand at driving as most, but I won’t drive us under a semi trailer like that Griswold fellow on the magic box.”

It was Henry who snorted his laughter then, at the reference to National Lampoon’s which they had watched the night before, prior to setting off on their journey. Shaking his head at his stepdad’s odd way of reassuring him, and humored in spite of himself, Henry placed a marker in his book and more fully joined their antics, now that they were drawing nearer to their friend’s kingdom anyway. Danger and adventure, or just taking a family trip; be it Christmas or some random everyday in between, there was never a dull moment with their little crew.

~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~

When they entered the Arendelle borders and pulled up to the palace’s front gates, within 45 minutes’ time just as Killian had promised Morgan, the sense of awed anticipation settled over all of them, the air inside the car going quiet at the stunning beauty that met their eyes. Somewhere within the last half hour or so, light flurries of snow had begun to fall around them, looping and twirling through the slowly purpling sky as afternoon inched closer to evening. The ground had already been covered in a picturesque light dusting of white, but it was growing deeper as the additional fluffy flakes continued.

Thankfully, ice didn’t seem to be a part of this particular snowy scene; the roads had remained safely passable and they had made good time. Four uniformed guards two on either side of the wide, silvery sparkling arch and gates of the front entrance to the Queen’s castle and grounds, bowed respectfully as the passageway opened for them. Emma had spoken to her dear friend via magic mirror that morning before they set out, and their arrival had clearly been anticipated.

Despite having been there several times before by that point, all over them sat in openmouthed adoration that overcame them for a few breathless instants. The setting sun hit the gate and front of the castle, sending glitter and sparks of light out to dazzle their eyes. It was as if the whole structure were indeed beautifully coated in ice - and yet there was none of the frigid austerity one might once have feared. Queen Elsa of Arendelle has long since found her equilibrium, allowing her the self-acceptance and open understanding to balance the cold with genuine warmth. She learned to love every part of herself - including her powers - just as she had once helped Emma to do, and as Killian had reminded her ever since.

Their vehicle had barely parked, and they were just stepping out and stretching their tired limbs when they heard familiar voices calling their names, a childish squeal of delight yelping Morgan’s in particular, the sound of several pairs of feet hurrying over freshly fallen snow (well, feet and one set of reindeer hooves) and then they were engulfed in a flurry of hugs and handshakes by the royal family themselves. Anna was predictably firing questions at them as quickly as she could voice them, about their trips, the rest of their family, Belle and the library, without even allowing them time to answer. Kristoff was shaking Killian’s hand and accepting baggage and gift wrapped boxes to lead them inside. Sven snuffled around Henry’s pockets and Morgan’s hair seeking out carrots and other treats as well as providing his own animal greeting. But through the melee, Elsa pressed through to wrap Emma in a fiercely tight hug for several long moments. When she did pull back, it was with a watery smile and unshed tears in her eyes to match those which started in Emma’s.

“I’m so glad all of you have come,” she stated fervently, that sweet, melodious voice trembling with sincerity beyond its usual poise. “Come in, come in. We’ll get you warm and settled, then we can get caught up.”

Emma nodded, pressing the queen’s hand tightly in her own, before turning to grab more luggage and unfasten Westley from his car seat to do as Elsa suggested.

“Let me help you,” her friend offered, holding out her arms to take the still-sleepy child so Emma could reach the suitcase behind. “May I?”

Emma didn’t hesitate for even a second, easily passing her just-barely-stirring-to-wakefulness infant into her friend’s arms, moving her hand gently so Elsa could cradle Westley’s head and crooning lowly to him until he settled again, rooting deeper into the young queen’s arms as a pleased and rosy smile pinked her cheeks.

Throwing a surreptitious glance over to Killian, only to find him watching her with a comforting smile that already knew where her mind had gone and wished he could undo the old hurt, Emma shook her head to clear the memory as best she could and send her husband a small grin as reassurance that she would be fine. As much as she had tried to banish the moment from her mind, and as much as the sharpest stinging slap of betrayal had faded, Emma still saw her own mother pulling little Neal away from her, protectively fearing her magic and not letting Emma hold her younger brother. Intellectually, Emma knew her mother loved her, magic or no, realized that the knee-jerk reaction had not been aimed to hurt her… and yet… it had.

Watching Elsa as various emotions flitted across her face while cradling her friend’s youngest in her arms, gazing down at the drowsy babe adoringly, Emma knew Elsa had felt that same fear and suspicion she had, and that perhaps Elsa had almost resignedly expected her request to be denied, knew that parental protectiveness all too well, and had been thrilled when she was granted trust instead.

Little Westley Graham did nothing more than flutter his eyelids briefly without fully rousing and gave a slight coo of contentment as the Queen bowed her head to press a light kiss to the top of his downy, sandy-colored hair. “Come on then everyone,” she suggested cheerfully, looking as merry and confident as they had ever seen her and leaving Emma blessedly assured of her friend’s happiness. “There’s hot chocolate with plenty of marshmallows in the large sitting room.”

She led the way, with Killian, Henry, and Kristoff bringing up the rear to make sure no overexcited little girls, snowmen, or reindeer were left behind. It didn’t take long to find their luggage placed in their rooms, their coats and snow boots shucked off, and all of them seated comfortably scattered around the large open room full of soft chairs and sofas, a roaring fire in the hearth at one end, and plates of toast and jam, cookies, doughnuts, scones and a whole pot of rich hot chocolate with marshmallows set out for the taking.

Conversation hummed warmly throughout the room as the kids played; Henry showing Olaf, Sonja, and his little sister how to make a chain of snow angels for the tree while the four adults caught up on all that had happened since they were last together. Westley had woken up, but to everyone’s surprise, the little boy had not cried or fussed for his mother, and so Elsa still held him gladly. His guileless blue eyes, the mirrored hue of his pirate father’s, blinked up at her curiously, looked more enthralled that concerned by the less familiar person holding him. One pudgy little hand unclenched to reach up toward her almost startlingly white braid and wrapped around the end of it, tugging gently with his tiny fist, and burbling happily as he did.

Elsa practically giggled, a musical, enchanting sound that the rest of them had rarely heard, and a light carefree look graced her face beautifully. “You really are quite a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she whispered to the little one softly.

She did eventually hand Westley back to Emma when he began to wiggle and wanted to eat. Once Emma returned with him after his feeding, she found the Queen of Arendelle seated cross-legged on the floor with Morgan and her niece watching wide-eyed beside her as Elsa effortlessly shaped and reshaped whorls and twists of ice into glittering ornaments she handed them to place on a tree they had left bare for that very entertainment. The girls let out little ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of excitement and surprise with each shape that seemed to bloom from Elsa’s hands into thin air. Each new creation brough exclamations of delight, and the two children then ran to their papas at the tree to lift them up to place them high on the branches, then hurried back to see what ‘Auntie Elsa’ would create next.

As the decorating eventually wound down, the two little whirlwinds huffing and puffing from all their trips back and forth over the length of the room, and Elsa lightly chuckling at their theatrics, Killian came to sit near them as well, gathering Morgan into his lap and nodding encouraging at Sonja until she scooted up close to his side as well. Soon he was telling them a story of the first time he saw snow fall at sea as a young lad. He remembered how it looked trailing down to rest on nearly frozen arctic water, where their captain had unwisely taken them too far north for the season.

He was relating how his older brother Liam had distracted him by encouraging his wonder at the beauty of the sight. Killian himself had not realized until much later - a similar instance on his own ship facing the very real danger of ice floes in the water and the precarious travel a ship must make in the depths of winter driving the memory home - just how much danger they had been in that night as he had simply marveled at what seemed to his young mind cold falling stars of sparkling light. “He said each one was unique - no other could exactly take the place of the one before. Like people, Liam said they were…” Killian nearly whispered this last over the sudden lump in his throat, seemingly lost in another time and place. Emma reached out a hand to rest upon his knee, and he came back to them with a bit of a start, the faroff gaze clearing from his eyes. “Like us even,” he added. “We might have been expendable slaves to most - but we mattered, at least to each other, and he always made sure I knew that.”

Both of their daughters had drifted off to sleep by then; the excitement of the day overtaking them once they had settled in to listen to Killian’s quiet, lilting voice. Kristoff came to lift Sonja from Killian’s side to carry her to her room, wishing the rest of them goodnight. Anna followed with a contented wave as Sven trailed behind, headed outside to his barn to bed down for the night.

Queen Elsa’s gaze remained on Killian, though the story had finished. There was a melancholy, almost wistful, look within her light eyes as she seemed to consider the story yet. “He sounds like the best sort of big brother,” she finally said to Killian softly, and gentle and a bit sad smile curving her lips. “I wish I could have met him….” This last was said almost hesitantly, as if she herself did not quite know why it had slipped out, and yet she nodded determinedly after, as if confirming the sentiment.

“I wish you could have met him too, Milady,” Killian answered fervently, his voice a bit hoarse and husky with the regret and pain of still missing his elder sibling, even after ages had passed. “Maybe it’s just something about the way a younger sibling sees a beloved older one, but at times I can see something of Liam in you.”

Elsa smiled once more, gratefully accepting what for Killian must be the highest compliment he could give someone. The three of them settled into a sort of peaceful remembrance of those no longer with them - bittersweet but not unpleasant, as they were reminiscing of good times and not just their loss - before she rose as well to retire for the night.

Her exit left Emma and Killian seated cozily before the fire together, one last mug of hot chocolate in each of their hands and the silent beauty of the room around them, still decked out for Christmas, and snow still falling outside, weaving a lovely spell. Tilting her head up, Emma found Killian’s lips waiting to capture hers tenderly, sipping from them as if they were even more delicious than the chocolate and twice as precious. “I love you, my Darling,” he murmured against her cheek as his kisses trailed back to the spot behind her ear that made her melt on the spot.

Practically keening back that she loved him too, Emma held her husband even tighter, wanting nothing else she could possibly imagine in that moment. As she gazed into Killian’s blue, blue eyes she could see the future of them, and their family, together, and she knew the coming year would be their best one yet.

Tagging: @cssecretsanta2k19 @xhookswenchx @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @hollyethecurious@winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling @spartanguard @lfh1226-linda

#cssecretsanta2k19 #cs canon divergence #cs holiday oneshot #ouat holiday au

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marlmckitten · 5 years

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Hi, can you write one where marlene undresses in front of sirius when he's in his animagus form without knowing it's him and in the end she finds out 😁

This turned into smut and idk why I was surprised. Also I didn’t have time to proofread this cause my mom came home. 🙃

Sirius was sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room for another sleepless night when he heard steps quietly coming down the spiral staircase. he sunk lower into the seat on instinct and saw a familiar head of long blonde hair sparkling away and creeping out of the fat lady’s portrait. His heart skipped a beat, lately he had become very interested in Marlene McKinnon. It was driving his mates mad, but he couldn’t seem to get her off his mind. Curiosity peaked, he didn’t have time to grab Prongs’ invisibility cloak so instead silently slipped out behind her. They both made it to the grounds undetected. It as cold and snowy, Marlene wrapped her cloak more tightly around her as Sirius cursed his leather jacket for not providing much warmth.

The crunch of the snow beneath his feet seemed to echo with fear that Marlene would figure out that he was following her. Then it got louder and he stopped, sensing Marlene was about to turn. However, as he stopped the crunching continued and he suddenly realized that there was someone calling out behind him. “Students out at this hour in this snow!? What’s next?! I’ll hang you by your toes and poor cold water on you if that’s what you like!”

Filch. Sirius froze, turned into Padfoot and ran ahead, to warm Marlene. Marlene saw the dog and jumped but when he barked loudly, Filch rang out too. “Students are going to get me killed, what’s out there?!” He screamed, in clear fear.

Marlene stopped, eyes wide. “Fuck,” she muttered. But Padfoot grabbed her bag and Marlene chased after him.

“Hey you mutt, get back here!” But Sirius knew exactly what he was doing. He ran into a small passageway, in hopes Marlene would follow. She clearly very much wanted her bag back since she crept in, hands and knees to follow. He sighed happily, padding forward until they were back inside the castle. Dropping the bag, he wagged his tail happily and Marlene looked to him. “Oh, you were helping. What sort of weird dog are you?” She patted his head. “Well, thank fluffball. But don’t take this again, all my smokes are in there. I have to hide them from Lily now or she gets all angry.”

Sirius would have laughed had he been in human form. Instead he panted and trotted successfully away, intending to creep around a corner and make sure she got back undetected. But he heard her footsteps going in the wrong direction again and the dog whined. It followed her down a corridor and up a flight of stairs. When she disappeared into the prefect washroom, he waited a few minutes. Marlene did not reappear and so he walked inside, just to make sure she was okay. What he saw instead was Marlene in her knickers, running a warm bath and shaking all the mud and snow off of her before she got inside.

He knew he shouldn’t stare. It was wrong. He barked instead, forgetting he was Padfoot and not Sirius. Marlene looked over at the dog, “You pervert dog,” she joked, unbuttoning her bra and tossing it in a pile with all her other clothes.

Sirius whined, Merlin’s beard she had nice breasts. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from looking as they stayed perkily upright, bouncing slightly as she tied her hair up. He his head warm up, nothing to do with the steam in the bathroom. “I got all muddy with no thanks to you. And since you brought my right next to here I thought a midnight bath might be nicer than my attempt to sneak some alcohol back to the castle. It’s my birthday soon and I wanted to have a proper party, but… Oh well. Maybe I’ll nick some from Black instead.”

Marlene chuckled but Sirius barely understood what she was saying. All he heard was his name combined with Marlene’s almost completely naked body. And fuck those nipples were hard, all he wanted was to put one inside his mouth. Padfoot shook himself off, and Sirius tried to tell himself to turn around and leave. It wasn’t fair to Marlene, she didn’t know it was Sirius. But just as he went to leave, Marlene walked over to him and pet his head again, leaning down to kiss his head. “Thanks for saving me fluffball.”

Her breasts were right there. Instinctively he licked her across one of them and Marlene jumped, “Oh, right, dogs do that licking thing. Well that’s my titty and it’s a no-no place. Unless I want the guy touching me there, which… Well usually I don’t mind. But I do draw the line and beastiality.”

Sirius could kick himself, how could he keep forgetting he’s a dog. Marlene was just too distracting. And then her panties were gone. She turned away, threw them away and that beautiful arse was right in front of his face. Fuck. He thought to himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She stepped into the bath and closed her eyes relaxing. Sirius shut his eyes and turned away just in time to hear Marlene sigh. All he could think about was getting back to his dorm and using his own hand to relieve the tension that had just built. Usually he could find someone to bed with, but right now he could only think of Marlene and if he couldn’t have her he wanted to at least picture her milky breasts and round ass.

As he went to leave he saw his hand extend forward for the door. He paused for a minute, confused. The loud shriek didn’t help anything as he turned to see Marlene holding her breasts and starring wide-mouthed at him. “You licked my boob!”

Sirius had to really think. He was Padfoot… What had happened? Well, he could guess that he just got way too distracted and his teenage hormones was really only thinking about one thing. As he turned to leave he must have changed and Marlene… Well she must have seen him. “Uhm.” Sirius started really having no where to go from there. “Yes.”

“You absolute piece of trash!” She shouted, removing her hand to reach for her want sitting beside the bathtub. her exposed breast made Sirius groan.

“Wait, don’t- I’m sorry. I meant to leave I didn’t mean to lick you, I just…”

A well-aimed bodybind curse hit him and he fell to the floor. “You cocksucking-”

“I’d say tit-licking if I were you,” he joked, but it didn’t help since Marlene’s rage caused her to simply throw her want at him, releasing the curse.

“I can still see them, by the way,” he dared a smile and Marlene looked down, quickly putting her hands to her chest again.

“What the hell?!”

“See, I could explain except… I really can’t.” He frowned not even sure of where to begin.

“Why’d you help me?”

“You’re beautiful.” He gave up on excuses and thought he would just say whatever came to his mind.

“You watched me undress!”

“Really breathtaking.”

“You could have left!”

“I love your eyes. And your hair.”

Marlene’s sight narrowed at him, “What are you playing at?”

“I followed you because I can’t think of anything but you and I did not expect you to get naked and for that I truly am sorry.”

Marlene stopped insulting, or asking questions, or screaming. Her hands dropped to her sides and Sirius averted his gaze, although his pants tightened around his bulge.

The blonde’s eyes did not miss it and Sirius sighed. “You really didn’t mean to spy on me?”

“Well, I meant to,” Sirius admitted, turning so that his eyes couldn’t look at her naked body, and her eyes couldn’t notice his ever tighter pants, while he grew quite hard inside of them. “But not when you were naked, just wanted to know where you were going. And I saved you so I say we’re even.”

There was a sound of water swishing around. Then some drops on the ground. All Sirius could think about was how to get out without his erection becoming too obvious, although when he looked down it was far from subtle. A frown appeared on his lips as he watched it get harder, thinking of anything he could to make it disappear again. Then a pale white hand wrapped around his waist and Sirius swore loudly. There was a wet body pressed against his back and Marlene’s fingers were working on pulling at his pants. “I think it’s only fair. You saw mine, I get to see yours.”

“Yeah but-” nah.” Sirius tried to argue

“And it looks kinda eager to come out.”

Sirius couldn’t find words as Marlene’s fingers grazed over the bulge in his pants. He was usually so smooth, collected, and knew exactly what to . say to any woman who wanted him. But right now all he said was, “You hate me.”

Marlene let go of him and walked away, Sirius turned to watch her. “Yeah but… I’m horny,” she shrugged simply, stopping at the waters edge before dipping into the bath again. “Do you want to join me?”

“Fuck it,” Sirius breathed, and ridded his body of the rest of his clothing in a matter of seconds, running to the water and leaping in. The splash got Marlene’s whole head, but Sirius didn’t wait for her to reply, his hand reached out and pulled her head against his, into a deep, passionate kiss that he had dreamed about since the start of term. His other hand reached lower and pulled her lower back into him so his body was right against hers. Her breasts were soft on his chest and his hand slid lower down to squeeze her buttocks.

She didn’t have to say anything more either, he could read it in her lips. Her mouth opened to allow his tongue to enter. His mouth moved greedily over hers and the hand holding her head moved to the front, grabbing her breasts. He moved her to be sitting on the edge of the water and stood to his full length, eyes level with her nipples. He took the right one in his mouth and Marlene’s head leaned back in pleasure. His tongue flicked over the nub, growing hard with the stimulation. He bit at it and she moaned. His other hand massaged the left breast as he went on. Once he was done, he switched, Marlene made no efforts to stop him. Eventually he felt her hips moving closer to him, clearly wanting something. He grinned and held her in place. “Patience doll.” He advised, kissing her abdomen, then right above her warmth. His eyes met hers as his tongue flicked through her slit and her fingers clenched.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Marlene did not reply, so he slid his tongue over again. She moved a hand to the back of his head, trying to force his head to lower but he was stronger. “Say it.”

“I want it,” she breathed.

“You forgot the magic word.”

Marlene whined, her spare hand reaching to touch herself, chest heaving, but Sirius swatted it away. “Please Sirius.”

It was all he wanted. He lowered his head between her legs and his tongue attacked her clit gently. She mewled so he added a finger in her whole. The sensation of the warmth and her voice echoing around the bathroom was too much for him to bare.

He pushed her back and pulled himself out of the water. Forcefully moving her further up, he positioned his rock hard cock above her entrance, not having the restraints to tease her or ask her to beg for it like he would have liked. Instead, he slammed down into her and Marlene yelped. “You okay?” He asked, his voice low.

“Fuck me.”

He did not need telling twice, he pulled out and tore into her again, this time deeper. Her nails found his back but he did not care about how deep they dug. The pleasure of her warmth around his shaft was all he could think about. As he pushed in and out, their hips crashing against one another, he leaned down and bit at her neck. Her moans filled the room and he suckled where he had bit, intending on leaving a very large mark once they were done. A hand grabbed her breast, massaging it aggressively, while her hands were on his ass now, forcing him to move harder. Sirius could think of nothing but her tightening around him. She was close, he could feel it. “Hold on- Almost there,” he breathed.

“I- I- I can’t. I’m gonna cum,” Marlene whined under him. “Don’t stop, please. I’m cumming!”

She was right, she got so tight around his cock that he grunted out loudly, “Fuck, here we go,” he said, shoving himself in and out of her, feeling his whole body on fire.

“Cum inside,” she managed to get out, and he grunted appreciatively. His hand moved up from her breast, choking her lightly and her muscles contracted further around his hard member. “Yes, yes yes!”

“Say my name.” He commanded.

“Sirius, yes!” She shouted unashamedly loud. He spilled his seed inside of her and yelled her name back. He stayed deep inside of her while they both came down from their high. Her breasts moved with each breath, while he panted into her ear, hand loosening around her neck. “We- we don’t talk about this. Again.”

He chuckled. “I’m still inside.”

Marlene nodded, he noticed her face red and bright, sweat was dripping down her and he wasn’t sure if it was from him or from her. “Then get out and leave.”

Sirius did as she said, he got up and she followed. A smirk adorned his lips when he saw her legs shaking. “We don’t have to talk about it again, but we’ll do it again.”

The blonde ran a finger through her hair, lowering herself back into the water, still breathing irregularly. “I’ll be here tomorrow at the same time.”

Never had Sirius been more thankful to Padfoot before. He nodded, grabbed his robes and got dressed again leisurely, watching Marlene’s breasts float in the water, noticing her cheeks blushed a beautiful pink and her lips a dark red from him kissing them so hard. Before leaving he went back to her, leaned down and kissed her neck where he had left his mark, “Good luck hiding that tomorrow.”

#blackinnon #smut #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #marlius #marauders

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