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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

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When Clary meets Ash (Fan Fic)

Hey :) this is how I imagine Clary and Ash's reunion (after the events of TDA) in the fic I am currently writing.

It's Chapter 5 of "The new Shadowhunter Academy" (Ao3 link to the full fic is here but don't click or skip Chapter 4 if you are not in for Kitty sexy times).

Thanks to @amchara for providing beta work and to @blaidr for letting me bounce my ideas off him.

To give you context, Ash met Dru in Faerie and they exchanged their numbers. Clary seized the opportunity to obtain Ash's number from Dru and write him the following text message:

“Hey, Ash. Dru gave me your number and please don’t be angry with her, I am very strong headed and there was absolutely no way she could have refused. I am Clary. You may have heard of me. I am your late father’s sister. That’s right, your aunt. You can call me whatever you like. Emma told me what you did in Thule, how you saved her. How you saved everyone. That was very brave of you. In a way, both of us were faced with a very difficult choice and made the same. Doing what we thought was right. I would love to meet you and tell you about my mother – your grandmother – or just talk about anything. It can be things totally unrelated to the Shadow world. Hobbies, movies, books and games we like. You can pick the time and place. Neutral territory. Hope to see you soon. Clary.”

This is what happens following the text:

*****

Clary wrapped her oversized woolen coat tighter around herself, as she made her way through the crowded streets of Manhattan. The route was familiar. She took it almost every week to meet up with her parabatai and have what they called their “mundane hour”. They talked about everything, from Clary’s art to the latest TV shows they had binge watched. No topic was off the table, save for anything related to Shadowhunter duties, and the Shadow world in general. As co-head of the New York Institute and since recently, artist owning her own gallery, her weeks were very busy so she looked forward to those rare and precious moments when she could escape with Simon. Her heart rate seemed to accelerate with each of her steps, and it didn’t help that she also had the strange feeling she was being observed. When she reached her destination, she took a deep breath and opened the double glass doors leading her inside the coffee shop. She and Simon had their regular routine there, and her gaze went automatically to their usual spot, near the large windows.

A broad-shouldered jock with a baseball jacket was already sitting there, speaking loudly to his cheerleader girlfriend. Two of his friends were standing next to him, mock punching his muscular arms. It made her realize that Ash probably never had this. High school friends and romance. Ash. She was still struggling to figure out why he had asked her to meet up at this place, at the exact time she usually got there with Simon. Was it him being considerate, a clumsy way to make her feel comfortable in familiar surroundings? Or was it a warning? I know your habits, and precisely where you take your coffee, when and with whom.

Her gaze swept over the crowded room - her heart seemed to have moved up her throat, the frantic pulse almost choking her - and zeroed on a tall, white blond haired boy ordering coffee at the counter, standing with his back to Clary. She sucked in a breath. Ash. He was fully clothed in black - Dru had told her that was his usual style - and huge headphones were covering his ears. She slowly and cautiously approached him and when she was close enough, put a tentative hand on his elbow. “Ash,” she whispered. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes quizzical and… it was not Ash.

She mumbled an apology.

“Clary,” said a voice coming from behind, and she froze. It was not a boy’s but a man’s voice, the sound beautiful and ethereal. She just stood there for a few seconds before she slowly turned.

What had she expected? Merely a taller version of the young boy with pointy ears and a sour expression that she had met three years before, dressed in the same refined velvet clothing threaded with gold that identified him as fey royalty?

If so, she had clearly been mistaken.

She blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks. He was tall, as she had anticipated (Sebastian had been after all). At least two heads taller than her and probably taller than Jace. But he was also very different from the Ash of her memories, from the sketches she had drawn of him after they had crossed paths. He had amazingly grown into his features, his face now the best combination of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian’s. As if he had picked the most alluring colours of the palette. And the result was… Stunning. Clary’s hand twitched, aching for a pencil.

He was not dressed in black, but in plain blue jeans and he had stuffed his hands in a very elegant, long pale gray cashmere coat. His white blond hair and pointy ears were concealed under a deep green beanie, the same colour as the scarf around his neck.

He arched a silvery eyebrow at Clary, his expression bemused, and she realized she was staring.

“Clary, seriously?” he said, his gently scolding tone at odds with his enchanting voice. “This guy isn't even half as good looking as me." He glanced pointedly at the patron in question, who was gaping at him, and shrugged. "No offense, dude,” Ash added as an afterthought.

He turned his attention to the barista. She was beautiful, dark skinned with long braided hair and pouty lips. “Hello, gorgeous. We’ll have a double espresso with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon for the lady and a plain black coffee for me.”

Clary stifled a gasp and tried to hide her discomfort. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, and she didn’t know how she felt about this.

The pretty barista nodded eagerly, her cheeks red and her big dark eyes dreamy as she stared at Ash. “Why don’t you… Go sit at your table and I’ll bring you your beverages when they are ready?” the girl offered enthusiastically. The long line of patrons that had formed behind Clary and Ash would probably disagree but she didn’t seem to care.

“That would be lovely,” Ash said in his euphonious voice. “And so are you.” He winked at her, and Clary wondered if she would need to catch her while she swooned. He paid before Clary even had a chance to reach for her purse.

“Come,” he said in a commanding tone, as he made his way to Clary and Simon's usual table. This was unnerving.

The jock seated there paused in the middle of his conversation with his girlfriend when he saw Ash stand casually next to him. Clary braced herself for a heated exchange, but she should have known better.

“You want to sit somewhere else,” Ash said evenly, one hand inside the pocket of his designer coat and the other stretched out in front of him as he studied his fingernails.

“I want to sit somewhere else,” the jock repeated in a monotonous voice, his gaze blank. He stood, as if in a trance, and his girlfriend and friends followed him, puzzled, to an empty table at the far end of the room.

Ash drew a chair for Clary and she sat. He did the same, opposite her. He pulled off his beanie, and shook his silvery hair, like a crown of liquid white gold. He wasn’t dressed for the part but he had never looked more like a prince.

“Ash… please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your mind tricks.”

He cocked his head and observed her, his face unreadable, for what seemed like an endless minute.

“You’ve been my aunt for what? Five minutes? And you’re already trying to boss me around?”

“I am not trying to boss you around, Ash. Simply asking you not to abuse your powers.”

A shadow flickered across his green eyes.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Clary. I spend much more time and energy holding back than using my powers. If I did let go, trust me, you would know.”

Clary opened her mouth to reply but was cut short as the barista popped in front of them and placed the mugs on the table. She slid a paper napkin to Ash, her phone number scribbled on it. Clary tried not to roll her eyes, as Ash flashed his dazzling smile at the girl, who almost tripped on her own feet as she returned to the counter.

Clary lifted her cup to her lips and paused, as she caught sight of the cinnamon powder floating on the surface. She put it down.

“What about this?" She pointed at her coffee mug and waved around them. “ What is it, if not a show of power? What are you trying to tell me? That you know everything about me? That you’ve been spying on me?”

Ash pulled on a fake shocked expression, mouth open and green eyes wide in mock innocence. “Spying on you? What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Ash. The evidence is right here.” She lifted her cup abruptly, and hot liquid splashed out of it. “You know exactly how I like it. When I take it, where I take it.”

Ash’s mouth twitched. “Where did you pick up these lines? From the script of some lame X-rated movie?”

“Adult movies have storylines?” Clary asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Of course they do. Where do you think the Grimm Brothers took their inspiration from?”

He grabbed the paper napkin and started mopping the coffee she had spilled on the table. The blue ink faded and the barista’s phone number vanished.

“You lost that girl’s number,” Clary noted.

Ash shrugged. “I have a girlfriend now.”

Right. Drusilla Blackthorn. From the moment she had met her, Clary had known that the smart and quiet turquoise-eyed girl would someday turn heads.

Clary knew that Dru hadn’t really confirmed their relationship status yet, but it was neither the time nor place to broach the subject with Ash. She was, after all, on a mission to win over her nephew and had not been doing a very good job so far.

A young lanky boy with pink hair and piercings covering his skin walked by and dropped a glossy flyer of the upcoming Mortal Instruments concert on the table between them. Clary hid a smile. It reminded her...

“I have something for you.” She said as she fumbled inside her bag and took out the drawing she had made of Jocelyn, Luke and herself, in front of Luke’s upstate farm (before it was turned into the new Shadowhunter Academy) and laid it on the table.

Ash looked at it hesitantly, like a kid who really wanted to grab the candy but was afraid there was a mouse trap under it. He hunched his shoulders forward and clasped his hands under the table, as if to keep himself from temptation.

“I recognize your art. I like it. I also appreciate Julian Blackthorn’s but I may not be as objective where… one of the subjects of his drawings is concerned.”

“You’ve seen my art?”

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his long arms behind his head. Somehow, he managed to make it look graceful.

“Which Shadowhunter hasn’t? I noticed that you often drew Jace with angel wings.”

“Yes. That’s how he used to appear to me. In recurring dreams.”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Jace. In your dreams.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Someone who looks like him, but who actually has wings.”

“You mean Kit.”

Ash shrugged. “It would make more sense.” His gaze flickered back to the drawing, which still lay on the table, untouched. “You look a lot like your mom.”

“So do you”, Clary blurted before she could take it back.

Ash shot her an unfathomable look.

“How is she?” She asked.

“You mean, the Seelie Queen? You tell me. You must see her more often than I do.”

“Well, not really. I am not that involved in politics, even though Alec is Consul. Julian Blackthorn is the one who deals with her most of the time. She appears to have... a fondness for him.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Clary’s mouth quirked up.

“I am glad you are getting along with the Blackthorns. They are such an incredibly strong and talented family.”

“They are.” He turned his face away, but not before she could see the expression of longing plain on his delicate features.

She swallowed. She was painfully reminded that Ash never had a shot at a happy family. Born of a political union, and dragged here and there, though interdimensional portals, by people more interested in his powers than anything else he had to offer as a person. And judging by how Dru talked about Ash, he had a lot to offer.

“I imagine it must have been awful living in Thule… But what you did for Emma and Julian back there... if it hadn’t been for you…”

“I don’t want to talk about Thule,” he interrupted her. “Can I borrow this?” He asked, his long fingers brushing the Mortal Instruments concert flyer.

“Sure.”

She watched as he started folding the paper, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he was making an origami and wondering what shape would come out of it. It was odd seeing him doing such an innocuous thing, as if he was not a faerie prince with a heavy heritage and a giant target on his back, but an ordinary boy. She remembered what Emma had told her of her encounter with Ash in a nightclub in Thule. The way he had shown no interest, playing a video game in a corner of the room, while Sebastian was committing atrocities. Had he really been as indifferent as he looked?

“Ash, we don’t need to talk about Thule if you don’t want to, but if I can help you… If there is anything I can do-”

“Why?” He looked up sharply. “Are you able to create a rune that could undo the things I saw?” His tone was even, but his delicate fingers had started slightly shaking and he suddenly dropped the paper - his work unfinished - to fold his hands under the table to hide it. From that moment, she knew.

“No…” Clary said, drawing the word out. “But trust me, coming from someone whose memory has been tampered with... it’s not a solution.”

“I said undo. Not forget.” He snapped. “I am not such a coward that I would choose blissful ignorance over knowledge.”

He caught himself, blinking, then clenched his jaw and looked away. As if he was ashamed he had allowed himself to show any emotion at all. But Clary had managed to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath the mask and wanted nothing more than to see the rest of it.

“I don’t think you are a coward,” she said.

He looked over at her, a silver eyebrow raised. “I let it all happen, didn’t I? I didn’t lift a finger.”

“Because you couldn’t. Sebastian would have killed you. And you, Ash, are just like me. A survivor.”

He snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back on his chair. He had stretched out his long legs and Clary realized that he was tapping a foot nervously next to hers.

“Wrong. I could have. I chose not to. Because I am selfish. I don’t care about other people’s fate.”

His face split into a lazy, wicked grin. Clary could see Sebastian’s influence in his leer, but she wouldn't let it deceive her. Just as she wasn't fooled by his laid-back demeanor.

“I think it’s the opposite, actually. I think it’s because you care too much. It’s not death you are afraid of. The thing is, you have such a tender heart, you need to protect it from an affliction far greater than any physical pain you could endure. So you’d rather lie to yourself and pretend you feel nothing.”

From the long conversations she had with Tessa about her ancestors, Clary knew of a Fairchild boy who had been too compassionate for his own good. And he had been surrounded by loyal friends and loving parents, even though he had shut himself, putting on a facade while burying his grief in alcohol. Ash never had that kind of support. Throughout his life, he was left to figure things out on his own. If he was as empathetic as Clary thought he was, Ash probably had no other choice but to deal with his sensitivity alone. It was a miracle he had turned out the way he did.

“You have a lot of imagination,” he said after a moment. The ghost of a smile was still playing on his lips but something had passed across his eyes. “Then again, you are an artist. You seek beauty in the ugly. You find colors on a blank page. I admire your faith, but in this case, there is nothing to see.”

Clary jutted her chin stubbornly and they held each other’s gaze - his green eyes glittering in amusement and hers dead serious - in a staring contest.

“Still,” he said when he finally broke, first. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I am sorry.”

Clary softened. “Don’t be. I am glad you are finally showing your true self. You don’t need to wear your mask around me, Ash.”

He chuckled. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

“It’s funny that you would quote Oscar Wilde.”

“And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Just another thing you share in common with a Fairchild I heard stories about.”

“Clary,” he said in a gently reproving tone. Her name sounded like a caress in his melodious voice. “Are you being purposefully cryptic to arouse my curiosity?”

She moved closer, so she was sitting at the edge of her chair, and leaned forward, hands folded over the table.

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she whispered. “Let me in. Shed all pretense.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered back in confidence, leaning closer still so that their faces were inches from each other. “It’s like fabric that burns and melts into skin. If you peel it off, the skin goes with it.” He grimaced, reclining on his chair. “It won’t be a pretty sight. I don’t think even my level of hotness could sustain it.”

“Ash…” Clary said, sensing that she finally had an opening to say what she had been brooding over ever since she had learnt of Ash’s return from that forsaken land. “I wanted to tell you… I am sorry.”

Ash’s green eyes widened.

“Sorry for what?”

“I should have looked for you. I should not have given up on you.”

Ash’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. Seb-...Ash, we...”

“What did you just call me?” He snarled. His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly cold as ice.

“Sorry, Ash. What I meant to say is… we are family."

“I already have a family.”

“I know that you care about Janus…”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he cut her off.

“And we don’t need to. I just wanted you to know… I understand that he’s been like a father to you, and I don’t plan on moving against him, unless he strikes first or makes it impossible for me to overlook his actions.”

“Because of me?”

“Of course, because of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Ash… You are my nephew, my blood. You may not feel the same way about me, but that’s how I feel about you. I want you to know that, if things go wrong, for any reason, you can always turn to me. My home is your home.”

“What you are actually telling me is, Ash, if I kill the one person who has ever really cared about you - and it might definitely come to that - you can always grab my hand, still sticky and warm from his blood. Well, how nice of you. To quote Oscar Wilde again, true friends stab you in the front.”

“That’s not what I am-”

“Clary,” Ash interrupted as he stood. “Do not make me choose between you and him. Because…” Looking down at her, he swallowed hard, as if the words pained him. “Because you will lose.”

She knew exactly what he was telling her. Because they were the same in that way. Ruthless, even with their own blood, when it came to protecting their loved ones. If I had to choose between killing him and you, I would not hesitate. I would end you. Yet, despite his cold statement, despite his sharp and resolved tone, his eyes seemed to carry a deep regret.

“Ash, I understand what you're saying and I swear I am not trying to make you pick a side”, Clary said, suddenly desperate, as she mirrored him and stood. “Please don’t go. I am sorry I brought it up. We will stop talking about him. Starting now.”

“This was a bad idea. Never try to contact me again.” He drew his green beanie from the pocket of his coat and put it back on. He turned and strode toward the exit. She grabbed the family drawing that still lay on the table, stuffed it in her bag and followed him, half-running, as he was quickly losing here with his long legs.

“Ash! Please. Give me another chance. I am so sorry.”

He paused right outside the coffee shop, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t be. It didn’t change what I had planned to tell you anyway. I don’t want to know anything about you or your mother. I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, and he whipped his head around to look at her in surprise. “I know you were under house arrest. You probably had to break out of whichever place they were holding you in to come here. You wouldn’t have done that unless you wanted something. Something from me. Tell me, Ash. Tell me what it is.”

He turned his face away so she could not see his expression. A full minute passed and she had almost given up on receiving an answer, when he finally spoke.

“My fa… Sebastian. How different do you think he would have been if not for the demon blood?”

“Oh. Ash.” she whispered. She brought her knuckle against her sternum instinctively, as if to cover the gaping whole in her chest. “I saw him, you know. The brother I should have had. The father that should have raised you. If only for a few minutes.” She paused to bite back tears. “In those few minutes, he told us how to get rid of the Endarkened and said he was sorry. It’s not much to go for, but… that’s not all. I have recurring dreams of the green eyed boy that was robbed from us. And I know in my heart he would have been the best brother a sister could ever dream of.”

He was still looking away and she could see the sharp line, the stubborn set of his jaw. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she would not fail him again. That they could mourn her brother, his father, together. That he didn’t need to bear the anger at everything that was wasted alone.

He finally turned to look at her. A tear had escaped to run freely down his cheek. He had completely shed off his mask, and what Clary saw was like a stab in her gut. She shivered. Wordlessly, he reached for his deep green scarf and tied it gingerly around her neck. The way Sebastian had when they had walked down the streets of Paris. Ash looked nothing like her brother had then. His green eyes held an infinite sadness that spoke of a grief deeper, older than the short years of his life.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He said - she hadn’t imagined his beautiful voice could sound so hollow - and turned to leave.

“Ash, wait.” She grabbed him by the elbow and he froze. His eyes widened as his gaze zeroed on the fingers covering his coat, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She realized she had never touched him before.

“Clary, what do you want from me?” He asked in a tired voice.

“I just want to get to know you.”

“Trust me, you don’t. I am not the brother who was stolen from you. I cannot replace him. If anything, I am just like Sebastian was before me... my father’s broken toy. There is no way to fix me.”

“I don’t believe it for a second,” she said, almost frantic. “And I don’t want to find my brother's replacement, I want to get to know you! Ash. The real Ash.”

“I already told you. That’s not happening. Don’t ever try to contact me again. I am serious.”

“So that’s it?” She tried not to sound too whiny but panic was eating away at her stomach and she thought she would throw up. “You went through all this trouble spying on me, learning how I take my coffee to simply disappear from my life from one moment to the next?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“I was not spying on you, Clary. I was merely following your stalker.”

“What? You were… protecting me?”

“Take care of yourself, Clary.”

He said as he stepped away from her and vanished into the crowd.

****

Clary threw herself in Jace’s arms as soon as he opened the door to their bedroom at the New York Institute. He froze, then started stroking her hair in a soothing gesture.

“Clary, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Tell me, Clary. What is it?”

She pulled away and wiped tears with the back of her hand. Jace’s face was a mask of shock. Clary couldn’t blame him. She almost never cried.

“I messed up.”

“What did you mess up?”

She walked to the bed and sat on the mattress. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his reaction. “Ash. I met up with him earlier today.”

Jace tensed and his hands clenched into fists. “WHAT- Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have insisted on coming.”

“Damn right, I would have. And I would have been right, too. Look at you, you look miserable.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a small voice. “I pushed him too far.”

Jace sighed and came to sit next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am sure you did nothing wrong, Clary.”

“I thought- When I showed him the drawing… the way he looked at it, Jace. He is not indifferent. He cares.”

“What drawing?”

“The one I made of the family,” she said absently, as she grabbed her bag and started fumbling inside.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The drawing wasn’t there. Peeking out in its stead, and folded out of the flyer of the Mortal Instruments concert, were origami faerie wings. The Fairchild family symbol.

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southslates · 3 years

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you are lost without the waiting

for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang 2021!

lovely art was done for this piece by amethyst @amethystmoonart [here!] and door @doorhandle16 [here] ! these two were absolutely amazing to work with <3

Summary:

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

In which Inej is Persephone, Kaz is Hades, and she chooses to stay.

ao3 link!

“Tell me you loved to destroy.

Tell me you need me. Please. You are the bones

of my spine. You are the ground beneath my feet.

You are made of deeper stuff than the earth

can give. Admit it: you are lost without the waiting.

― clementine von radics, letter from hades to persephone

Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?

Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,

must sometimes want nothing more than to be

trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.

I’ve given you forever.”

Inej had been a wind spirit.

Technically, she still was. She didn’t feel like one anymore. She used to dance across rooftops and skies—her parents said she was a gravity-defier. That there was no place in the world—no land, nor ocean—that could bind her feet—or her—to anything.

They were wrong. She had been taken when flying through the skies, swept away into a deep sleep until she woke up in a bed at the Menagerie. There she met Tante Heleen, purveyor of lost spirits. Heleen had told Inej that she saved the girl from a fiery fate, and that now she owed her an indenture. An indenture Inej paid by tending the lands the goddess reigned over and touching the men who let Heleen carry out her whims.

Inej had been a wind spirit, but she did not think she was one anymore. She could not break free. If she left the grassy fields of Heleen’s island world she would be caught and subjugated to an even darker fate.

She stayed. She tended to the fields. She danced in front of gods with long teeth. She belonged to the Menagerie, the girls with lost spirits. She distanced the innocent who breezed through the flower fields from the one who balanced on rope. She felt like two people. She wanted to leave but had nowhere to go.

One day, airing out a field of daisies, she stopped. She could see a flash of color between the deathly white blooms, and held her breath as she reached out to thumb bright orange petals. It was a geranium. It had been her mother’s favorite flower.

In a moment of weakness and pain and longing, she reached for the stem and tugged it out of the earth. And then the ground opened, and Inej fell.

Inej felt as though she fell for days. She thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces when she finally hit the bottom of this well. She thought she would fall forever.

When she reached the bottom of the hole, it was an ocean. She found herself submerged in water and darkness, and pulled herself up until she felt dry air. The darkness stayed omnipresent. She couldn’t see anything. “Hello?” she called into a void.

For a minute, nothing happened. She could almost believe that she was nonexistent. And then something, a bullet, whizzed past her. She barely dodged it.

A light flicked on, and she saw a man in a bright orange waistcoat holding a . . . small cannon in her direction. She assumed it had dislodged the bullet that had almost torn her immortal life. The light disturbed Inej for a moment, but she found her balance quickly. She anticipated another attack, but the man just frowned in her direction. “Who are you?”

“Where am I?” Inej countered.

The man took in her silk dress and the painted spots on her face, and he seemed to come to his own conclusion. “Not anywhere you should be, goddess. Your kind are not welcome here.”

“Where is here?”

The man sighed. “My name is Jesper,” he said, then gestured to his side. “Welcome to the land of greed. I suppose I’ll have to take you to the boss.”

Jesper took Inej to a large black palace in the middle of . . . absolutely nothing. It wasn’t particularly enchanting, unlike the gilded arches of the Menagerie. The building seemed to speak to her, to warn her away from its obsidian glare. She wanted to turn back when Jesper gestured for her to enter, but she had nowhere else to go. Even if she could find her way to the surface, she would land in Hell that was simply more discreet.

And she was certain that she was in Hell. The land of greed, Jesper had said. The land of greed, of rocks and riches and death. What lay under the fanciful pretenses of the land Tante Heleen and men such as Pekka Rollins claimed to rule.

Inej didn’t know who ruled this land, but she was certain she was about to find out. She took one last look around the landscape, blank and dead and black, before stepping into the palace. The stone of the entrance cracked under her feet.

Jesper led her around dilapidated columns and stairs and walls, human architecture, until they reached a large room at the top of the palace. Even up here, Inej was distinctly aware of the stillness of the air. She felt as though a part of her was missing. She felt like a wind spirit again. When she looked down, she could almost see through herself. She required air to stay formed. This place was sucking out her lifeblood, and she could not find it in herself to care.

“Kaz!” he yelled. Inej startled at the sudden noise, but stayed deft on her feet as they approached a tall, lank, pale figure, sitting at a throne that almost seemed like a desk. There was a hat on the man’s head and a cane next to him. Inej frowned at it. She had met many gods and spirits, and none needed aids such as that. “We’ve got a four-hundred-sixty-three.”

The man looked up, and his searing brown eyes met hers. He didn’t break that contact as he stood up from his seat and gripped his cane. “I don’t know what your asinine numbers mean, Jesper. Speak proper. We have a guest.”

Jesper almost blushed at Inej’s side. She found herself entranced by this man she knew nothing about. “She fell from above.”

“Indeed,” Kaz said. He was unnaturally still. “So? Take her back up.”

“No!” Inej shouted. Jesper’s gaze fixed on her too, and he seemed a bit scared.

“No?” Kaz questioned. “Why would a wind spirit not want to go back to the lands above?”

“I’m indentured to Tante Heleen,” she murmured. “Please, I can help you.”

“Can you?” Kaz asked. She couldn’t let her eyes off him, either. His voice was a salty rasp, dead but safe. They stood in that silence for a moment, looking at each other, until Jesper cleared his throat.

“Kaz?”

“Put her in a guest bedroom,” he said easily. “Always fine to piss on darling Heleen.”

His name was Kaz Brekker, and he was greed’s guardian. Truly, he was the guardian of Hell, but few called him that. “Death does not bow to me,” he told her at breakfast the next day, a table length apart. He wore leather gloves and kept his cane close to him. It was topped by a crow’s head. Late at night, Inej had heard them flying around the palace. They were the only form of life she’d seen so far, though no wind followed. She was the faintest bit translucent. “Death bows to no man. But greed? It is my servant and my lever.”

Inej was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She was frightened of this new world, one of death and decay. She knew she did not belong. But she knew it was better than what awaited her above.

“How do you intend to help me, Inej Ghafa?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know all things,” Kaz said. “There is unrest in my fields, those of the deceased. You will learn why.”

“Why—”

“Yesterday,” he said, “you came with Jesper, bells on your ankles, bracelets on your wrists. I could hear my enforcer from a mile away, but not you.” He leaned close to her, several bodies apart. “Spy for me, won’t you?”

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

Inej saw Jesper occasionally. He ensured that she had basic necessities, and he toured her around the land of greed. She saw rubies growing on trees, diamonds blooming from the ground. She met shades, those who had died centuries ago and entered the land crying for the saints she knew were above. The more days and weeks she spent here, the more see-through she became. She was almost afraid she would become one of them.

She made herself silent and danced through them. And when she knew what they spoke, she went back to the palace. She went to the river. She went to valleys and canyons, and she learned of the guardian of this Hell. She found peace in the darkness, in the stillness.

Kaz Brekker was a true demjin, she was told. She was told he started wars himself, when he grew tired. She heard he controlled all the riches and corruptness above her.

She believed it, too. She ate twice a day with him, and then he did whatever demons did as she wandered the terrain of his domain. They spoke only occasionally. He tended to stare into her soul, and those looks always said more than words. Inej was a wraith, a ghost, but Kaz made her feel solid and seen.

One day Kaz Brekker asked her if she would like him to take her to the shadow fold. “You’re curious,” he told her, as though he could see inside her and also right through her. She wondered if he could. “It’s intriguing.”

So they’d gone on a walk through something dark and damp, sapphire-studded weeds carpeting the ground under their feet. The air was moist and still. The fold was somehow darker than the rest of this world, and it frightened Inej. As they stood at its precipice, she grabbed Kaz Brekker’s gloved hand.

She had seen him shy away from Jesper’s touch, seen him stay feet away from her. But when she held his hand that day, he didn’t let go. The next day he was not at breakfast, but there was a bouquet of flowers in front of her, studded with orange opal. Inej had never mentioned to Kaz her favorite flower.

The walks became a daily occurrence, and she slowly started to wring fragments of humanity from this immortal. Kaz Brekker enjoyed drinking wine and his work, the guardian of the souls of the worst kind of men. He was sure of himself as a monster. He asked her twice as many questions as she asked him.

If she wrung humanity from a demon, he wrung personality from a shadow. He brought her up into what she once was—until she remembered the wind spirit again. Inej talked of flowers and her friend Nina and how she loved dancing across rooftops. She talked of her parents and her siblings and the freedom of the air. Kaz seemed to drink her in, with his menacing, freeing gaze. He knew her. He saw her.

Once, she asked him why he wore gloves, why he avoided the river at the entrance of his realm, and why he used a cane. He only explained the latter, only said there was strength in being broken.

They didn’t touch. Inej grew used to the feeling of leather around her palm. Kaz seemed aloof, but he grasped her translucent hand through his clothing as though he never wanted to let her go. And yet she never felt stuck, or alone, until—

Until one day she woke up to Jesper forcing her back into her rooms. He seemed frenzied, and Inej went back to bed only to crawl out through her window when she heard loud sounds in Kaz’s throne room. She sat at his window and heard a voice which seared her invisible soul. Pekka Rollins, indeed.

“You must return her. She is indentured—”

“And you would think that something I would consider? I am your safes and vaults personified. It’s meaningless.”

“The girl belongs to—”

“The girl belongs to no one,” Inej heard Kaz hiss. “Go tell your Tante Heleen that Inej Ghafa belongs to nobody.”

Inej slipped a little at that admission, right into Rollins’ eyesight. He looked at her slight, ghost-like body with his eyebrows afloat—as though he’d won something. “Come, little lynx,” he cooed at her. “You don’t have to stay in this land anymore, with this demon.”

“She doesn’t want to come with you,” said Kaz. Rollins laughed.

“Found a new master already, have you?”

“I belong to no one,” Inej repeated what Kaz had said.

“Little girl,” Rollins said. “You would stay here? In a land of no sky, of death and decay and greed? You are a free spirit. Come to the world above.” His eyes traced her figure. “You are nothing here.”

She knew he was referring to her barely corporeal form. His words still stung deeply.

“I am freer here than I could ever be,” Inej said. And yet she knew the hard skies of Kaz’s world were dulling her sensibilities. She didn’t want to leave; but she would have to soon, if she didn’t want to fade into the fold itself.

Pekka appeared as though he had more to say, but Kaz stood up in protest to his unsaid words, ghosts in the air, leaning on his cane, something truly—truly demonic in his eyes. “If you do not leave now, Pekka Rollins,” he said, “it is your mortal son who will suffer. Kaelish, isn’t he?”

The man left. His words stayed in the air. Inej was in a nightgown and Kaz was dressed like a monster, but she felt as though she had the power in the room. His gaze did not fall away from her. “He was right,” she said. She was fading.

“I know,” he said. He stared at her enough to know that she did not have much time left before she became invisible. “You would never be able to pay off your indenture.”

Inej knew this. She knew that he could give her all the riches of his realm, and she would never pay off her indenture. “I have no choice.”

He walked across the room and pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. “Greed is my servant,” he said. “And my lever.”

The walls started shaking, and Inej fell away from Kaz. She could feel leather on her face.

Then she saw darkness, and nothing more.

Inej woke up in a field of flowers. They were jeweled, and they were orange. They smelled like dirt and decay. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in that field. She lifted her hand and saw herself, all of herself.

When she stepped forward, she was back home. She heard the news soon afterward, that the entire Menagerie had fallen into Hell. That the guardian of greed had taken the woman who loved it above. That the girls forced to be animals were free.

Inej was home, and yet she was not home; how did she explain to her people of the air that she yearned for a place with croaking birds, cloaked in darkness? She did not—Kaz Brekker made it his business to know all things. It was six months later that she found a fresh geranium in a field of flowers outside of her cottage.

She fell again. This time she didn’t fall into water, but the open embrace of a demon without armor. She thought she would fall forever. She thought she could find peace.

#dee writes #gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #gang 2 #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #shadow and bone #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kanej fic #amethystmoonart #doorhandle16

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narniagiftexchange · 3 years

Text

THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

for: @stormwarnings from @athoughtfox.

Through the iron-grey halls of the castle of his fathers, Caspian seeks the Kings and Queens of Old. The tall, thin windows stripe the floors with their sliced-up early light, the beams falling straight and bright as the blade of a knife through the silence of the castle. Shadows hunch in the gaps between, cloaking the ashen ghosts of Telmarine lords.

On the leisurely march from Beruna, the ancient Kings and Queens had been easy to find. Wherever the trees sighed and the water quivered and the wind grew sweet, there they walked. And if he could not see them, he had learned to follow the flowers’ keen sudden blooming, the patches of blazing green where the grass had been under their feet. But here in the castle built by his ancestors, they are easily lost, drifting away like dust. He woke last night in his old bedchamber and wondered if he had dreamed them up completely.

The whole castle is strange and still, like a great breast holding its breath, its long halls like hollowed-out bones. Most of the Telmarine court had moved out when they heard the news, most of the Narnians had declined to settle inside until they knew what was happening. The only busy place is the throne room, where bouquets and banners are being laid for his coronation at noon, when he will be sworn into the service of Aslan and the High King. He tries not to think about it; it makes his head swim and the floors tilt, makes him feel like a child arranging paper dolls of fairytale characters in his play scene, imagining himself king of the Narnia of his boyhood dreaming.

They are not in the bustling throne room, nor in the feasting hall, but on the terrace outside the great castle doors he spies the trees to the west bowing in the windless air. Following their whispers, he walks the dappled path through the forest, which folds around him softly until he can no longer see the walls of the castle. He cannot guess how long he walks; it might be two minutes, it might be hours, the sound of his own breath very loud in his ears, the trees twisting their long fingers in the yellow light so that it shifts on the ground in front of him, bringing a loose echo of the dizzy swirl from the night Bacchus had run with them. Eventually he steps out of the sweet green haze into a clearing, where Lucy is dancing with the dryads.

They have no music but the low, woody murmur of the sweeping branches. Every step is graceful and sure, a pattern he cannot begin to follow, each high leafy head at once stately and playful. Time has been sliding away from him today, as he walks, as he watches. This clearing seems bubbled outside of the passing of the world, the scene it encloses as enchanting as if some magic had brought to life the pages of his story books.

He does not see Lucy leave the dance, but suddenly she is in front of him. He blinks down at her, shaking the fog away from his head; among the trees she had seemed much taller.

“I said they used to dance,” she laughs, the freckles on her nose refusing to settle in the mossy glimmer of forest light.

“May I dance with them?” he asks around the sandy dryness of his mouth.

“You will, I think,” she says, giving him a considering look. “But -”

She frowns, stepping close to him and staring hard. He stares back, beginning to feel his eyes prickle. If he lets his gaze ease, her edges blur strangely. Her eyes are very deep, the blue of them stirring like the tide, and he is as powerless to hide himself from her as he would be from the strength of the ocean.

“Oh,” she smiles suddenly, “you’re for the sea.”

“What?” he manages, almost staggering when she lets go her stare.

“You’ll be a sailor,” she tells him airily. “I can smell it on you - salt, I mean. Still, though, something about the trees… Edmund?”

Caspian jumps and turns to find Edmund watching him from the dusky space beneath a gnarled tree. He glances around wildly with half a thought of glimpsing some hiding place; he had been sure he had walked the clearing all around, but he had not seen Edmund until this moment.

With a brush of a wry smirk, Edmund steps out of his dim nook – for a breath the shadows seem to follow him, clinging fondly to his boots, cringing in the sunlight – but the moment Caspian blinks they are gone. He does not have time to ponder this, because Edmund seizes his hand and turns it palm up, examining it intently, scrubbing his thumb over it once, then letting it fall.

“Shipwright,” he says, dropping the word heavy and certain.

“Oh, Caspian!” Lucy grins, clapping her small hands together. “You’ll build ships of wood and sail on the sea. You’re one of ours.”

“One of…” he lets this trail into the air, dove-soft, and looks up at the vast high stretch of sighing blue sky, the hard bright sun. “Where are King Peter and Queen Susan?”

A silence wells up thickly in response to this.

“They’ll be at the coronation,” Edmund says, his voice flat and still as a woodland pool.

“We have a little time,” Lucy says brightly. “You wanted to dance with the trees; come then!”

She catches his hand and pulls him away into the dance, and Edmund comes after this time, taking his trailing hand, and they weave among the bowing trees until his question is forgotten, until he can hear all the earthy music of the dryads for himself.

#tcon #tconedit #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #narnia #type: fanfiction #from athoughtfox #for stormwarnings #narnia gift exchange #narniagiftexchange #winterexchange: 2

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whydoyouwantmyname · 3 years

Text

Imagine being Sirius’s daughter (Part 5)

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

-That afternoon after divination you walked down to the hut to show Hagrid the Martisor George got you from Romania. Not even bothering to knock you swung the door open to see Hagrid looked at a medium sized, dark forest green egg, covered in scales.

“What the bloody hell is that?” You replied, quickly shutting the door as Hagrid jumped slight, startled by your sudden presence. His eyes wide as you advanced towards the table, and gently ran a finger down the scaled egg.

“I won it, fellow said it was a genuine dragon egg.”

“I would hope so, this thing is huge.” You replied, “Hagrid, what are we gonna do with a dragon?”

“Well I’m gonna raise him as my...”

“Hagrid, not only is the ministry never going to allow you to have a dragon, but neither is Dumbledore, I mean this has to be some sort of violation of the safety...”

“So is Aragon.” He cut you off so matter of factly, as you looked over at him, “He is different, he doesn’t spit fire, or fly. Plus he is trained to stay in the Forest, where not only can he hunt for his own food, but you go out and feed him as well. A dragon would never be able to survive in the forest.”

“I thought out of everyone, you would be excited.” He sighed, almost defeated, cause he knew what you were saying was true, however the tone of his voice made your heart break.

“I am excited, I just don’t want to see you get fired and banished.” You smiled, “What if you let Charlie take care of it in Romania? I am sure he would let you come and visit all the time.”

-The rest of the visit you two just sipped tea and discussed the dragon egg that was sitting between you both on the table, and when you left you were under the impression that Hagrid was going to reach out to Charlie, and have him look after his little dragon. However when you left the hut, Hagrid turned around and spoke, “Don’t worry little fellow, I’m not gonna ship you off to Romania.”

-He hid the egg during the day, fearful that you would visit.

-The boys were always asking you if they could listen to your Walkman, which you happily shared with them. Lee really liked listening to Abba, and Elton John, George preferred AC/DC, The Eagles, and Journey, and Fred always wanted to listen to your David Bowie, Motley Crue, and Billy Joel. However you thought it was funny that they all loved Queen, and many nights you would find them putting a volume charm on your headphones so that everyone in the common room could listen to Freddie Mercury singing.

-On these nights, once everyone had left the common room in search of escape from the noise you and the boys would end up dancing around the common room to the melody, and screaming the lyrics as you did. This resulted in Percy coming to have multiple talks with you four about the noise at 1am. You would always look at him with a look of apology, but as soon as he would leave, you were all roaring with laughter.

-Sometimes late at night you would put the headphones on and listen to the Pink Floyd album, it was one of the few pieces of music you could remember your father playing, it made you feel like you were a toddler again running around your small flat, everyone who you loved back in your life. A single tear running down your face as you remembered.

-The twins were always fighting over who was going to be your partner for group assignments, which always made you chuckle as you looked at Lee, “They act like I won’t help them both.”

-Even though they would fight over it, Fred was your partner a majority of the time. Each time George and Lee hoped he would get the guts to try to ask you out on a date again, but he never did.

-When you went to Hagrid’s one afternoon you looked at him concerned, “What’s wrong Hagrid?”

“Nothing you can help with.” He replied as you sat down, arms crossed, “Try me?”

“It’s just.... something is killing unicorns in the forest. All the creatures are on edge, I mean everyone knows that the only reason anyone would want to murder such a majestic creature is...”

“For the blood.” You finished his sentence, “And the centaurs haven’t seen anything? They normally are good at knowing even the littlest things that happen in those woods.”

“I asked Firenze, but they haven’t heard anything other then that the Unicorns are getting hunted.”

- Later that night you asked, “Listen I know I’m not allowed to ask what he is guarding, but how’s Fluffy?”

“He’s good, real good. Trust me sweetheart, he’ll be home quicker then you know.”

-That night as you climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor common room you heard Fred and George’s singing voices, they were belting out the lyrics to The Time of Our Lives by Bill Medley, your smile growing to see the two boys standing behind you. You couldn’t help by join in with a laugh as the Fat Lady muttered, “You were all flat, and horribly off key.”

“Oh we couldn’t be that bad, however we will never be great artists like you.” George smiled as the Fat Lady blushed, and asked nicely for the password.

“Caput Draconis.” You replied as she swung open, causing you all to hurry to the corner table and start working on future pranks.

-While you were working you noticed Ron and Harry sitting on the love seat, struggling with their homework, Hermonie no where in sight. You quietly excused yourself from the Twins and knelt down in front of them, “Need a hand?”

-You sat in front of the two and helped them finish everything, and once they were done, you smeriked and asked, “So now that that’s done, want to sneak down to the kitchen and see if there’s anything left out.”

-They both said no, but Fred and George overheard your offer, and were quick to jump on it. Once the two first years disappeared to their dormitories, you three pulled out the map, and opened it to see the kitchen was empty. You three quickly headed to one of the multiple secret passages and snuck down there to find that there was a small cake left on the counter in the empty kitchen. You three all hopped up on the counter after retrieving forks and started to eat it. Once it was all gone, you took a bottle of pumpkin juice from the fridge and made your way back to the common room, each of you taking sips of the bottle you would later hid in your enchanted bag.

-The next morning during Dumbledore’s announcements he exclaimed, “All students are not premitted into the kitchens after 10pm, any student caught in there, or with items from the kitchen will be placed into detention.”

-The next day you looked at Harry, Hermonie, and Ron, “You all look like bloody shit.”

“Well since we were in detention, we didn’t get much sleep.”

“Why were you in detention? Did Flint catch you cheating?” George teased as Ron yawned, “No, Malfoy snitched to McGonagall that we were at Hagrid’s with Norbert, and then Flitch made us go into the forbidden forest to look for a unicorn.”

“Norbert?” You asked

“Yeah,”Ron yawned again, “His dragon.”

-Your eyes grew, and your head turned towards Hagrid, who was looking right at you, already knowing that the golden trio was probably going to tell you about their detention, and Norbert.

-After lunch, the boys all had quidditch practice, Lee of course was going to go watch, and practice his announcing, and you were planning on going to watch. Before the boys entered the pitch though you looked at Fred and George, “I’ll be in in a few, I just have to go see Hagrid first.”

“We get it, you would much rather watch us kick Slytherin’s ass then practice.” George replied as you chuckled, “Georgie, your first match is against Hufflepuff, not Slytherin.”

-When you got to the hut you didn’t bother knocking, and just walked in to see a mess of wavy reddish orange hair sitting in Hagrid’s armchair, as Hagrid sat on the couch, cradling the small dragon, the conversation between the two haulting as Hagrid spoke up, “Figured you would be here at some point to see the little fellow.”

“No, I came here to see Charlie, since I haven’t seen him since summer break.”you joked, as the second eldest Weasley turned around, a smile on his face as he replied, “Still keeping my younger brothers in check I hope?”

“Course I am, so well in fact I have been neglecting keeping our favorite staff member in check.” you joked as you walked over to Hagrid, and extended a hand towards the scaley beast hiding in his beard, his head slightly poking out before he nuzzled his head against your palm.

“I swear you have a knack for this Black.” Charlie praised as you whispered, “i mean I learned from the best.”

-Charlie was never going to tell you this, but you were his favorite of all of his brother’s friends, and found himself building a bond with you at the burrow before he moved whenever you were able to get away from the others. Seeing you with Norbert just reassured him that his brothers were in good hands, and that he didn’t have to worry as much about them.

-When he left with Norbert you looked at Hagrid, “No more surprise creatures please.”

“Course not.”

“So, did you find anything in the forest last night?” You asked, the screams of the gryffindor quidditch team could faintly be heard from the pitch as Hagrid replied, “Harry and Draco saw something, Harry said it was a tall, pale, hooded figure, almost like a man. He was gone though by the time we got to him.”

“Great, at least we have a lead.” You answered, before you heard a louder shout, this one was undeniably George, which caused you to slightly panic, Hagrid could see it in your face, “Go, I can catch ya up later over tea.”

-When you got to the pitch Lee looked at you, “You just missed it, George missed a Bludger, hit him in the arm. Oliver looked at it, nothings broke, but he is gonna have a nasty bruise in the morning.”

-Later that night while you all sat at the table working on your homework, you suggested, “What if we made a bruise remover, like a cream or something you can rub on a bruise or black eye that will make it disappear?”

“How would that help with pranks?” George asked, his sleeve rolled up revealing the enormous bruise that was consuming his arm.

“Well if we ever make a product that causes bruises, the user can remove it from the victim after having a good laugh. We could sell them as a set.” You replied as Fred looked at you, “You’re a genius Black.”

-You spent one afternoon a week helping Hagrid make the photo album

-The first quidditch match of the spring season you found yourself surrounded by first years, since Hermonie had asked you to sit with her and Ron, who was quick to make fun of you for wearing his brother’s jersey, “Seriously, you two might as well be married.”

“We are, Freddie didn’t tell you we got eloped this past summer.” You teased back, as Ron looked at you, a look of disgust on his face as Hermonie piped up, “Don’t worry Ronald, it is illegal to elope before 18, without parent’s consent.”

-At the end of the game you ran straight past Harry, who had gotten the snitch before the Hufflepuff golden boy, Cedric Diggory, and jumped straight into Fred’s arms, giving him a congratulatory hug, as he spun you around.

-When he sat you down, you smiled at him, a slight blush on his face as you turned to Harry and George and quickly hugged them as well, however the hug was nothing compared to Fred’s.

-After that match Ron and Harry made a bet, Ron suspected You were going to be dating one of the twins by the end of the year, Harry thought you were going to be dating Fred before you graduated from Hogwarts. Whoever lost owed the winner a cauldron cake, and a butter beer.

-That night you were sitting with Fred and Lee on the couch, when George walked into the empty common room, “[Y/N], get the Walkman, we must celebrate our victory!”

-That night you were listening to the normal selection, until the Queens tape ended, and George picked the next one, the first song that played was I Can’t Tell You Why, as both George and Lee groaned, about to press the fast forward button in hopes that they stopped it before the next track, but George stopped Lee when he saw Fred grab your hand, and pull you towards him. A smile on your face as Fred dramatically mouthed the words, all while spinning you around in a dance, your giggles masked by the melody as he dipped you, pulling you up quickly into a spin. George and Lee just watching the pair of you, smiling ear to ear as the song ended.

-As soon as the song ended though Percy came to the base of the stairs, “Seriously, none of your other teammates are causing a ruckus like this, so I have no idea why you four feel the need to disrupt the entire tower at midnight.”

“Sorry Percy, we’ll head straight to bed now.” You answered, separating from Fred before grabbing the Walkman, and retreating to the girl’s dormitory, as Percy just glared at the other three, “Honestly I don’t know what she sees in you three holigens?”

“Trust us Percy, we don’t either.” George replied, before the older Weasley escorted the three to bed.

-The next morning you were waiting for the boys outside their dormitory, and smiled, “We are going to prank Percy.”

-You slipped a potion into his pumpkin juice, which caused him to lose his voice for 48 hours. Madam Pomfey had nothing to cure it, so for two days you didn’t have to listen to Percy. However Molly sent a howler to the Twins blaming them for the entire thing. You were quick to write an apology to her, telling her that the twins had nothing to do with it, and that you would never do it again. She replied with a sweetly worded letter, making the Twins slightly jealous, because she didn’t send you a howler.

“What can I say boys, I’m mom’s favorite.” You smiled as you elbowed Lee, the two gingers across from you scowling as you laughed.

- You were the top of the class, as usual. The boys joked that you were going to be the next head girl, and excitingly looked at each other as the realization set in, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“If you were head girl, do you know how much stuff we could get away with?” George asked as you smiled, and shock your head.

“Honestly you two are probably going to be the reason I am not head girl.” You smiled.

-That night you all went to bed early, and when you woke up was when you learned Harry was in the hospital wing, everyday he was in there you went to visit him, occasionally someone else would join you, mostly Ron, but you never really left. Dumbledore allowed it, knowing how much Harry meant to you, even if Harry didn’t know.

-When he woke up, you leapt from the stool and hugged him, “Oh thank Merlin, I was starting to think you would never wake up.”

-Harry told you everything that happened in the chamber where the mirror of Erised was. Your worry building as he told you about Voldemort’s face in the back of Qurill’s head. When Dumbledore showed up and clearified several things for Harry, he placed a hand on your shoulder and stated, “Let the boy rest. We have many things to discuss.”

-On the way to the Chamber, you were freaking out at Dumbledore for ever letting Harry do something so dangerous, as though he knew Harry’s plans. The whole time he let you just aggressively whisper at him.

-He took you to the empty chamber, the mirror still in the middle of the floor as he looked at you, finally speaking, “I am sorry I didn’t tell you what happened.”

“You knew?”

“I had my suspicions on what happened when Harry wasn’t in attendance, Snape found him down here alone, I suspect Quirell parished. I have destroyed the stone, which we found in Harry’s pocket.”

“Did you know about Quirell?”

“No, but I suspect that the unicorn murders will also stop now, since I am sure Voldemort was the one using the blood.”

“Why though did the mirror give Harry the stone?” You asked as you slowly approached the glass, as Dumbledore looked past you, seeing his sister in the reflection instead of you.

“The mirror of Erised is a enchanted mirror, it is used to show us what it is we truly desire. When I had it placed here however I enchanted it to protect the stone, and give it to someone who was searching for the stone, but had no intention on using it.”

“It shows us our desires.” You questioned, looking into it, before you saw them slowly approaching, and finally after a few moments they stopped in front of you. On the far left was a younger Remus, his scars disappeared, as he smiled at you, his eyes sparkling as Peter stood beside him, he didn’t look as timid as normal, nor did he seem as though he was on edge, on the right stood Lily, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and wearing a summer dress, her right hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, his scar disappeared as he smiled at you. On his left stood James, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses as he smiled at you with such pride, before clapping his hand onto the shoulder of your father, who was right in front of you. He was cleaned up, the curls of his black hair wild as his eyes teared up, his hand slowly rising to the glass to match yours as you gently placed it onto the glass. His smile pained though when he realized he couldn’t touch you, as you drew in a quick breath. Your eyes watering as each of them, except Harry all stacked their hands on top of Sirius’s, each smiling at you as you whispered, “What happened to Voldemort?”

“I don’t know my dear.” Dumbledore whispered as you dropped your hand slowly, “But you have my word, I will never let him harm Harry. I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

“I know.” You whispered, before blinking back tears, and turning away from your family.

-When you returned from the Mirror, and went to the great hall for the final feast Fred saw the look on your face, and was quick to tap Lee on the shoulder to tell him to move, however you were already sliding next to George. When you slumped next to George, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and whispered, “Why so down Black?”

“We lost the house cup, to Slytherien of all houses.” You lied, as Ron whispered, “Don’t worry there is always next year.”

-When you got on the train platform, you noticed Hagrid handing the rectangular package to Harry, a smile on your face as you imagined the excitement the photo album would bring him.

-You were sitting in a booth with your friend group, you were laughing at one of George’s jokes when you heard the knock on the glass. You turned to see Harry standing there looking shy, clutching the album, as he gestured for you to join him in the hall. When you got out there he sheepishly asked, “Can we go sit in an empty booth?”

“Course.” You replied as you both started towards the front which was normally empty, and slided into the first empty booth. As soon as the door shut Harry opened the album to a photo of James and You, he was spinning you around in the background, while Lily laid on the floor with a baby Harry, who was playing with blocks, your father behind the lens, taking the picture as he watched you laugh in James’s arms. Your smile wide as you remembered you had the exact copy of this picture at your cottage.

“This little girl looks just like you.” He whispered, as you met his eyes.

“That’s cause it is me.”

“You knew my parents?” He asked as you smiled, “Yeah, except I knew them as Uncle James, and Aunt Lily. My dad was best friends with your dad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly, I figured you would rather want to get to know me for me, and not as the girl who could connect you to your past.”

“Do you think they would let me live with you?” He asked, your heart breaking at the thought of him going back to those abusive muggles, a thought you had been repressing for the last month, “I’m afraid not Harry, as much as I would love to, your parents wanted you to live with them. But don’t worry, I will write you every day, and before you know it, we will be back on this train, going back home.”

-When you got off the train you immediately saw Remus, and ran to him, your head burying into his chest as he hugged you back, so happy to have his little girl back. He lifted his head though just in time to see Harry following the Weasleys towards Molly and Arthur, wanting nothing more than to go introduce himself to Harry, but he knew he couldn’t.

-On the ride home you looked at Remus, “He asked me if he could come live with us.”

“I figured that would happen once he saw the pictures.” Remus calmly responded, “What did you say?”

“That Uncle Prongs, and Aunt Lily wanted him to live with the Dursley’s.”

-the rest of the car ride was silent, as you both wished that you could take him home with you.

-You really did write Harry Every day

-You were at the cottage for about a week before you went to the Burrow. Remus was happy that he got to spend some time with you, and loved listening to your stories about your second term.

-One day while you were helping weed the garden outside of the cottage, you looked towards your Uncle, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes my love?” His head lifted, his hands still in the soft dirt as he dug out the tiny roots of the unwanted greenery.

“Why do you think my father stopped writing. I mean he used to be so consistent with it, and now I...”

“Perhaps they have taken his privileges away.” Remus replied, his heart breaking as he thought of the new pile of letters hidden under his bed, some addressed to you, but most of them were directed toward Mr. Remus Lupin, and were strong worded demands for answers to his questions. The biggest one being why he was withholding his letters to his daughter.

“You don’t think he...” you paused, not wanted to say the words you were thinking. The idea of your father’s death haunting your thoughts as Remus read your mind and quickly reassured, “No my love, I doubt he is dead.”

-Before you went you expressed to him that Molly had invited him to go school shopping again with them, however you then expressed, “I am sure Harry will be coming as well, and would love to meet you.”

“Unfortunately I can’t this year, the full moon and all.” He lied, and he knew you would know it was a lie as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that he wasn’t meant to be in Harry’s life.

-When you got to the Burrow, Fred was the first out of the door, his body colliding with yours as you fell into the grass, George toppling onto you both seconds later.

-Molly stood in the window and watched the three of you in the grass, before Arthur joined her side, “She really does bring out the best in them.”

“And to think, you almost didn’t let her be their friend.” Molly replied as Arthur smiled, “Well I see now it wasn’t fair of me to judge her.”

- When they rolled off of you, you all just laid in the grass, and watched the clouds, George to your left, Fred to your right. Your fingers lifting towards the shapes the clouds made as you imagined what they could be, as the boys added their two cents.

-When it started to get dark you sat up and looked at both the boys, their brown eyes looking at you as you spoke, “So what did Mum make for dinner?”

-When you walked in Percy rolled his eyes, mostly because that last term the three of you had gotten on his nerves so much, now he was scared you would have the same late night dance parties at the house, however as soon as you saw him you smiled, “Well hello there Perfect Percy.”

-At dinner you leaned over to him and whispered, “I left it at home.” Which brought a smile to his face.

-About half way through the week, the three of you actually went to Lee’s house, which Lee was over the moon when you three agreed to go to his house for a extended weekend. As soon as you arrived Lee showed you all over the city, and you couldn’t help but chuckle when you saw a local theater, which was playing A Leauge of Their Own. You joked to the three boys that you should all go, and were shocked when they all agreed.

-You laughed the whole movie, seated between the two twins, you couldn’t help but laugh as you joking threw popcorn in your mouth.

-The twins had never been to a movie theater before, and were quickly obsessed, so every night of your vacation you and Lee found different theaters in the area and took them to at least one showing a day.

-At the end of the mini vacation you went back to the cottage, and told Remus you wanted to drive into town to get something. While out you bought a small television, a VCR and several VHS tapes, which caused Remus to chuckle, knowing that next you were going to ask if he could drive you to the burrow, since Apperating with all that would be nearly impossible.

-When you got there Molly came out the front door, a surprised look on her face as you exited the car, “[Y/N], Lupin, what are you doing here?”

“I have a present for you all.” You smiled, “since you guys have always been so kind to us. Plus I think Arthur is really going to like this.”

-Remus helped you set up the TV, as Molly watched, a smile on her face as you all silently set it up, not wanting the twins to realize you were there, since all the Weasley children were in the garden playing Quidditch. When you had finished setting everything up you explained to Molly everything you knew about the TV, as Remus sat at the kitchen Table and sipped on the cup of tea she had offered you.

- When Arthur came home, you smiled ear to ear, “Arthur, I want to show you something!”

“[Y/N] my dear, we weren’t expecting you until the 14th.” Arthur stated with a smile as you took his hand and sat him in the armchair in front of the TV.

“I know, but I was too excited to show you this, the muggles call it a television. They use it to watch broadcasts, and for entertainment purposes. This is the remote, and you can control the whole box using it.” You instructed, showing him how to use it, his eyes growing in wonder, since he had only heard about them at work, but had never had the pleasure of operating one. And now he had his very own.

“She really is a good kid Remus, Sirius would be proud of how you have raised her.” Molly whispered, as Remus turned to watch the way your eyes glimmered with joy as you explained everything to Arthur, a smile never leaving your face. Even though you were not blood with Lily, it reminded him of how Lily would explain stuff to them when they were in Hogwarts.

“I hope everyday they would all be proud of how she turned out.” He replied, “I just wish I had the same opportunity with Harry that I did with her.”

“From what Ron says, he behaves just like her, both of them would do anything for their friends, are generous, compassionate, loyal, smart, and all around wonderful. He might not have been raised with her, or among the Potter’s chosen family, but he is just like James and Lily.”

-While you were showing Arthur the tv Ginny had come in through the back door, she was going to get an ice pack for Ron, who was taunting her while they were flying, so she took Fred’s bats and hit the bulgur right at him, and hit him square in the face. Percy, who was reffing the game, immediately ended the match, and declared Ron and George the winners. However when Ginny saw you, she couldn’t help but excitingly shout, “[Y/N]!”

-While she raced to give you a hug George, and Fred looked at one another, a bloody nosed Ron standing between them, “Did Ginny just shout [Y/N]?” George asked, before looking to their hurt brother, and then back at each other, before racing into the house, leaving Ron with Percy, and no ice pack.

-They both wrapped you into large hugs, Fred squeezing you a bit tighter then George did, which Molly noticed, and with a chuckle she whispered, “So when do you think those two are finally going to get together?”

“Honestly I haven’t the slightest idea, I thought they would have already been dating by now.” Remus joked as Fred and George gushed about the movies you had picked up.

-Once the sun started to set, Remus started to rise slowly, about to tell you it was time to go, but Fred cut him off, “Mr. Lupin, do you think it would be okay if she stays, I mean the 14th is right around the corner, and she can wear my jumpers, since she fits.”

“And she can wear my pants.” George added, “and I am sure Percy has some woman’s panties she can burrow.”

-He left that night alone, chuckling lightly as he pulled away from the burrow, as he looked into the rear view mirror he saw three figures climb out of a window and onto the roof, a smile overtaking his face as he appreciated the fact that you had found yourself a friend group just like the one he had in school.

-Ginny loved to gush to you about her crush on Harry Potter, and how she was so excited to meet him. You would always listen, and whenever any of the brothers would try to talk ill of her and her schoolgirl crush, you would give them a glare, and threaten to prank them harder then any of them have ever been pranked if they didn’t shut up.

-After you gifted them the TV, Arthur started asking you about all different kinds of Muggle inventions. You didn’t know the answer to some of them, but you were always willing to research the answer for him.

-When Molly invited Remus to join them again for back to school shopping, he asked if Harry was also going to come. “I mean I know he invited both Hermonie’s family, and Harry to join.”

“Then I am afraid I can’t this year Molly, I do hope you understand.” He painfully replied, as she looked at him with sorrow in her eyes.

-When Fred, George, and Ron took the Ford Angelina to rescue Harry you chuckled, “You really don’t think your mum is gonna notice you are gone?”

“Nope, and if she does come into the room, you’ll cover for us right?” George asked as you shook your head, “Sure.”

-That morning when you got up Molly was looking at the clock, “Where did they go?” She asked, her tone severe as she crossed her arms and looked at the three hands pointed towards Away.

“They went to go get Harry.” You replied, “I told them they were idiots if they thought you wouldn’t notice.”

“That they are.” Molly replied, however before you could reply you both heard the car park, causing Molly to look at you with a devilish smile, before hiding where the four wouldn’t see her, a slight smile on your face while you walked into the kitchen and started making six cups of tea.

-When the boys entered Harry looked at you, “[Y/N], you’re here too?”

“Course she is, the boys would die without her.” Ron replied as you handed him and Harry their cups. Fred and George looking at you for any sign that their mum knew, however you gave none as you handed them their tea.

-When Harry was looking at the clock, you looked at Fred and George with a smile, “Thank you by the way for saving him.”

“No problem deary, anything to please our princess.” George joked as you made a face, “Never call me princess again.”

-Neither You or George saw the way Fred’s face looked when George called you princess, or the sparkle of envy behind his irises.

-When Molly came out from behind the wall, her hands on her hips as she stated, “Where have you been? Empty beds, no note, car gone. You could’ve died, you could’ve been seen!” You couldn’t help but smile between the twins as their faces paled, you were sure Ron’s was also paling as they stuttered for the proper words to tell Molly.

“I thought you said...” George whispered as you smiled, “You really thought I was gonna snitch on your mum?”

“But you had no problem snitching on us?” Fred replied, a bit louder then he expected.

“Oh don’t you even try to blame this on [Y/N], she didn’t have to tell me a word.” Molly retorted, before Ron added, “We had to do it Mum, they had bars on his windows, you should’ve seen it.”

“Just be glad I don’t put bars on your boy’s window.” She snapped before advancing towards Harry, “Harry, It is wonderful to see you again darling, now tell me, how have you been?”

“Honestly you really didn’t think your mum was going to get up at the crack of dawn to start the chores, and notice that the flying car was gone, or hear you guys park?” You replied as her and the two younger boys went off towards the bathroom to wash up before breakfast.

- That morning at breakfast you all sat around the long table, most of the clan still in their pajamas as Molly set down two large stacks of flapjacks. You were plopped between the two ginger twins, who both leaned forward as soon as their mother set down the plates. The only one missing from Breakfast was Ginny, so as the boys served themselves you muttered, “You guys aren’t even going to wait for your sister?”

“You snooze, you lose.” George rebuttaled as you rolled your eyes, however as soon as you heard the footsteps on the stairs you just assumed she smelled breakfast, “Mummy have you seen my jumper?”

“Yes dear it was on the cat.” Molly replied as Harry gave a cheery, “Hello.” However Ginny didn’t reply, instead she looked mortified, and raced away, as all the boys, except Harry slightly smiled.

“Have I done something wrong?” Harry asked, confusion written on his face as Ron replied, “That’s Ginny, she been talking about you all summer, but annoying honestly.”

“Don’t worry Harry, [Y/N] used to look at me the same way, and now look at us.” Fred replied as you raised an eyebrow, George adding, “More like the other way around.”

-Before you could reply though Arthur was walking through the front door, “Morning Weasleys.”

“Morning Dad.” Echoed through the kitchen, as your, “Morning Arthur.” mixed into the blend.

-Arthur told you this years later, but he always considered you to be his second daughter, and he apologized for ever doubting your intentions due to your last name.

-When Molly told Arthur about the boys driving the enchanted car, you couldn’t help but smile as he replied with genuine excitement and curiosity, “How was it?”

-You silently chuckled when Molly lightly slapped him, and he awkwardly scolded the three, however you all knew he had no desire to.

-When Arthur asked Harry about the rubber duck you smiled, Molly saw that you smiled, and knew it was because you were just glad they were so excepting of him. She didn’t know it was also because you saw a sparkle of Lily’s kindness show through his answer as he tried to explain the function of a rubber duck on the spot.

-When Errol crashed into the glass, you turned to look out the window, making sure he was okay, when George whispered, “He’s fine [Y/N], he always is.”

“Blimey, sometimes I think she loves that owl more then us.” Fred added as Errol got back up, and flew the stack of letters to the table, dropping them with a thud before flying up to purch on the stair railing.

“Scabbers is more of my favorite, you both know that.” You joked, as Percy scoffed, “Well maybe he should be your pet then.”

“Sure.” You smiled, thinking it was a serious offer, as Molly replied, “Now Percy, you know you can’t give him away, he is technically supposed to be Fred and George’s this year.”

“You can have him.” George responded

-When they were handing out the letters and saw Harry’s they handed it straight to him, however your school supplies letter was not in the mix.

“They must’ve sent it to the cabin.” You answered, before taking another bite of your flapjack, “I can always just ask my uncle...”

“Nonsense, we are all in the same classes, you can just burrow our list.” Fred answered, scared to death that you might be implying you want to go home.

“I mean, except for maybe potions.” You smiled, before looking over Fred’s shoulder to see that Dumbledore had scribbled next to potions that he wanted to make it more geared towards creating harmless pranks. George’s list had the same thing beside it, meaning that once again, you and the Twins were going to be learning with Albus instead of Snape.

“Why is it that you three never have to take potions with Snape?” Percy asked, “I mean he is an...”

“Ass.” Fred replied.

“Frederick Gideon Weasley, that is no way to talk about one of your teachers.” Molly scolded.

“Sorry mum.” He muttered, as you leaned over and whispered, “You’re not wrong.”

-You were standing in the boys room getting ready when Fred and George walked into the room, your hands searching for your shirt and bra as you stood there in your unbuttoned overalls. Both boys unphased as they flopped onto George’s bed, and looked at you furrowing your brow. “Did you throw it in the wash by mistake.” George asked as you sighed.

“Must have.”

“Here.” Fred replied, getting up quickly and tossing you a shirt from the closet they shared, your hand raising to catch the fabric before throwing it over your head, and tucked it into the overalls before buttoning them. Looking into the mirror you smiled at how well you looked in the oversized, stripped shirt. With a chuckle George joked, “Careful Freddie, she’s got that look like she is gonna steal your whole wardrobe now.”

-when you were dressed, you and the boys met everyone downstairs, as Ron gave you a odd look, “Hey, [Y/N], isn’t that Fred’s shirt?”

“Yeah, and if you mention it again, we’ll slip a spider in your room while you sleep.” Fred rebuttaled as Harry looked towards the slightly frightened boy, the twins giggling as you rolled your eyes.

-When Harry mispronounced Diagon Alley, your anxiety heightened, you knew how sensitive the floo powder system was, I mean you had been using it since you were two, as though they could sense it, George and Fred both whispered in your ear, “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he didn’t pronounce it too poorly.”

-As soon as you arrived, you went off looking for him, the Twins not far behind as you ventured to each shop and asked if they had seen a chocolate haired boy, with thin, round wire glasses, and green eyes emerge from their fire places.

-After an hour you were ready to tell the duo you wanted to go into Knockturn Alley, however you were interrupted by Hagrid’s booming voice, “Hello boys, [Y/N].”

When you turned you saw a sooty Harry, his green eyes looking at you as you smiled in relief, “Hello Hagrid, where on earth did you find Harry?”

“Found him wandering around Knockturn Alley, says he was taking the floo powder system with you and the Weasleys.”

“Well thank you for finding him, maybe now he will learn the importance of pronunciation.” You looked at him with seriousness as he looked towards the ground. You turned to walk away, and were several steps ahead when Harry looked towards George and Fred, “She isn’t seriously mad is she?”

“Nah, if she was, she would have cut your head off. If anything I think she was more worried about you, but don’t worry, we kept her sane.” Fred replied, as George smiled, “Barely.”

-When you got to the book store you rolled your eyes, and leaned towards Fred, “Honestly I have the faintest idea why everyone is so bloody obsessed with him.”

“Perhaps it is the golden curls, most girls like blondes.”

“I prefer gingers if you ask me.” You replied, not thinking twice, as Fred sheepishly smiled.

-You noticed that Harry looked extremely uncomfortable around Lockheart, “You know, sometimes I wish Harry wasn’t famous.”

“Trust me, I am sure he is wishing the same thing.” George answered

-When Lucius saw you, his lips were pulled into a thin, forced smile. You always knew that the bloodline between the Malfoys and the Blacks were now connected by the marriage of Draco’s parents, and even though you never met any of your father’s bloodline, they certainly had their own opinions about your father, and of you.

-You hadn’t noticed that he slipped in the diary, but you did hear Fred’s mutter, “Asshole.”, when he insulted Arthur by calling him a disgrace, your own blood boiling as you watched him start to leave. Looking towards Arthur you muttered, “I apologize for my father’s cousin’s miserable husband.”

“No problem my dear, it isn’t your fault that his view is skewed.” Arthur forced a smile as Fred and George looked towards you, “Want to go to Gambol and Jape’s?”

“Of course.” You smiled, before the three of you separated from the others.

-When Molly and Arthur collected you from Gambol and Jape’s you walked out with a small bag filled with stink pellets, while both twins had a arm full of fireworks.

-You three let the fireworks off that night, a huge smile on your face as the colorful embers danced through the sky. You were so preoccupied with them you failed to noticed the way Fred watched the multiple colors light up your own face, his smile growing as you smiled like a little girl as each exploded, his heart racing while you just looked so relaxed sitting in the grass by the garden. When you went inside though you took a piece of parchment and started jotting down ideas on what kind of potion based pranks you could pull, and ask Dumbledore to teach you.

- The next morning when you woke up, you were sprawled out on the cot, the snores of the two fingers filling your ears as you stretched your arms high above your head. Slowly sitting up, you heard the mattress crack and groan under the weight of you, and looked to either side of the room, a smile on your face. George looked as though he hadn’t moved all night, his faded maroon sheet draped over his body, which was facing the wall, while his quilt was neatly folded at his feet. He was facing the wall, completely laying on his stomach, his left arm under his single, matching pillow, while his forehead rested on the wrist of his right arm. You couldn’t help but chuckle too at the fact that his light green pajama shirt looked slightly too small on his flexed arm, knowing fully well that the matching striped pants almost looked too large on him. When you looked to Fred’s side though, the faded, slightly bleach stained blue sheets were a tangled mess, showing how much the older twin tossed about, the quilt he slept under throw completely to the bottom of his bed. One of his three pillows had fallen to the floor, the other two supporting his head and left arm, which was bent above him. He was laying flat on his back, his head lolled towards you, his mouth slightly open, with a small trickle of crusted drool dripping down his cheek. You smiled well though when you saw that the small hippogrif plushie he had had since childhood was safely tucked under his right arm, close to his bare chest, as a single, striped pink panted leg hung out over the side of the bed, outside of the sheets.

-After making your cot, you grabbed the closest piece of discarded shirts and pulled it over your head, concealing the tank top that you had slept in. Your feet gracefully carried you out of the room and down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom you yawned, your eyes squinting and reopening to reveal a giggling Ginny at the table, as Molly stood at the counter behind her.

“Morning [Y/N], or should I say Fred.” Ginny stated, causing you to look down and see you had blindly grabbed Fred’s sweater from your first year at Hogwarts, the dark blue knitted yarn reaching the mid thigh of your black pajama pants, while the light green F stood out on your chest. Looking at Ginny, you made a face and replied, “Well thank goodness I am the more attractive version of your brother.”

- That morning when Fred came down stair he couldn’t help but smile as he saw your dark blue back, of course you were helping his mother, who knew you would not accept her declining your assistance. However it was when you turned to put the plate filled with bacon on the table that Fred felt a slight heat rush to his cheeks, the large F staring at him before you turned back around, completely oblivious to the blushing ginger. Ginny however was not as oblivious, and as Fred sat himself in the seat across from her she leaned forward, “You better have a good reason for being the same shade as our hair, unless you want [Y/N] to figure out your in love with her.”

-When you were done prepping breakfast with Molly, you slipped into the spot next to Fred, your eyes glancing over to him as you took in the slightly fading blush that had taken over his face. “Freddie, are you okay?”

“Course, just didn’t realize how hot the kitchen was gonna be this morning.”

“Well maybe you should shrug that t shirt off and remind your siblings why you are the hottest Weasley.” You joked, not even realizing what you had said until it was too late. Your eyes grew to the size of the tea saucers on the table. Thankfully no one heard your joke but Fred, who was just staring at you with a similar.

-After that you both were wearing blushes, and were strangely quiet during the entire breakfast, however only one of the Weasleys seemed notice, the others and Harry just enjoyed the rare quiet that the adults of the house only enjoyed when their children were at school. However they were unaware how deafening it would be once all 7 children were out of the house.

-At the end of the meal while you were helping Ginny double check her luggage, George asked Fred about why you were both so quiet. As Fred zipped his own luggage, and collected yours in his other hand, he asked, “Do you think [Y/N] might have a crush on me?”

“Only one way to find out Mate.” George smirked, hoping that his brother will finally ask you out.

-When you got to King’s Cross, you couldn’t help but smile slightly, “So Ron, did you remember Scabbers?”

“Unfortunately.”

“If you want I can hold him on the train.” You offered as he thrusted the rat towards you in excitement, relieved to be rid of the family pet got at least a little while.

-As you raced into the barrier you were greeted by the warm glow of the room, and soon you had your two favorite twins at your side. Your eyes scanning the room for the uncle who said a week ago it was fine that you went with the Weasleys and he would just met you there, but he was no where to be seen.

-What you didn’t know is the Remus was standing in Azkaban, his face dropping at sight of the man he once called brother, his heart shattering at the sight of Padfoot curled up on the cement blocked floor, on just a thin mat, a holey, dusty blue blanket barely covered him as the stentch of the place hit Remus’s over sensitive nose. But he had to tell himself this is what he deserved, and after 11 years of not seeing him, he regretted ever coming.

“Sirius.” He whispered, causing the man on the floor to jump with a start, his eyes wide with fear, as his bewildered face looked towards the bar, another crack forming in Remus’s heart as he looked not at a man, but at the face of the boy he met on the train at the age of 11.

“Remus.” Sirius whispered, “This isn’t real. You are just...”

“Sirius, it is really me.” His voice cracked with empathy he didn’t want to give, he could feel the tears slowly begin to build, but for the sake of you, he refused to let them fall. He refused to feel pity about the fact that he and Dumbledore were withholding his letters from you, in an effort to protect Harry, he knew hiding this from you, even after the promise of no secrets, was the right thing to do, and he refused to have Sirius’s hollowed, deep blue eyes, no longer filled with any life make him regret that choice.

“Why have you come? It’s been years my old friend, you could have...”

“I came to answer to answer your question, that is all Sirius. I figured you would want to hear it in person rather then read it through a letter. You need to stop writing her, and me. In my option you lost the right to even call her yours the day you betrayed our best friends, the day you got her aunt and uncle blown up.”

“Remus look in your heart, would I ever turn on a James and Lily?”

“You did, and then you killed Peter, and who knows maybe I was next on your...”

“I would never kill you, or James, or Lily, Peter was the secret keeper, you can even ask Dumbledore, he knew, he knew I convinced James and Lily to do it, because I was the obvious choice.” He sounded as though he was babbling like a broken man, each syllable made Remus want to unlock that door, but he couldn’t.

“Why not have me do it, too scared the Lunar calendar would fog my judgement?”

“No..... never. Remus you must understand, at the time, we thought it was you we could no longer trust. We were foolish...”

“No, Snuffles, we were foolish for ever trusting you.”

- Remus turned to leave, his message clear to him, but as he walked away he heard the broken voice call out again, “WORMTAIL IS ALIVE, HE IS A RAT WITH NINE FINGERS! REMUS!”

- “So I never asked,” you looked at George, Scabbers sitting on your lap, his face in a box of jellybeans, “Why is Scabbers missing a toe?”

-Don’t know, Dad just brought him home like that.” Fred replied, “He really seems to like you though, sure you don’t want him?”

“Your mother would have a cow if I took him.” You replied, running a hand over his wirey furred back.

“Did we ever tell you that there is a spell that will turn him...”

“Do I look as daft as Ron?” You replied, raising an eyebrow at the twins.

-When you got to Hogwarts, you looked around for the smaller male Weasley, but him and Harry were no where to be seen. “I am sure they are already inside the carriages, you can give Ronald back his vermon in the common room, besides I doubt Scabs here would have any fun just sitting in their stinky dorm, especially when you feed the ugly thing better than Ron or Percy ever have.” Fred replied, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started towards the carriages. His arm staying in that place until you were forced to step up into the carriages that pulled themselves. However once you were both settled next to each other you unconsciously found yourself leaning into Fred’s shoulder. George looked over you, and gave his twin a knowing look, as Fred just rolled his eyes, mentally preparing for his brother to give him many looks like that after asking him if she could ever have a crush on him.

-At dinner you kept looking around the gryffindor table, Ron and Harry still no where to be found. Hermione was seated across from you as you leaned forward and asked, “Hermione, have you seen Harry or Ron?”

“Not yet, neither of them were on the train.” She answered as your eyes grew in fear, “I am sure they will show though, they probably just snuck into the kitchen for a per feast snack.”

-When you went to stand and go look for them, Lee stopped you, just before the first years all filed in, “We can look for them later, if you leave now, everyone will notice.”

-When Ginny got sorted into Gryffindor you cheered louder than everyone at the table, even louder than the other three gingers. With a large smile she jogged down the aisle and took a seat beside you, before watching everyone else get sorted.

-Ginny chuckled when she saw Scabbers sitting on your lap, his small body curled up on your skirt as you sat with a hand over him. She could see that his eyes were closed, and that he was in a peaceful bliss, which she never saw him be around the Weasleys.

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

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Tall Tale

Author’s Note: I’ve been reading for this fandom for a long time, but was never inspired to write for it until @blah-blah-fuckit-shit and I talked about our frustrations with the direction of the show. This is just me moving forward with an idea, and I might continue to write one-shots should inspiration strike. Enjoy!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 4555

Warnings: Some NSFW content, language

Ivar sat alone, away from the crowd on the dock as the twin ships coasted into Kattegat. In the absence of his father, the town had thrived as a hub for trade, and merchants from all across the seas were arriving for a chance to show their wares. Today was an Earl from Denmark, visiting with his family to discuss trade agreements with his mother.

Steps sounded behind him, and he felt a large hand come ruffle through his hair. Ubbe gave a laugh as Ivar shot him a petulant look.

"Come to catch a glimpse of her, have you?" He asked, leaning up against the pier with his arms crossed.

Ivar frowned while he patted his hair back into place. He pretended the juvenile gesture was something he'd outgrown, but admitting only to himself he knew he liked the brotherly affection between them.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Earl Alfarr's daughter," said Ubbe. "You must have heard the stories. They say he has a daughter of terrible beauty, who can enchant any man and give him the power to lord over all the lands he could ever want."

Ivar let out a scoff of indignation. "No woman is that beautiful unless she is Freyja, reborn a mortal. These stories are getting more ridiculous."

"Perhaps," Ubbe agreed. "But I wouldn't want to pass up the chance regardless of some baseless tales. If she's pretty, that is enough."

Ivar had seen some of the women his brother had bedded, and pretty didn't always seem to be in the criteria. He let out a breathy laugh for his thoughts, and returned his focus on to the family emerging from their ship.

Earl Alfarr was the first to set foot on the dock, a large man with a flat nose and iron grey hair. He held his hand out to his wife, assisting her down the plank. She was a slight creature, all sharp features, and flaxen hair held together in braids with leather cord. The Earl wrapped her up under his protective arm, and it was clear to see his wife was no shield maiden.

The fabled daughter was last to follow, and when Ivar spotted you for the first time, his heart raced with exhilaration. None but the Gods could say who the most beautiful woman was to walk the land, but you certainly were striking. It was in your hesitant smile. Your eyes spoke adventure, but not without the self awareness to be cautious. You laughed at something your father said, and Ivar longed to be close enough to hear what it sounded like.

"Well, what do you think? Is this a woman who can enchant Kings and Earls from their lands?" Ubbe asked him, his eyes gazing at the same sight.

Ivar forgot this moment wasn't private, and whatever fantasies his mind had been about to conjure had ceased. "She is fair," He reasoned.

Whatever feelings he'd been attempting to hide had not gone unnoticed by Ubbe. He looked down at him with a knowing grin. "I'm glad you approve."

"Approve of what?" Hvitserk asked, coming up behind them while crunching loudly on an apple. Sigurd was with him.

"Earl Alfarr has arrived with his family," said Ubbe. "We were just discussing his daughter."

"The temptress?" Hvitserk spat out his mouthful of apple and leapt up next to Ivar, jostling the dock with his weight.

"Ivar said she's fair," Ubbe said, clapping his hand on Ivar's shoulder.

Ivar knew his eldest brother was attempting to be helpful in including him, but when the conversation swayed towards women, he'd rather be left out.

Hvitserk let out a snort. "I wouldn't get any ideas brother. She'd be too much woman for you."

"What do you mean by that?" He snapped, shaking Ubbe's hand off.

"You've never even been with a woman," Sigurd piped up. "You wouldn't know what to do with her."

"Yeah, best leave her to one of us. A woman like that knows what she wants." Hvitserk rubbed his hand over his mouth looking hungry for something other than food.

The bickering started between them, a fight over who this woman would choose when they hadn't even met you yet. Ivar began to crawl away, none but Ubbe taking notice of his departure. When disagreements like this began, he was always ignored because they didn't consider him a threat. Sometimes it was sparring, but recently the affections of women had been added to the docket. As far as Ivar was aware, they had all been having a taste of the blonde thrall from the hall, but Earl Alfarr's daughter was a free woman, and you wouldn't be passed around like a plate of salted pork.

He dragged through the market on his way back home. Many of the stalls were empty, and most of the people had congregated to the wharf. It made his journey short, and he pulled himself up the steps of the Great Hall in search of his mother.

She always had a smile for him, and it put his mind at ease. A part of him knew his mother's love for him was misplaced since her failed marriage to his father, but it was the only sentiment he was allotted, and he took what he could get with the greediness of a dragon.

"Mother," he greeted as he hoisted himself over to the large fire burning in the pit.

"Ivar, you are back early my love." She glided her way over to him in delicate steps. The light of the fire made her hair look like it was spun from gold, and rose petals.

"Your guests have arrived, the Danes. The Earl is fat, and his wife looks like a bird."

"And what of his children? Earl Alfarr has many daughters," said Aslaug. "One is said to be a treacherous beauty."

Ivar shrugged as he threw pebbles into the fire. "It's just a story."

"Stories are what keep us alive after we've gone to Valhalla. Even fables have a stretch of truth in them, like dreams and visions."

Ivar sighed. He'd heard this all before from Floki. Despite always wanting to know more about his fate, he avoided going to the seer. There was always a whisper in the back of his mind, afraid to know that a useless cripple was all he'd ever be.

"Do you think I will marry one day?" He asked his mother.

The spontaneous question seemed to catch her off guard, but she switched to a smile that wasn't so genuine. "Of course, any woman would be lucky to have you as a husband. But why such talk of this now? You are still young, and I would prefer if it was Ubbe or Hvitserk coming to me with such news."

Ragnar had not been much older than him when he first married Lagertha, but Ivar didn't dare say as such to his mother. As much as he coveted for her attention, she in turn clung to him. It was difficult to imagine her taking to another woman in his life. He felt trapped, like a carriage sinking in the mud, doomed to be the forgotten son of Ragnar with no family or titles to his name.

"Well," His mother said, breaking the silence. "We should have the feast prepared for our guests. They will have rooms prepared here with us. No more talk of wives or dreams today my son."

She leant down and placed a kiss on his temple before leaving to gather the thralls. The hustle to set the hall began all around him, but Ivar remained in place, staring into the fire as if it held the answers to his future.

When his brothers returned, Ivar had already claimed his seat at the table beside his mother. The rambunctious chatter of his siblings settled as they assumed their own spots at the table. Ubbe leaned over to get his attention.

"You left before getting a chance to speak to the Earl and his family."

"They're staying with us, I'm sure I'll get my time," Ivar murmed into his horn of mead.

His eldest brother was quick to realize he was being brushed off, and he righted his position in his chair just as the doors to the hall opened. Earl Alfarr was with his family, being led by a thrall who presented them to the Queen.

"You are a gracious host, Queen Aslaug, and a personal greeting by your sons was most appreciated," Alfarr boomed, his voice deep like a war drum.

"I am honored you've traveled this far to treat with me. We have prepared rooms for you and your family. I hope they will be to your liking, as I know Kattegat is far colder than your home," Aslaug spoke as she sipped on her ale. She beckoned her thralls forward, and they prepared seats for the Earl's family. "Please join me and my sons for your first meal."

Ivar kept his eyes down on his plate, picking at the food with little appetite. The warmth of the mead going down his throat was the only comfort that could satiate him. He snuck glances when he could at you as you spoke amicably with his brothers. Your mother would lean over every so often and would whisper something in your ear that had you smiling. It got Ivar curious as to what was being said, but more than that, he wondered what it would feel like to press his mouth near the crook of your neck and whisper words to turn you red.

The calming presence your family brought settled over the rest of the hall, and it was one of the first meals that didn't end with the brothers shouting. Aslaug invited you and your mother to weave with her in the morning, and Alfarr requested Ubbe to accompany him through the market to educate him on trade in Kattegat.

As the thralls began to clear the table of empty plates and food scraps, you stood from your chair. "Thank you Queen Aslaug for the food and shelter, but the journey was long, and I am exhausted."

"Of course," Aslaug said as she signaled for Margrethe. "Please take (Y/N) to the room we have prepared for her."

"No (Y/N), don't go so soon," Hvitserk begged, reaching for your hand.

"I have a song prepared for you," Sigurd added.

You smiled while pulling your hand out of Hvitserk's grasp. "Tomorrow, there will be time for you to entertain me, but for now I need rest."

Before you left the table, Ivar raised his head to catch one last look at your face. You were staring back, a coquettish grin turning your mouth upwards. A wave of heat washed over him, and he flicked his eyes away. His gut clenched, leaving him unsettled and curious. What did you want from him?

ooOOoo

Ivar was one of the last to turn in for the night. After the meal he had wandered down to Floki's, unaware he had done so until he had arrived at the boat builder's home. He'd been in search of another voice to help him unravel his thoughts about the future, and who better than the staunch believer of the Gods?

With Floki, sometimes his cryptic responses and blithe giggle left more questions than answers, and Ivar went away frustrated. In his heart he felt he was destined for greatness, but he didn't know how it would all come about. He hated the uncertainty of the unknown. If the Gods had already decided his fate, why couldn't he know now?

He made his way through the hall, the fire now low, and with just a handful of thralls cleaning away the remains of the feast. Sometimes an eye would float his way, but they paid him little mind. Ivar often retired later than his brothers, the pain in his legs keeping him awake at odd hours. Tonight it had been his racing thoughts.

When Ivar came to his room, he thought he had entered another's chambers by mistake. There was a lump occupying the center of the pallet of furs, and as he dragged himself around the corner, it was your head poking out among the covers.

He wasn't sure if you had been feigning sleep, but your eyes shot opened the moment he came near. A coyness fell over you, and the furs fell to your waist as you sat up.

"Hello handsome," You greeted. Your hair was now loose and wild, a far cry from the tight braids it had been in at the feast.

"Woman, did you get lost along the way to your room?" Either that or Margrethe had done this on purpose, but he doubted a thrall could be so bold.

"So you can speak," You said, throwing the furs off as you slid to the edge of the bed. You were dressed in a pale blue gown, with white rabbit fur trim on the sleeves and collar. Apparently you had gone to your room at a time to change, and had made your way back down the hall with his family's rooms. "You hardly said a word during the feast. I was beginning to think your tongue didn't work."

Ivat scowled for what you said. "Just because I choose to use my words more carefully than my brothers. I don't babble about like an idiot."

"No, I didn't think so."

"What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed, wanting to come across as intimidating even though he was distracted by the light tapping of your bare feet on the floor while you dangled on the side of his bed. "Did you happen to mistake my room for one of my brothers?"

"I'm exactly where I want to be," You said with your sweet smile. "And I did not want one of your brothers to come to my room, especially the one with the funny looking hair."

Sigurd. Ivar couldn't stave off the grin at your assessment of him. "What do you want then?"

"I'll confess I did not come to Kattegat with my family for an interest in the trade of goods." You came up from the bed, only to kneel down before him on the ground. Ivar swallowed thickly as you brought a hand to his face. "I am the youngest of six daughters, and all of my sisters are married. There are few men of worth or importance left back home that aren't already married. I'm looking for a husband."

"Ubbe is the oldest," Ivar hurried to say as his heart raced. "You should be with him."

"Ubbe is kind, but he is not ready for a wife if he is still playing under the skirts of thralls," You said as your fingers danced their way up into his hair. "And neither of your other brothers are fit to be leaders, not like you, Ivar."

"Stop," he said, grabbing your hands in his to stop your tantalizing teases. "You don't know anything about me. Just because you're beautiful you think you can charm any man, but I won't be a part of your game. Go find another Ragnarsson to use your spell on."

All the confidence went out of you like the passing of a storm, and you slid your hands from his grasp. "That ridiculous rumor again, and here I thought the sons of Ragnar would be above all of that."

Without a word you gathered your skirts, and headed for the door with your eyes downcast. Ivar's face twisted into confusion, and he held up a hand, as if reaching for you. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I'm sure you're well aware of the story of Earl Alfarr's daughter, a woman so beautiful that she can have any man and his lands. The woman in that story is not me, it's my eldest sister, Saldís. It was just a tale, spread by my father and her husband to gain clout amongst the other Earls." You crossed your arms while looking guarded. "That stupid lie has followed me everywhere I go."

His first assumption about the rumor being false had been correct. Ivar flushed like a fool. You had come to his room, seeking him out because it was what you wanted. The only threat to him not winning the favor of a beautiful woman was himself.

"Don't leave yet," He mumbled, hating the taste of failure. "I'm sorry...alright."

"Maybe I overstepped as well," You replied as you pulled away from the door, striding back to the furs where you took a seat. "Fortune favors the bold, or so I've been told, but you probably didn't want a strange girl intruding on your room."

You were the first woman to come to his chambers willingly. Not a thrall, and not his mother. Ivat felt a sudden shyness, which he tried to overcome by climbing onto the bed beside you.

"You called me handsome."

Your head spun to face him, and you let out a laugh for his jest. "Yes, and you called me beautiful. There's a boldness in you as well."

"Is that why you think I'd make for a good leader, and husband," He prodded, longing to hear more of your compliments.

"Maybe, and I'm sure there's more about you waiting to be uncovered," You said, your eyes searching his face. "I didn't mean to come across as desperate with the whole husband business. It's just...all of my sisters are married, and it's lonely for me. It's horrible being alone."

Your words were his. He had thought them a thousand times, wondering if the Gods had made him to be the loneliest mortal on midgard. Now he was sure you were fated to meet.

"Stay with me tonight," He spoke the words fast, afraid he'd hold them in otherwise.

You made a sound of delight, and your soft hand fell over his. "Yes, but only if you promise to come back to Denmark with me when I leave. I want to show you my home."

Ivar had never left Kattegat, but a yearning for adventure was what he had been seeking. This was the Gods way of guiding him to his future.

"I've always wanted to see new places," He said, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I will go with you."

You lit up with surprise. "I'm happy to hear you say that. I didn't think you would accept."

"Never offer anything you aren't willing to lose," Ivar advised as his hands started to trace up your arms.

You pulled away, and for a moment he was afraid he had become too forward, but you did not go far. You stood before him, your knees touching his and trapping him on the bed. Ivar felt like twitching. He did not want you to feel his frail legs.

"I feel like the victor, so please allow me to be bold once more and offer something else."

You paused, as if toying with an idea in your mind. Abandoning reserve, you reached for the large collar of your gown and slid it down your shoulders. The heavy fabric dropped down your body with haste, and pooled at your ankles.

Ivar had seen women naked before, but always by mistake. Usually it was catching the thralls with his brothers, moments that were not meant for him. Standing before him bare in the night, with nothing but the flicker of the low fire light dancing across your skin, you were there to be admired by his eyes only. He leaned forward, lips parting. One of his brothers would have said something arousing, but all of his quick wit left him as he drank in the sight of you.

You took a step, raising your leg free from your dress, and bracing it up on the furs beside him. Ivar didn't know what to do with his hands as you lowered yourself onto his lap, so he fisted the soft material between his fingers. He wanted to touch you, but everything he had seen in those stolen glances at Margrethe with his brothers was forgotten. It was you on top of him, the warmth you gave off reminding him of that.

"I've never shown myself to a man before," You whispered, pressing your forehead against his. "Touch me, Ivar."

You were a free woman, and daughter of an Earl, choosing to come to his bed. In his mind, he had made peace with the idea that any woman who would come to him would be a thrall. But you, a woman of high standing, was draped over him and begging to be touched. When your hands laced together at the back of his neck, he reached for your breasts, and gave them a soft squeeze.

You shuttered and gasped, causing Ivar to let go. "No, don't stop. I've just never had a man's hands on my body like that, and yours are rough and strong."

Feeling more reassured, he brought his hands back to your chest. Your nipples cut to points under his palms, and the soft flesh was pliable beneath his fingers. His cock grew half hard at your moans, and you brought your lips down on his. His hands were trapped up against you as you pressed tight to him, and he struggled to keep his mouth closed until you bit his lip. Your tongue plunged into his mouth, and Ivar finally gave way to his first groan.

When you pulled back, Ivar tried to follow with his mouth, but you pressed a finger to his lips. "I want to feel your flesh on mine."

Your hands pulled at the hem of his tunic, and he helped you slip him free from the garment. Just as soon as the night air touched his skin, you had pressed your front up against his chest. Your breasts squeezed together, forming a thin cleavage between them that he wanted to press his face into. When your hands started for his hips, it was like being thrown into the frozen fjord, and the spell broke.

He latched his hands firmly on your wrists, halting you. "Don't," He said, breathless and angry.

"I'm sorry," You said, and there was no animosity in your words. "We can stop for now. I just want to stay beside you."

His cock was starting to go limp as his heart slowed and the disappointment began to ascend. The feeling was not unfamiliar. He had never pulled on himself like most men would do when unable to find female company. Whenever his cock had stirred to life, he would wait until it receded. Having you perched on his lap, a wet and sticky spot forming on his crotch from your rutting, he felt ashamed.

"I won't know how to please you," He confessed, his voice small.

"Yes, you will," You retorted. You reached down between your thighs, gathering your slick on two of your fingers before bringing them up to his lips. As you smeared your love on his lips, Ivar opened his mouth for a taste, and sighed with contentment. "We will do everything together. There is time for us, and I don't want it to be a quick and meaningless hump."

"It won't be," Ivar said, his eyes locking onto yours. You let out a yelp as he suddenly pulled you down on the bed with him, your body still held firm against his. "You will stay?"

You had already started to drape a large fur over the both of you before settling with your face pressed into the hollow of his throat. Your tongue was hot as you traced it through the divot. "That is my promise. I won't go until you tell me to."

Now that Ivar had you, it seemed unreasonable to conceive the idea of ever letting you go. He had you, and you would always be his. While you fell unconscious beside him, his fingers traced up and down the skin of your back, only coming to still once he joined you in sleep.

ooOOoo

"Where could she have gone so early?"

Ivar awoke to voice just outside his door, a cascade of quarreling that he recognized as his brothers. They had managed to wake you with their ruckus, as you stretched and shifted with a groan. You smiled down at Ivar, remaining above him as you were when he had taken you to bed.

"They are like a gaggle of geese. Are they always like this?"

"They never stop."

You were about to say more, when Hvitserk's shouting broke through the air.

"Ivar!"

He came in through the door without so much as a knock, stopping short as he spotted your naked back. Ivar pressed his fingers deeper into your flesh, possessing you.

"Umm...what?" He stared at the both of you, his brows high on his forehead and his mouth opened. "I found her, Sigurd."

"No, don't call him--" Ivar started, but it was too late.

Sigurd came in with Ubbe following, and they appeared just as astonished at the sight of you.

You didn't seem to mind the attention, rather you played into their surprise by caressing your hand against Ivar's face.

"I suppose I'll have to join with our mothers soon. They are looking forward to weaving," You said aloud to no brother in particular.

Sigurd was the first to react, letting out a huff while blowing passed Ubbe to the door.

Hvitserk's face broke out into a grin, and he let out a barking laugh. "Well played, little brother. I hope she earns you many lands."

"I will," You said, turning to Ivar as your breath tickled his skin, and your words rattled his heart.

When it was just Ubbe who remained, he kept a respectable distance by the door. The look on his face was one of contentment. "Tell me Ivar, do you still think she is fair?"

Ivar felt the heat rise to his face, and it was difficult not to seem bashful as you watched him with curiosity. "Go away," He grumbled, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

Ubbe chuckled. "That's what he said to me when he first saw you on the docks. You are fair (Y/N), and I hope you keep each other happy."

He shot out of the room after, but not before Ivar lobbed a mug of stale mead at him as a parting gift. His reaction had you laughing, and you sat up with the furs falling down to your hip.

"Perhaps I cast a spell on you after all," You teased.

Ivar's eyes shot open, and you let out a shriek as he pulled you back down beside him. "And how are you planning on winning me these lands? You aren't the woman in the story, remember?"

"I know that, but your brothers don't. Why not have a little fun first?" You said as you ran your hand over his arm that held you.

There was something devious in your smile that Ivar loved to see. He kissed you again, slow and patient in his victory. His future might have remained clouded, but the Gods had fated him to you, and that was enough to give him the courage to face the unknown.

#vikings #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #ivar fluff #ivar fic #history vikings #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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speechlessxx · 4 years

Text

Bring Him Light - iii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The reader confronts King Steven.

Warnings: nothing really... just really wordy. pretty uneventful.

Word Count: 2.1k

Note: This originally had 4K+ (+ because i’m still writing) but I opted to cut this chapter in half because it felt overloaded. Forgive me.

I hope you enjoy!

Bring Me Light Masterlist

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Tensions quickly rose after that night. Even those without eyes could see that you steadily avoided the king. Any time King Steven entered a room you previously occupied, you found a reason to leave.

Rumors had begun to swirl.

Some told the tale of how you were displeased with the king – displeased with the arranged marriage. You were seen as the fiery princess of York, defiant and headstrong like your king father who was at war with their nation years ago. You were unwilling to settle down even if it meant you would be queen to a respected nation and the wife to a revered king. Your actions proved to be a rejection – a rejection of Brooken, of their king – and the people began to resent you even before you took your place at Steven’s side.

Some spun a story that further supported the rumors you heard in York and even in Brooken itself. Some said you saw the king’s cruelty firsthand and have plans to flee. Perhaps you ignoring the king was a ploy to get him to dismiss you, send you back to York, so that you did not marry him. Some said that the king would kill you for your defiance and instead of giving their king a son, you would give him another widow.

You heard the rumors. Every whisper, every mutter, every side eye and glance – you saw and heard it all. But you paid it no mind. As you did the king, you simply ignored the rumors. It did you no good to entertain them.

The king’s words still hung in the air every time you managed to look at him. The threat still as vibrant. It frightened you. Who was the man that smiled with you, entertained you, commissioned you a bow, and called you my love? Was he the same man in the dungeon – ordering the torture of a prisoner?

You hoped they were different people. That the king was not cruel as the rumors painted him out to be. Were you just naïve?

Visitors have started pouring into the castle. Nobles, royalty alike ready to bear witness to your marriage. It was a promising union. The north finally putting aside their years of discord and hostility to unite for peace – to unite against the Mad King who continued to claim more land. It was a treaty between York and Brooken that was symbolized by rings wrapped around yours and King Steven’s fingers.

You stared on as the servants brought in your throne. “Pivot!”, “Up! Up!”, “To the right! The other right, you imbecile!” the man in charge ordered around. You chuckled to yourself at the man’s frustrations.

In York, your father’s throne stood tall and proud with intricate designs of red and gold – your house colors displayed proudly. Your mother’s had the same overall aesthetic and elegance but was much smaller – “dainty,” she called it, “as a queen, as a lady should be.” It was a decorative piece made to compliment the king’s seat like how a queen was to compliment a king.

It didn’t seem as if Brooken shared the same ideal. You didn’t know this, but King Steven believed that a queen isn’t just an accessory or a figurehead or a birther of heirs. He liked to believe that a queen was an equal to a king – that they were partners working together to make their kingdom great.

And it was made visual by the elegant bronze thrones whose heights were equal. They were tall and daunting. Terrifyingly beautiful.

“Do you like it?” You nearly jumped out of your own skin. Steven had snuck up behind you while you were lost in your admiration. You made an attempt to walk away, but he grabbed your upper arm gently and prevented you from fleeing. He leaned in and whispered, “we need to welcome our guests.”

“I believe that is your duty as king.” You simply responded. You tugged your arm out of his grip and with servants, lords, and other witnesses around you both, he let you go without struggle.

“I believe as Brooken’s future queen, it is your duty as well.” His voice was low. You couldn’t quite make out where his tone was. Was he angry? Was he teasing? You weren’t sure. It seemed as if Steven had a hidden talent for acting. One second he was charming, kind, and laughing with you the next he would probably snap at you, send you away to the dungeon to get your teeth ripped out. “And I’ll introduce you to the nobles you do not know. Acquaint yourself with your people.”

You wanted to retort that Brooken’s people were his people not yours – that York was your home and its people were your people. But you decided to remain silent and nod because he was right. As Brooken’s future queen, it didn’t matter where you were born or where you grew up or what blood ran through your veins. Upon your marriage, Brooken’s people will become your people too.

»————-　⚜　————-««

As the last of the guests left, Steven ordered everyone in the throne room to leave. Everyone slowly started to file out and you were making your way through the doors as well when he grabbed your hand and asked you to stay. You glanced over at Natasha, whom you confided in of what you heard in the dungeon, who gave you a reassuring nod.

“I know what you heard.” He muttered as soon as the doors shut. You glanced around the room. You were completely alone with the king. You felt a chill go through you. You didn’t like his tone, but you weren’t a pushover. You were a Stark.

So, you stared at his eyes, your voice strong like you, and said, “Does the man still have his teeth?” You cocked your head to the side. That caught him off guard.

He assumed you would deny it. He prepared for the confrontation. He imagined you’d argue that rose was a popular scent among women because of literature that described their heroines with that very scent. He’d counter and tell you that servants admitted to seeing you flee. He wasn’t prepared for you to come clean.

Steven raised his brows at you, amused. “This isn’t a joke, Steven. What does that man know that you need to? And would it kill you to show compassion to someone whom you’ve already imprisoned? He begged water and you denied him that. Perhaps if you listened to his needs, he’d provide you with the intel you’re desperate to know. Perhaps if you showed a little restraint instead of playing a power card like a king and listened like a good man would, then others wouldn’t paint you with such cruelty.”

“He’s a traitor. I needed him to tell me who else in my court, in my country that plot for my downfall.” You weren’t expecting that… Of course, you knew that others plotted against their monarchs. It’s how King Thanos gathered support and was able to infiltrate countries in the rate he does.

The king seized your hands, catching you off guard. His thumb gently grazed the finger where your wedding ring would be placed in two days. “I want to wash the toxicity away from my country, my court. I want to quash the unrest. I really do. I want my kingdom to be happy, stable, to flourish. I want to do it with you by my side. I trust you. And I understand this marriage isn’t what you may have wanted, but I want us to grow to tolerate one another, to find happiness in one another. I apologize if I frightened you. I understand my reputation on the battlefield is rather… unwelcoming.”

“It’s frightening, yes,” you agreed with a nod and swallowed. “I think I do need to stop listening to servant gossip. I apologize for my part in our current unhappiness. I do want that though. I may be of York and a Stark, but I do want Brooken to be successful, to be great. I want happiness and I want love. Two things I thought that I will not get in this marriage.”

“We might not be at the current position to love each other. We have only met nearly weeks ago.” He agreed.

“But perhaps, we can grow to it. We will be bound together for eternity soon after all.” You offered him a smile, one that he returned.

He was relieved to hear you say that you two were on the same page. It was refreshing. Steven glanced down at your lips. Your smile as enchanting and beautiful as you. He wasn’t sure if it was an overstep, but the glint in your eyes told him it might not be. So, he took the chance and pulled you closer to him.

You gasped as you lost your footing and crashed against the king, but he held you up and flush against his body. You stared up at him in surprise. His smile was still there. You wondered if the reason why he never smiled in his portraits was because the artist would be distracted. His smile was hypnotizing. You could stare at him forever.

And slowly, he leaned in. You remembered how he was with a bow and arrow. Quick, precise, confident. The man leaning down towards you was unsure – his movements slow but deliberate. He was so close that you felt his breath on your face. You held yours in.

“What are you waiting for?” You whispered.

He smirked. Outspoken and amusing. He would never get tired of you. Steven leaned in, closing the gap between your lips. Your eyes fluttered close, as did his, as you both moved in unison.

You found your footing again, balancing yourself and melting into him. A bit shy and inexperienced – this was your first kiss after all – you tried to pull away, but Steven’s hands gently cupped your cheeks and held you in place. He grew intoxicated by your scent of roses, quickly becoming addicted to the taste of your lips. He felt a fire igniting within himself, the embers spelling out your name. You both got lost in the passion that neither of you expected to be there.

Suddenly, a cough caused you two to quickly separate. Wide eyed, you turned and saw your father’s entertained smirk. You blushed and looked down, curtsying to your king father.

“Tony.” Steven greeted. He wiped his lips as subtly as he could, but the older king saw it as did the queen at his side with a similar expression with her eyebrows raised. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“I grew impatient. Made our driver go faster.” Your father smirked as he turned to you. You bit on your lower lip as your eyes wandered around the room. “Did we interrupt something?”

“No.” You and Steven said in unison.

Your father had a knowing smirk on his face. “Daughter, you look lovely. I take it you’re enjoying your time in Brooken?”

“Yes, father,” you nodded. You nearly rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“My love, stop teasing.” Your mother chastised, slapping his shoulder. She opened her arms for you and you gave her a smile as you accepted her hug. “I told you.” She muttered in your ear low enough so only you heard it. You blushed even more as you pulled away from her and stood at Steven’s side.

“I’m sure the journey was tiresome. Shall I call for a servant to escort you to your rooms?” You asked, forcing a courteous smile. Your mother smiled and nodded. “Mother, is Morgan and Harvey with you?” You were eager to see your younger siblings – and honestly quite relieved that they hadn’t witnessed yours and Steven’s moment.

Her smile quickly faded as she glanced to your father, wordlessly asking him to help. The York King simply waved his hand and shook his head. “Morgan’s far too young to be traveling right now.” You found that odd. Your mother wouldn’t have simply left her months old infant in the care of the nannies. She would’ve wanted to supervise and micromanage them as she did with Harvey and undoubtedly with you. “And Harvey’s …” He paused for a moment. “Your brother’s exhausted from his constant training. We decided it was best if we left the children in our castle.”

“Of course.” Steven nodded. “Please,” he smiled and motioned for the doors. He offered you his arm which you smiled and took as you both led your parents out of the throne room and into the corridors. You asked one of the servants who passed by to escort the other pair to their chambers. After your parents left you two once again, Steven took your hand and brought it to his lips. “Two days.”

“Two days.” You agreed with a nod.

#bring him light #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers imagine #chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #captain america x reader #captain america

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writer1 · 3 years

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A regretful Wolf and his Beauty

Chapter Eight

Beast!Rex x Fem!reader

Summary: As punishment for his actions, young prince Rex was cursed to become a monster by a witch. The only thing that saved him from his fate was an enchantress, who gave him a condition. He has to find true love in order to redeem himself and he only has until the last petal of the enchanted rose falls. Rex's family helps you by guiding your way into his heart. Rex's fate now lies in your hands.

A/N: This is a collaborative fic with @ahsokatano-thetogruta.

Warnings: harassment, Hurt, injury, wolf attack.

Twelve and a half years later…

"(y/n)?" You hear a couple of knocks at your bedroom door. "Are you awake yet, Sweetie?"

"Yeah, I'm awake, Papa." He hears your muffled voice from the other side of the door, making him smile. "Okay, I'll go and make you some breakfast."

"Thank you, I'll be down in a bit." You call to him as he heads downstairs. You blink your eyes open to see the sun shining through your curtains, brightening up the room. Getting out of bed, you head over to the corner of your room where your armour sits on its stand. You grab your clothes that go under it, putting them on. Piece by piece, you strap the armor to your body securely, making sure that nothing is loose so it won't fall off.

Once fully armoured, you head downstairs to the kitchen where your Papa, Bail, has set out the table with cutlery and has almost finished making breakfast. "How are you this morning, Shiny?" You smile at the nickname as you sit down in your usual place at the table. "I'm good thank you." You remember how the nickname came to be, female knights weren’t exactly… encouraged in your village.

The boys that trained with you would make fun of you and called you Shiny. It means naive for knights, but you stuck it to them when you took a liking to the name and kept it. Now no one calls you by anything but Shiny. You’re almost positive that some people have forgotten your given name. You start eating your breakfast, wondering what's going to happen today in this boring town.

xxx

You begin to sing out as you leave your house "Little town, it's a quiet village. Every day like the one before. Little town full of little people, waking up to say…"

You hear the Townsfolk greeting one another as you walk through town.

You gesture to a bigger set twi’lek man. “There goes the baker with his tray, like always. The same old bread and rolls to sell, every morning just the same. Since the morning that we came, to this poor provincial town, never an adventure for a knight.”

The baker walks over to you. "Good morning, Shiny." You turn to him with a smile. "Good morning monsieur."

"Where are you off to?" He asks, it's not very often that you don't stay in your yard to train. You smile, holding up the book you have in your hand. "The bookshop, I just finished the most wonderful story. It was about a beanstalk, and an ogre, and a---"

"That's nice. MARIE the baguettes, hurry up." The baker walks away, you huff. You never have anyone to talk to about books, or being a knight. Besides your father.

The Townsfolk talk to each other as you pass by, all dressed in your armor and feeling proud wearing it. "Look, there she goes. The girl is strange, no question, wanting to be a knight like all the men.

She's dazed and distracted, can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd."

"Cause her head's up on some cloud

No denying she's a funny girl, that Shiny." You walk through as you see so many different people and aliens talking to each other.

"Bonjour."

"Good day!"

"How is your family?" a Chiss man asks another Togrutan woman.

"Bonjour."

"Good day."

"How is your wife?" A human woman asks another human man. His wife hits him in the head with a rolling pin, making you flinch.

"I need....six eggs."

"That's too expensive!"

"There must be more than this provincial life!" You sing out as you walk through town. You walk into the bookstore.

“Ah, Shiny. It’s good to see my favorite knight in here.” You smile at Tera Sinube, he is a retired Cosian knight, now a librarian. He tells stories of working in a castle to protect a king and queen. The castle was filled with their family. It was a big family, as he says.

“Good morning. I've come to return the book I borrowed” you hand him over the book.

He looks surprised as he chuckles. “Finished already?”

“Oh I couldn't put it down. Have ya got anythin' new?” You ask looking around the bookstore at the variety of fantasy books. You climb up on one of the ladders.

“Not since yesterday.” Tera Sinube chuckle's out again.

“That's alright. I'll borrow this one!” You grab a familiar book, handing it to librarian Sinube. “That one? But you've read it twice!” He laughs out. “Well it's my favourite. With far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!” you tell him as you move the ladder with wheels so that you glide to him.

“Well, you will have your own adventures with daring sword fights some day, but if you like it all that much, it's yours!” you feel surprised “But sir?!?” He hands you the book, smiling.

"I insist, Shiny!" He gestures that it's no problem, your eyes sparkle with excitement “Well thank you, thank you very much!” You exit the shop into the busy street. You start reading the book as soon as you leave, you know the town well enough that you won’t get hurt.

“Look, there she goes, that girl is so peculiar

I wonder if she's feeling well.”

A group of girls stare at you as you walk by them, they don't sing but they grumble. “With a dreamy, far-off look.” some of the men sing, but you don't hear them. “Always training and her nose stuck in a book.” some of the other women sing.

“What a puzzle to the rest of us is Shiny.” the whole town sings, but you don't hear it at all while reading.

Your eyes widen when you read your favourite part of the book “Ohhhhhh....isn't this amazing?! It's my favorite part because....you'll see. Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him till chapter three!”

“Now it's a wonder that her name doesn’t mean beauty. Her looks have got no parallel” A Twi'lek woman peers out of the window of her home.

A shopkeeper stands by the door of his shop “But with that tough façade, I'm afraid she's rather odd. Very different from the rest of us.”

“She's nothing like the rest of us

Yes, different from the rest of us is Shiny.” The whole townsfolk sing, then Maul walks into the picture, but you walk past him and his naive, eleven and a half year old follower Ezra Bridger. “Wow you didn't miss a shot Maul! You're the greatest hunter in the whole world!”

“I know.” A red Zabrak with black tattoos, named Maul, runs his hand over his head, feeling the small horns.

“No beast alive stands a chance against you, haha...and no girl for that matter.”

“It's true Ezra, and I've got my sight set on that one.” Maul crouches down to the eleven year old boy, pointing towards you walking by.

Ezra is surprised. "The inventor's daughter!? The only female knight in town!!?” Maul nods at him, eyes trained on you. “She's the one, the lucky girl I'm going to marry.”

“But she's--” Ezra tries to add in but he gets interrupted. “The most beautiful girl in town”

“I know but--”

“That makes her the best! and don't I deserve the best?” Maul crouches down to the boy, getting in his face, scaring Ezra.

“Well of course, I mean ya do, but I…” Ezra mumbles something, but Maul begins to sing.

“Right from the moment when I met her, saw her, I said she's gorgeous and I fell. Here in town it's only she, who's as beautiful as me. So I'm making plans to woo and marry, Shiny.”

Three Twi'lek triplets swoon at Maul. "Look there, he goes! isn't he dreamy?

Monsieur Maul! oh, he's so cute!

Be still, my heart! I'm hardly breathing!

He's such a tall, dark, strong, and handsome brute!" They sing together as Maul tries to get through the crowd of villagers.

“Bonjour.” one man yells out. “Pardon!” Maul asks as he tries to get through the crowd.

“Good day.” “Mais oui!” Maul keeps getting blocked by people, no matter what way he goes. “You call this Bantha?” one man exclaims to a vender. “What lovely Meilooruns!” a Chiss woman tells another.

“Some cheese…” “Ten yards!” “One Credit.” Maul pushes his way through. “`Scuse me!” “I'll get the knife.” the cheese merchant tells the customer.

“Please let me through!!” Maul demands. “This bread.” “Those fish.” “It's stale.” “They smell!” Maul can't believe that the streets have to be this busy on this particular day.

“Madame's mistaken!” the Baker exclaims angrily.

“There must be more than this provincial life!” You sing out again, wishing for more adventure.

Maul strutting through the crowd

“Just watch....I'm going to make Shiny my wife!” He's still unable to get to you.

"Look there she goes....a girl who's strange but special. A most peculiar mademoiselle." The whole town sings again, but you hear none of it, you once again have your nose in your book.

"It's a pity and a sin, she doesn't quite fit in. Cause she really is a funny girl. A beauty but a funny girl. She really is a funny girl.....that Shiny!!" The whole town sings, followed by many bonjours before they all close their doors and windows, going back to their business, finished with the song.

You shrugged as you went back to reading your book. A second later, someone jumps down in front of you. “Hello, Shiny.” you recognize his voice. “Bonjour, Maul.” you greet him, reluctantly looking up from your book.

While he had your attention, Maul snatched the book from your hands. You feel annoyed, but you are still polite to him. “Maul, can I have my book back please?”

Maul opens the book, looking at it closely while you try to take it back from him. He huffs as he struggles to read it. “How can you read this? There are no pictures." You step back and cross your arms “Well, sometimes you just gotta use your imagination.” Maul's eyes widen and then he turns around to you, smirking.

”Shiny, you need to get your head out of those books.” He throws your book behind him into a puddle. “You need to focus on more important things.” he steps in front of you before you could get to your book. “Like me.”

Off to the side of the street, a group of girls sigh dreamily as they admire Maul.

"The whole town's talking about it. It's not right for a woman to read, let alone be a knight. That's a man's job. Soon she starts getting ideas, and thinking." Maul starts to sound almost like he's grossed out, making you mad. You earned your place among the knights, and he has no right to tell you otherwise. You pick up your book, turning to him.

"Maul, you are positively primeval. I can be whatever I want to be, and I'm a knight." Maul huff's at you, but brings back his smile.

"Right… Right. What do you say you and me take a walk over to the tavern, and take a look at my trophies?" Maul starts pulling you towards the tavern, you've had enough. No more nice Shiny.

"No." You tell him, ripping your arm out of his grip. You give him a challenging smirk. "What's wrong with her" "she's crazy." "He's gorgeous." The triplets say in rapid succession, as you try to walk away from Maul.

"I have to get home to help my father now, Maul. Maybe some other time. Goodbye." You tell him, a little too happily. Then you hear the snickering coming from young Ezra.

"That crazy old loon, he needs all the help he can get." The young boy laughs as Maul joins in.

"Ezra Bridger, don't you dare talk about my father that way!" You yell, Maul stops laughing. He fixes Ezra with a stare that the boy knows means that he's going to get a beating when they get home.

"Yeah, don't talk about her father that way!" You are mad. "My father is not crazy, he's a genius." They suddenly hear an explosion and you go running. Leaving Maul and Ezra's laughing behind.

xxx

You rush into your house, running straight to the basement. You grab your helmet on the way down, just in case there is flying debris. It wouldn't be the first time. "Papa!" You call out through the smoke, coughing. "Papa!!" You yell again, almost down to your father's workshop.

"How in the force did that happen?!" You hear Bail yell out as the smoke starts to clear. "Are you alright, Papa?" You see him stuck beneath some rubble, so you reach your hands out and close your eyes, concentrating. The wood and machinery parts start to lift up into the air.

"Thank you, Shiny." He sighs with frustration. "I'm about to give up with this hunk of junk!" You chuckle at him.

"You always say that." He kicks his invention and storms away from it. "I mean it this time. I'll never get this boneheaded contraption to work!"

You smile and shake your head, walking over to him. "Yes you will. And you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow." Bail raises an eyebrow at you crossing his arms, turning away from you in a huff "Hmph."

"And become a world famous inventor." You smile at him as he turns his head round "You really believe that?" He doesn't sound so convinced.

"I always have." You give him a promising smile. Bail soon feels so much better from your words of support. "Well, what are we waitin' for?" He runs over to his invention. "I'll have this thing fixed in no time!" Grabbing a spanner, he gets to work on his machine.

"Now, did you have a good time in town today?" Your father asks as you get your training dummy ready. "It was good, Papa. I got a new book!" You grab your sword, then go at the dummy, using all the techniques you've been taught.

"Papa? Do you think that I'm odd?"

"My daughter! Odd! Huh, where would you get an idea like that?" Bail asks as he slides out from under the machine, his magnifying goggles making his eyes look hilariously huge. You laugh as you continue practicing your sword fighting, but get sad again. Your father slides back underneath the machine.

"Oh… I don't know, it's just that everyone thinks I'm different. Especially since I'm a knight, I'm not sure that I fit in here, Papa. There's no one I can really talk to." You stop fighting the dummy, sheathing your sword. "Well, what about that Zabrak fellow… Maul, right? He's a handsome young man."

You huff, feeling sickened at the thought of talking to that oaf. "Oh, he's handsome… and rude, also conceited. That guy is definitely not for me."

"Well, don't worry. This invention will be a start of a new life for us, you will get your dreams of being a knight. And I know for sure that you will find someone perfect for you!"

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Sure Papa, but I know that no one will ever want to be with me. I'm too odd, too different for someone to love." Your father sighs, finally coming out from underneath his invention.

"Now, that's not true. Now I think that I've finally done it, Sweetheart. Let's give it a try!" Your father pulls a lever, and you hear a whistle. You put your helmet on and pull your father behind you, just to be safe. You wait, and finally the invention is chopping wood, just like it's supposed too. You smile, your father's finally done it.

"It works." Bail hears the excitement in your voice, making him equally as joyful. "It does?" He looks towards the machine that continues to chop up the wood. "It does!" He shouts out with joy.

You love how excited your father is about his working invention. "You did it! You really did it!" You give him a big hug and jump with joy.

"Hitch up Threepio, Shiny. I'm off to the fair!" He cheers out, overjoyed that his invention really works.

xxx

"Goodbye, Papa. Good luck!" You wave your father off as Threepio pulls along the invention, neighing as he trots with Bail on his back. "Goodbye, Shiny! And take care while I'm gone!"

Bail travels across the land, through fields and over mountains, taking in the scenery around him. He crosses over a small bridge and enters a dark, gloomy forest. Threepio keeps his head down low, feeling nervous. "We should be there by now." Bail sounds confused, looking up to see a green and white Convor sitting on a tree branch, watching him as he passes.

"Maybe we missed a turn. I guess I should've taken the- wait a minute." He lifts up his lantern to a sign, reading it. Threepio's ear twitches, then he turns to the left of the path, but he gets pulled by his lead. "No, let's go this way."

Threepio shakes his head and looks down the path that Bail wants to take, eyes widening as the poor horse sees the foggy, dark path. He looks to the left again, seeing that it's much more pleasant. Threepio attempts to go left again, but Bail refuses. "Come on, Threepio! It's a shortcut, we'll be there in no time!" The horse trots on into the dark woods. Feeling more and more nervous with each passing second.

Suddenly, something not too far away runs past them. Threepio startles, looking around for the danger, backing up with fear in his eyes. Bail looks confused at the map. "This can't be right." A howl echoes deep within the forest, making him look up from his map and hold out his lantern. "Where have you taken us, Threepio?"

Threepio backs up even more, ready to leave as soon as possible. Worry fills Bail. "We better...turn around." The constant sounds of howling frightens the horse, backing up into a tree, causing a cloud of bats to fly around the both of them. Threepio begins to gallop away as fast as he can. "Woah! Woah Boy!" Threepio halts as they come to the edge of a cliff "Back up! Back up!" He does as he's told, Bail sighs. "Good boy, good boy. That's Good that's- back up! Steady, steady. Stead- Woah!" Threepio bucks, causing Bail to fall to the ground. His lantern bursts into flames causing his horse to run away, a couple of wolves chasing after him.

Bail gets up off of the ground "Threepio!" He loudly whispers. Nothing. Bail stands up off the ground, he turns to see wolves coming towards him. He starts running as fast as he can, hearing the howls and growling behind him. He tumbles down a cliff, coming to a stop at a gate. He quickly jumps up, running and grabbing on to the bars.

“HELP!!! Please, is someone there!!!” he calls. “HELP!!!” he calls one more time before the gates suddenly open, he falls to the ground, slamming them closed with his foot, saving him from the wolves. A wolf bites his pant leg, but Bail kicks it off. It starts to rain as he walks up to the gloomy castle, Bail knocks at the door and it immediately creaks open, he walks inside. It looks much more cosy inside than out, but it's still dark.

“Hello?” he asks into the darkness, hoping to ask the owner if he could stay the night, but it seems abandoned. “Hellooo?” he suddenly hears whispers. “The fellow must have lost his way in the woods!” it whispers before being shushed. “Keep quiet! If we’re quiet he might leave, Fives! You know how dangerous this could be.” Bail can’t seem to find where the voices are coming from.

“Is someone there?” Bail asks, trying to find the voices' owners. “Not a word, Fives! Not one word!”

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I lost my horse, and I need a place to stay, just for the night?”

“Aww, Echo, have a heart, Vod.” Echo presses a metal hand against Fives’ wax mouth. “Shhh!” Fives sighs, placing his one candle against his brothers hand. “ OW, ow! ow! Owww!” Echo starts hopping around.

“Of course. You are certainly welcome here, kind sir.”

“Who said that?” Bail grabs the candlestick, making Fives surprised as he's picked up, Echo is worried for his twin. Fives then smiles as he taps his shoulder. "Over here." Fives calls out.

Bail is confused, looking around. “Where?” Fives taps Bail's head, making him turn to see the candlestick looking at him, smiling at him “Hello.”

A gasp escapes Bail as he drops the candlestick. Fives groans as he hits the ground, making his candles burn out. "Incredible." Bail leans down to take a closer look at the candlestick who just spoke.

“Now you've done it, Fives!” Echo hops down from the table and crosses his arms. “Splendid, just peachy- AHHH!” He screams as he is lifted off the ground.

“How is this accomplished?” Bail's expression is full of amazement as he turns the clock around to examine it. Echo is a little afraid. “Put me down at once!”

Bail turns Echo upside down and shakes him about. Fives just watches and chuckles at his Twin. Then Echo gasps as Bail opens up his little glass door and starts digging around. “Now to take you apart and see how you tick.” Bail whispers, he has no idea that this is a living being. Fives gasps as Echo screams, Fives turns and screams as loud as his voice will allow. “ REX!!!!!!” There's a roar and Bail freezes as a giant Wolf-like creature with blonde fur runs down the stairs, followed by four suits of armor and a desk shuffling behind them, seemingly having a hard time. The wolf’s honey brown, yellowish eyes widen when he sees Bail holding the clock in one hand, and a gear from it in the other.

“ECHO!!! Let go of him, NOW!!” The wolf runs over to Bail, who drops the clock and the gear, Rex runs and catches them, handing both over to Fives, that's when he stands to full height, he’s much, much taller than any man Bail had ever seen. “What have you done to my brother.” he growls angrily, standing as close as he can to Bail, showing his large, sharp teeth. “B-Brother? But that's a clock!”

“Yes, and you hurt him!" Rex's deep voice sends shivers down Bail's spine as he looks towards the clock cradled in the candlestick's arms while a suit of armor with orange feathers on its helmet puts the gear back into Echo's body.

Bail tries to run away, but Rex runs on all fours, stopping in front of him to prevent him from leaving. “Please! I-I meant no harm! I just needed a place to stay!” Rex growls deeply. “I'll give you a place to stay, and for what you did to my brother, you deserve it!” Rex grabs Bail as he storms off deeper into the castle, leaving everyone else to make sure that Echo is okay now and that nothing harmful has happened to him.

xxx

Rex sighs as he walks back up the stairs from the dungen, he can’t believe that that man had hurt Echo, it wasn’t right. He runs up, immediately seeing his brothers. Fives and Echo are standing on Cody, with Obi Wan beside them. “Is he okay?” Rex asks as he walks over, he's on two legs at the moment.

“I’m fine, Ori’Vod. Just a little sore.” Rex sighs in relief, his brothers are only twenty one at the moment, the curse had slowed their aging a little. They get a letter when they do age a year. It's weird. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Rex whispers, kneeling down and nuzzling the little clock. Echo chuckles, reaching up and placing a hand on Rex’s nose.

“It’s okay, Vod. You know that I’m fine, but you should let that man go.” Rex pulls away, eyes narrowing. “No, he could have killed you, Echo. He’s staying in the dungeon where he belongs.” Rex holds back a growl, he's so angry at what that man did. When Fives screamed and then he came running down to see Echo with one of his gears out, it scared the living daylights out of him. He had believed that he was going to lose his little brother. “Hey!” Rex looks down to Cody nudging his leg.

“It’s okay, Rex’ika. Echo’s fine. We are all fine.” Rex sighs “I was scared, I didn't want to lose Echo… but I am not letting that man go. And that's final!” he turns around, his cape and tail swishing behind him as he storms off into the castle.

xxx

“Oh boy! Shiny's going to get the surprise of her life! Huh Gaston?” Ezra looks at Maul who stares at your house, wanting to propose and marry you today. “Yes, this is her lucky day.” Maul turns to leave, letting the branch he was holding swing back a little into Ezra's face, but Ezra just shakes it off and follows Mail to the party.

Maul clears his throat. “I'd like to thank you all for coming to my wedding. But first...I better go in there and propose to the girl.” He says with a wink and laughs, so everyone else laughs too. The three girls are crying that they aren't the ones to marry him. “And you, Ezra” He presses his finger on Ezra's nose “When Shiny and I come out of that door-”

“Oh! I know, I know!” Ezra exclaims excitedly. “I tell the band to start playing!” he gestures to the group of Bith aliens to play some music. Maul feels annoyed. “Not yet!”

Ezra quickly stops the band from playing and feels a bit guilty. “Sorry.”

You are lost in your book when you hear a sudden knock at your door, making you jump. You quickly get up and place your book on the table, making a note of the page that you are on. You brush back your hair out of your face a little as you reach for your father's invention that allows you to see who's at the door with having to open it. You peek through the scope to see Maul. You groan “Ugh.”

Being the polite person you are, you open the door. “Maul, what a pleasant surprise.” he just grins at you. “Isn't it though? I'm just full of surprises.” he walks closer to you, making you back away from him. “Y'know, Shiny. There's not a girl in town who wouldn't love to be in your shoes. This is the day…” He stops to check himself in the mirror. “This is the day your dreams come true.”

“What do you know about my dreams, Maul?” You find his big ego pretty amusing, so you hold back a laugh and try to be as kind as you can. “Plenty! Here, picture this...” he sits down on a chair and puts his muddy boots up on the table on top of your book. “A rustic hunting lodge, my latest kill roasting on the fire, my little wife massaging my feet.” You feel disgust when he takes his boots off and wiggles his toes. You hold your nose to block out the stench. “While the little ones play on the floor, with the dogs.” He stands up right in front of you. “We'll have six or seven.

“Dogs?” you really hope that that's the right answer as you brush the mud off of your book “No, Shiny! Strapping boys, like me.” You try to be enthusiastic and play along. “Aheh, imagine that…”

As you walk away, he creeps up behind you. “And you know who that little wife will be?” you snap your book shut, not wanting to know in the slightest. “Hm, let me think.” you turn around to see Maul right in your face.

“You, (y/n).” You duck under his arm and back away from him yet again, really wishing that you hadn’t left your sword in your room, you also feel uncomfortable with him using your given name. “Maul. I'm... I'm speechless.” you're back all the way up to the door. You put your hand on your chest. “I really don't know what to say!”

Maul backs you up to your front door, placing his hands on it either side of you. “Say you will marry me.” you look up at him as you try and find the door handle. “Im sorry, Maul. But…” you found the handle. “I will never, ever marry anyone, especially you!” you say, opening the door wide open, making Maul fall out of the front door and into a puddle. He goes to lift his head up, but you use the force to make sure that he gets a mouthful of mud. Maul looks up angrily, wiping the mud from his face. The band starts playing, Maul stands up, walking over to Ezra.

“So? How’d it go, Maul?” The eleven year old asks, but Maul cuffs him. “Shiny will be mine, have no doubt about that.” Maul storms off, Ezra following close behind him.

xxx

“Is he gone?” You ask a little while later as you walk out to feed the chickens, you’re wearing your armor as usual. “Oh, can you imagine? He asked me to marry him. Me, the wife of that boorish, brainless...” you growl as you tell the chickens. Then you start singing. "Madame Maul! Can't you just see it? "Madame Maul! His "little wife", ugh!” You kick over the bucket of chicken feed angrily.

“No sir! Not me! I am a knight! Never a wife!” you sing in disgust. The thought of being someone's wife disgusts you, especially if it's Maul’s. “I want much more than this provincial life! I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell.”

“And for once it might be grand. To have someone understand. I want so much more than they've got planned.” You hear a horse's whinny, as Threepio runs up. “Threepio? What are you- Wait! Where's papa, where is he threepio?” You know that something must have happened, you run into your house, grabbing your helmet and sword. You run back down, jumping onto threepio’s back.

“Take me to Papa.” The horse runs off with you on his back, you will find your father, if it is the last thing you do.

taglist: @ellie1366 @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @lightning-wolffe @pinkiemme

@captainrexisboo

#beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast au #wererex #wererex x reader #captain rex #captain rex x reader #knight reader #werewolf clone wars #star wars clone wars #star wars rebels #my writing #maul #ezra #bail #fives echo #werewolf rex x reader #werewolf rex

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janeykath318 · 3 years

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Once Upon A Time (WinterShock Fantasy AU)

Once upon a time there lived a happy, mischievous Princess named Darcy. Sadly orphaned at a young age, she was surrounded by loving caregivers, who taught her how to be a good, but kind ruler.

When Princess Darcy was just twelve years old, the regent Lord Phillip noticed she showed signs of being gifted with magic, a rare ability in that land.

After some consultation with Darcy’s other guardians, he decided she should learn how to use her gift and Darcy started magic classes. By the time she was sixteen, she had learned many useful spells and was becoming better at controlling her magic.

In history class, she learned of the great wars between the evil practitioners of black magic known as Hydra and the wizards and knights of the kingdom.

Hydra had been defeated, but at the cost of many lives, including those of the stouthearted Sir Steven Rogers and Sir James Barnes, whose great deeds lived on in story and song. Darcy passed by their portraits in the great hall and wished she could have known those great men. Sir James she found especially appealing with his mirth filled grey-blue eyes, well-shaped face and dark brown hair.

As her twenty-first birthday approached and she readied to take up the mantle of queen, many suitors sought her hand. Most of them didn’t make it past Lord Phillip, who carefully questioned them to gauge their character and intentions, and the few who did did not arouse Darcy’s interest.

Then came the shocking revelation that Sir Steven had been found alive, having been encased in an enchanted block of ice for seventy years. He was brought to the castle and tended to by physicians and healers before Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas questioned him. Finally, they were finished and allowed Darcy to have an audience with him.

Excited to meet one of the heroic men of history, she perked up when Lord Phillip brought him into her reception room.

He was tall, with a powerful physique, golden hair, and melancholy blue eyes.

“Sir Steven!” She greeted, as he bowed before.

“Your highness,” he replied politely.

“We are glad to find you alive against all odds. How do you feel after your awakening?”

“Physically well, but I struggle to reconcile with the passage of time, your highness,” he answered with surprising honesty. Nearly all of my contemporaries are dead or nearly dead and I as yet do not know how to restart my life.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Darcy said gently, heart aching for the man who’d given up everything for the kingdom. “But just know that if you need a friendly ear to talk to, I am happy to lend mine. Anything you need, just say the word and Phillip will see to it.”

Over the next few months, Steven and Darcy made friends and he told her many stories of his adventures with Sir James, or Bucky, as Steven called him.

Unfortunately, with six months to go before Darcy’s coronation as queen, Hydra began to make its presence known again with the reappearance of their legendary assassin, The Winter Soldier, who felled several wizards and was rumored to be sent after the princess herself. Alarmed, Phillip increased the number of Darcy’s bodyguards and brought in the renowned Lady Natasha for extra security and help planning against Hydra’s threats.

Much as she liked Steven, Darcy chafed at having him everywhere. Her complaints fell on deaf ears, however. Lord Nicholas and Lord Phillip were on high alert and stood firm.

One day, Darcy and Steven walked through the great hall together and he shared anecdotes of several of the royals depicted on its walls. When they reached Sir James’s portrait, Steven fell silent for several moments, grief so raw in his face that Darcy turned away out of respect.

“It must still seem fresh to you,” she said quietly. “I am sorry for your loss, Steven.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he sighed. “Yes, to me it seems like it only happened a few days ago. We were ambushed on a treacherous mountain pass. I tried my hardest to reach him, but he lost his hold and…….fell.”

He swallowed hard, struggling with the memory.

“I know he would have liked you,” he told the Princess. “Bucky appreciated your type of humor and wit. He also was fascinated with magic, albeit only mildly had a very small ability in that area.”

“Sir James had magic?” Darcy asked, even more intrigued.

“He did,” Steve confirmed with a faint smile. “Mostly used it to annoy me: make my armor turn weird colors, grow out my beard to an unnatural length, give my horse a purple tail.”

Darcy chuckled. “What a rascal. Did I tell you how I gave Phillip a toupee once?”

Steve looked at her in amused disbelief.

“No, but I must know now.”

For several weeks, the period of watchfulness continued, but nothing happened and Darcy began to hope that the danger wasn’t coming after all, then one night she was awakened abruptly by Natasha.

“Get up your highness. Your life is in danger.”

“Wha-huh?” Darcy replied sleepily, brain struggling to come to. A pile of clothing was thrown onto her bed.

“Hydra. They nearly killed Lord Nicholas in a late raid. Put on the disguise and pack one bag. We need to get you out of here. Steven is waiting with the horses.”

Numbly, Darcy dressed in the plain gown and dark cloak Natasha had provided and quickly packed a few belongings, hoping desperately her friends were safe.

Natasha led her out through the secret underground exit that led out behind the stables where Steven was waiting, armored and well armed.

“What happened?” Darcy whispered as she mounted the horse behind Natasha. He was a good rider herself, but in the dark and under threat, she was more than happy to have the expert take the reins.

“The Winter Soldier attacked,” Steve said grimly. “I fended him off, but he will likely be back. We are headed for the stronghold of Lord Anthony deep in the mountains. It’s the safest place for you right now.”

The journey was long and hard, taking almost the whole night. They were only a few miles away, when they were overtaken by a black knight on a black horse, covered head to toe in armor, the only mark on him a red star on his silver left arm.

Steve muttered an oath.

“The Winter Soldier!” He muttered. “Get down!”

Darcy obeyed. She heard the sounds of swords clashing as Steve fought the intruder, then there was a ping! Sound and metal hit the ground and Steve cried out “Bucky!” In an anguished tone followed by a deeper voice saying “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Now it was Natasha’s turn to swear, but she stuck close to Darcy. Peering up a bit, she could see the tall knight, his helmet now gone, revealing dark brown hair and finely shaped jaw. Her heart jumped into her throat. It was Sir James! He looked completely cold and menacing, but there was something so dead in his eyes, she knew there was something wildly amiss.

Reaching out with her magic, she sensed the thick cloak of dark magic upon him and guessed Hydra had him under some spell.

“What do you want?” She heard Steve ask.

“My mission is the Princess. Hand her over. They want her alive.”

“Over my dead body,” Steve growled.

“Very well.”

The swords clashed again and the struggle began again. This time, she could tell it was going badly for Steve.

Darcy couldn’t stand it anymore. She stood up, brushing off Natasha’s restraining arm and walked over to the scene of the fight. Steve was now bleeding on the ground, still trying to get Bucky to remember him. James had his sword at Steve’s throat and was ready to plunge it in when Steve murmured, “I’m with you to the end of the line.”

This made The Soldier pause and the cold expression in his eyes was replaced with a flash of recognition followed by pure panic.

Darcy stepped forward.

“Don’t kill him! I’ll surrender.”

James whirled around to face her, confusion written all over his face.

“What are you doing, your highness?” She heard Steve hiss out, but Darcy had a plan and she needed to get closer.

“You surrender?” James repeated dully.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Do what you have to do.”

He stalked towards her with his knife drawn, and Darcy stood stock still, waiting for the right moment. She knew a spell she was pretty sure would work, but it would likely leave her exhausted. At this point, exhausted was preferable to dead and she had to try to help James.

Summoning every ounce of magical strength she could, she cried out, “Restore!” and held out her hands.

Bolts of magical energy sparked from her fingertips and connected with James, wrapping around his head. The energy warred with the darkness and caused it to dissipate and vanish.

James fell over unconscious.

“What did you do?” Steve asked, having dragged himself painfully over to his friend.

“A restoration spell. Hydra was controlling his mind. I cancelled it out,” Darcy sighed, suddenly exhausted.

“Can we bring him to the stronghold? It might be some time before he wakes.”

Steve looked at his friend and nodded.

“We will. I really hope you are right, your highness.”

Between the three of them, they managed to haul James to the gates of the stronghold. It took rather longer to convince Lord Anthony to let him in, but Darcy shamelessly pulled rank on the man and he finally relented.

She was almost stumbling with exhaustion by the time they reached the keep and Natasha almost carried her off to the guest chamber provided.

“I want to be there when he wakes up!”’she protested.

“He may not wake up for some time,” Natasha answered. “Your spell is still working on him. Please rest, your highness. He won’t get away, I promise.”

So Darcy finally agreed and shortly fell into deep slumber. She awoke rather disoriented and very rumpled.

“Ugh. I look like a hag, not a Princess!” She moaned, repulsed by her reflection in the mirror. She managed to get herself into a somewhat respectable state when Natasha came for her.

“Is he awake?” Darcy asked eagerly.

“Yes. He awoke about an hour ago and seems to be himself again. He recognized Steve.”

“That is wonderful news! Please take me to him.”

Natasha obliged and showed Darcy into the room where a bandaged and rather battered looking Steve sat beside James. Darcy felt a pang of remorse for not trying a healing spell on him.

Both men got to their feet as she entered, Steve rather shakily.

“Bucky, this is her highness Princess Darcy. She is strong in good magic and wove the spell that freed you from Hydra. I trust you rested well, Your highness?”

“I did, but sit down, Steven, before you fall down. You need to see the healers.”

“Just what I’ve been telling him….wait PRINCESS Darcy? You saved me?”

James’s voice was filled with awe and wonder as he looked at her, blue eyes now clear and sharp like in his portrait. Oh, heavens, he was incredibly handsome and for a moment she was speechless as they stared at each other. Finally, Bucky shook himself and knelt before her, bowing his head.

“Where are my manners? Forgive me your highness. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. I am your devoted servant henceforth.”

“Sir James, I am very happy to see you in your own mind. I am so relieved that it worked,” Darcy assured him, holding out her hand to show him she accepted his thanks. He kissed it, looking reverently into her eyes and Darcy felt her heart skip a beat. She could feel the unspoken connection between them.

“You and Steven will be honored as heroes,” she declared.

“Steven is well deserving,” James agreed, a shadow falling over his face. “I do not know that I am deserving to hold the title of knight anymore. The things I have done would sicken you.”

“You mean the things Hydra forced you to do?” Darcy responded. “Hydra’s deeds do sicken me, but the reason you became their captive in the first place was because you were fighting to end their reign of terror. You will not be held liable for something you had no control over.”

“You are very gracious, your highness,” James said gratefully.

Darcy turned to Steven next and gently scolded him for not getting his wounds tended to before using a healing spell on him.

Lord Anthony came in to check on his guests and give them an update on the situation at the Castle.

“Hydra had infiltrated some of the guard and it has been difficult to weed them out,” he informed them. “Jasper Sitwell and Lord Alexander are both Hydra and have vowed to take over the kingdom. I am sending reinforcements as soon as I can.”

Anger stirred in Darcy.

“The traitors! I will kick their posteriors!!”

Steve looked startled at her uncouth language, but Anthony grinned and James’s mouth twitched in amusement.

“I like the spirit, your highness, but it’s safer for you to remain here. My stronghold has magical defenses and right now, you are Hydra’s number one target. There is a large bounty on your head.”

Darcy turned pale and gripped a nearby table for support.

She was almost shaking with rage and fear, but told herself to calm down. She had to be strong for her country.

“I can’t just sit back here while you all risk your lives. You know I can defend myself with my magic,” she reminded them.

“You can, but the ratio of Hydra to loyal soldiers is much too high and we cannot risk losing you,” Natasha reminded her. “You’re the last of your family line.”

Darcy deflated at this painful reminder. She knew Natasha was right and she couldn’t endanger the throne by rushing headlong into danger, but she hated the thought of waiting all by herself.

In the end, James volunteered to stay with her as protection duty, being a most powerful warrior. She couldn’t help but be pleased at his company, despite the circumstances.

Before Anthony and the army departed, she took care to lay helpful enchantments upon Steve’s sword and Shield and Natasha’s knives and the archers’ bows.

Satisfied at last, she saw them off with well wishes and turned back to James, who walked beside her back to the luxurious library that she’d picked out as the room to hole up in.

“Come sit by me, James,” she requested. “You can be vigilant in comfort.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he responded, carefully seating himself beside her. Up close, she could see how well built he was and how strong his arms were. She had to stifle a sudden urge to feel his biceps: both the flesh and the metal one.

“Did Hydra equip you with the metal arm?” she asked.

“They did,” James confirmed. “I lost my arm in the fall that led to my capture. They designed it to be another weapon. I shudder to think of how much blood it has spilled.”

He clenched and unclenched his metal fist, sad blue eyes looking reproachfully at it.

“Maybe we can get you a new one once we’ve stomped them out once and for all,” she suggested. “I know Stark would love to upstage them and make a better one. He is very gifted in that area.”

“You are very thoughtful, your highness,” he said, giving her another grateful look that brought a lump to her throat. The poor man was clearly not used to being treated like a human and it hurt her to think of.

“Please call me Darcy,” she requested. “There’s no one else around and it gets old hearing “your highness” all the time.”

“Darcy,” he repeated, saying her name reverently. “What a lovely name.”

The next few days were trying ones for the Princess as she waited for news from the battle. James told her many stories of his and Steve’s adventures and she told him about her childhood and her mishaps while learning magic.

James admitted one of the reasons he’d stayed behind was because he feared Hydra would speak the words to him that would trigger his Winter Soldier persona.

“You mean you didn’t stay because of my captivating beauty and charm?” Darcy said teasingly.

“Now, I didn’t say that, Princess,” he said, flushing a bit. You are very pleasant to be around. I just thought you should be made aware there still might be traces of the spell in me.”

“We’ll have you examined by our best wizards,” Darcy promised, anxious to reassure him. “Their knowledge is greater than mine and they will be able to rid you of any lingering effects.”

“I hope so,” James murmured. “I really hope so.”

He looked at her for a long moment with an expression that made her heartbeat quicken before he sighed and looked sad again, as if longing for something out of his reach.

She saw that expression several more times over the next few days and wished she could comfort him.

Five days later, a messenger returned to the stronghold to bring news both good and bad. The good news was that the Hydra uprising had been crushed and its members dead or in custody. The bad news: the chaos had stirred up a legendary dragon, who was headed straight for the palace.

James thought Darcy should stay at the stronghold, but she overruled him.

“I appreciate your consideration, but I must return and oversee the investigation. I need to talk to the wizards about you as well. I cannot hide any longer. I will go mad.”

He’d sighed and gone to bring the horses around.

The journey back was done as stealthily as possible, and Darcy watched James with interest as he skillfully and silently guided them along the journey, always on high alert. She felt safer with him than any of her bodyguards, good as they were. This knight had had his senses honed to a razor sharpness that was unlike anything she’d seen. She wondered if part of it was due to his latent magic powers and if he’d ever used them. But magic was not a topic he seemed willing to discuss, other than the moment he’d thanked her for rescuing him from it.

They returned to a palace that was very chaotic, evidence of fighting all around it and grim faced guards everywhere.

Darcy went straight to Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas who were in consultation with Lord Anthony, all three looking very somber.

“I am relieved to see you safely returned, your highness,” said Lord Nicholas. “Thank you,” she told him. “I am also relieved to find you well. I heard you met up with the Winter Soldier.”

“I did and I broke the spell that held him a prisoner,” Darcy told them proudly. “Phillip, Nicholas, may I present Sir James Barnes? I assure you, he is no threat.”

The men looked shocked and wary, but Darcy made them talk to James and confirm that he was, indeed, an ally and in his right mind.

“Where is Steven?” James asked nervously, looking around for his friend.

Phillip sighed.

“He is in the infirmary. He suffered grievous injury fighting Hydra and had previous untreated injuries that led to his collapse.”

Darcy sighed and James groaned.

“Typical of the imbecile,” he muttered. “Never could take care of himself.”

“What?” He said bluntly at the questioning looks the Lords were giving him.

“He just laid there and would have let me—the Soldier—kill him, if the Princess hadn’t intervened. The one time he decides to back down from a fight….” James sighed and shook his head.

“Yes, I have noticed that trend with him,” Lord Phillip admitted, almost smiling at James’s aggravation. “We enchanted the door of his room so that he cannot get out until the healers have finished with him.”

Darcy smiled her approval.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Phillip,” she said fondly.

“Unfortunately, we will need him at his full strength sooner rather than later,” Lord Nicholas sighed. “The dragons are but a three days journey away.”

As soon as Steven was recovered, they began making plans for defending against the dragon horde, who were led by a large purple beast named Thanos.

Thanos had obliterated many cities in neighboring realms with his terrible breath and destructive claws and he had fifty fearsome fellow dragons with him. It was going to be a very difficult fight. Darcy went around giving motivational speeches to the troops and leaders in between making sure the citizens were evacuated to the mountain strongholds. She stood on a balcony looking out over the city, hoping it wouldn’t be its last day of existence.

“The last of the refugees are about to depart for the mountains, your highness,” Steven reported, James standing beside him. “Are you certain we cannot persuade you to go with them?”

“Very certain,” Darcy said firmly. “My place is here.”

He nodded, then smiled. “I understand. I too, would chafe at being denied the chance to defend my country.”

James heaved a deep sigh.

“There are two of them,” he muttered in a disgruntled tone that had Darcy and Steven chuckling.

“You will get used to it, James,” Darcy said lightly, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

The following day, Thanos and his dragon army arrived, blasting fire and roaring ferociously. The army was ready for them and put up a good fight, slaying quite a few, before they could get into the city. The tide soon turned against them, though, as Thanos’s power was unleashed and death and destruction rained down. Darcy was safely inside the tower and fretting about the increasingly grim reports coming in from the battlefield.

“If we could just get Thanos, we would actually stand a chance!” She said, pacing in frustration.

“Unfortunately, Thanos appears to be untouchable,” Nicholas reported, stress making his eyelid twitch rapidly. “He has a power far beyond anything we’ve faced before. Melts people before they get near him. Normal shields are ineffective.”

“What about magic?” She asked.

“The only spells that might work have to be within twenty paces,” Nicholas mused. “And all our wizards are either wounded, dead, or busy.”

A plan began to take root in Darcy’s mind. It was crazy and might not even work, but at this point, what did she have left to lose?

“Phillip, would the enchantment on Steve’s shield stand up to Thanos’s breath?” She asked.

“Yes, for a few minutes, but Steve does not have magic.”

“He doesn’t have to. I do,” she told them.

Phillip frowned.

“What spell would they have taught you that would fell Thanos?”

Darcy smiled.

They pleaded and argued and begged her not to, but Princess Darcy prevailed.

“What kind of ruler will I be if I am not willing to give my life to protect my people?” She’d told them.

Phillip had closed his eyes, but nodded, unable to dispute this.

After giving a few quick orders, Darcy put on some armor and went out to face Thanos. It wasn’t hard to find him, bring huge and purple and all. He was even more fearsome up close, huge claws and fiery breath wreaking havoc upon the city and its people. Darcy swallowed. She had to stop him before he spilled any more blood. Searching for Steven, she found him finishing off a young red dragon.

“Steven!”

He looked up, shocked to see her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, panting heavily.

“I think I know how to stop Thanos, but I need your help. Where’s James?”

“Over there,” Steve jerked his head to the left. “Do you need him, too?”

“Yes. For my plan to work we need all three of us.”

James was not pleased to see Darcy in battle and even less so when he heard her plan.

“Eight out of ten cases, that spell kills the caster, too! We can’t lose you, Princess. Surely, there’s some other way.”

His blue eyes were desperate and pleading as he spoke, and Darcy’s own heart hurt a bit. She would have loved to agree and have the chance at deepening her friendship with him into something more, but if they all died due to a dragon, that wouldn’t happen anyway. She would hold out hope she could be in the two out of ten.

Darcy smiled sadly. “The only other wizards that know this spell are incapacitated or dead. I’m so sorry, James. I have to protect my people.”

For a brief moment, he looked as if she’d ripped out his heart and trampled it under foot, then the expressionless soldier’s mask returned and he simply nodded.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Steve will cover us with his shield so that I can get close enough to cast the spell, which will block his airway and allow James to stab him in his soft underbelly. Be quick about it so he doesn’t crash down on top of you,” she urged James. He didn’t look like he cared much about being crushed at this point, but he nodded.

She shook both their hands, then took a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

Steve held up his magical shield over them as they approached Thanos. She could feel the intense heat around them, but the magic did its job and soon they were within range.

She held out her hands and began chanting, energy swirling through her as she summoned everything she had to hurl at the dragon.

Thanos laughed evilly and blasted fire at them, which bounced off the shield. Knowing the protection would not last long and not wanting to get Steve and James killed, Darcy quickly spoke the rest of the spell, then flung the energy toward the dragon’s snout. It wrapped around and went down his nostrils, thickening up and causing him to sit up and choke and gasp for breath, clutching his nose.

James darted forward and the last thing Darcy heard as the life drained out of her was the terrible scream from Thanos as the knight’s sword plunged into him.

She came back to consciousness in a plain white room, birds singing outside the window.

“Is this the afterlife or did I survive?” She wondered aloud.

There was a gasp and James suddenly lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on the side of the bed.

“I assure you, you’re very much alive, Princess,” he told her, voice trembling with emotion. The usual very polished knight looked haggard and unkempt, eyes red and bloodshot.

“I was one of the lucky two out of ten?” She asked, warmth spreading through her at how he was looking at her.

“Not at first,” added another voice. Steven was beaming at her from the doorway, relief showing strongly in his amiable face.

“What do you mean?” She asked curiously.

“When we finished off Thanos, I picked you up and there was no breath in you. No pulse. Nothing.”

Steven looked pained at the memory and Darcy looked back at James, whose lips were quivering.

“Bucky here insisted on carrying your…...body…...back to the palace,” Steve continued. “Somehow, you started breathing again on the way there. We really have no idea why. Maybe the healers can tell us.”

“Wow,” Darcy breathed, a smile blossoming on her face. “So the dragon army was defeated?”

“Soundly,” Steven assured her. “The kingdom is saved. You’re a hero, Princess. They’re ready to crown you queen right now.”

“Well, they’ll have to wait,” Darcy said with feigned haughtiness. “I refuse to be crowned until I’m able to be fully fabulous again.”

Steve barked out a laugh and Bucky’s shoulders shook. Lifting his head, he looked at her through tear-filled eyes.

“Princess, you’re always fabulous,” he told her sincerely.

A healer bustled in, interrupting the moment. Darcy was a little annoyed, but she let herself be examined with no fuss and took the opportunity to ask about why she had come back to life.

Healer Cho smiled.

“We believe that the one who carried you in has the gift of Healing Touch, which in some cases, can revive a person. Sir James, you have some magic in you, right?”

Bucky nodded, wide-eyed at the realization.

“I couldn’t heal people before, and as the Winter Soldier, I was forced to use what magic I had solely for evil,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve never tried magic since.”

“Sometimes these gifts develop later, James. You may not have known it was there, but it was,” Helen told him gently.

“As for you, your highness, a day or so of rest and you should be back on your feet again. Do you feel in need of food?”

Darcy nodded enthusiastically and Helen departed to get her a tray, looking very pleased.

“Buck, You saved the Princess,” Steve commented proudly.

Bucky, who’d been staring at his hand in disbelief, looked into Darcy’s eyes as she grabbed the hand and kissed it.

“My hero!” she sighed, giving him a dopey smile that somehow tripped something in him to release the emotion he’d been trying to hold back. Steve thoughtfully shut the door and retreated to the corner again. Darcy kept holding James’s hand and whispered soothing words to him as he cried. The poor man had been through so much, and she was determined to help make his new life as happy as possible.

“It killed me to see you lifeless,” he whispered, when he’d finally calmed. “I’ve become very attached to you in the short time I’ve known you. I know you probably wouldn’t want to be courted by a man like me, but if you did, well…..”

“Who says I wouldn’t want to court you?” Darcy retorted. “I would very much like to court you, James. “You’re brave, you’re selfless, you’re funny, you’re an awesome warrior, and you’re exceedingly handsome. Don’t think I haven’t been wanting to run my fingers through your glorious mane since the day we met.”

James blushed bright red.

“However, no courting can happen if you don’t take care of yourself.” She told him. “As your princess, I command you to eat, bathe, and sleep before you return. “You’re clearly exhausted. Steven will make sure this is carried out, won’t you, Sir Steven?”

Darcy’s firm tone had Steven nodding quickly.

“I will, your highness,” he declared, looking pointedly at James. “I attempted to previously, but he refused to leave your side, the stubborn mule.”

“You hypocrite,” James shot back, grinning at them both. “But I will happily follow your commands, Princess.”

Getting to his feet, he kissed her hand and gently released it.

“I will be back.” he promised.

“You’d better!” she called after him.

Falling back on the pillows, Darcy held the hand he’d kissed to her cheek, dreamily thinking about him kissing her on the lips.

Five Months later

The coronation of Queen Darcy was a day of jubilation and partying, a national holiday having been decreed for the occasion. Throngs of people had arrived in the city to witness the grand event and the city, which had recovered from the Hydra and the Dragon invasions, was decorated to within an inch of its life.

Darcy stood in the hall, dressed in a deep green formal gown and rich red robes, trying to calm her nerves. There were a lot of eyes on her today and she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself.

Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas were busily going over the schedule with Lady Natasha and the royal guards and Darcy was going over her speech once again in her head.

There was a clanking of metal, and she saw her favorite knights approaching, both looking impeccable and stunning.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she greeted warmly. “You’re looking magnificent.”

They bowed gracefully.

“Thank you, your highness. So are you,” Steve replied.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” James said, giving her a look that made her blush. He was quite the master at those looks, as she’d learned during their courtship. There had been quite a stir when it was announced that the soon to be Queen was betrothed to the former Winter Soldier, but happily, the critics were vastly outnumbered by the supporters, as he was now seen as a hero after saving her life. Darcy had been highly lauded herself and was still being swamped with gifts from her grateful subjects.

“How are you feeling, Darcy?” He asked quietly.

“Nervous, but excited,” she said. “I’m going to be the best queen I can be.”

“I know you will,” James agreed, with one of his becoming smiles. “Save me a dance at the ball later?”

“Silly man,” she chuckled fondly. “You should know by now all of my dances are for you.”

#wintershock #darcy lewis #bucky barnes #fantasy au #medieval au #princess darcy #knight bucky

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writeofmind · 4 years

Text

so close

Genre: fluff(?), angst

Pairing: Royalty!Irene x Reader

Type: prompt, imagine

You could’ve had it all.

A/N: inspired by the song So Close from Enchanted LOL. yes i know it’s cheesy but it makes me emotional. >:( i may make a longer scenario for this in the future, but for now, i hope you like this. make sure you listen to the song!

You’re standing in the grand ballroom of the Bae Palace. Chandeliers are glistening above you, hanging from the tall ceilings— all around you was the chattering of the people, excitedly murmuring about the new queen and her bethrothed.

The mere mention of it made your stomach churn. You didn’t want to hear it. You kept your distance from the crowds, standing off to the side and keeping your eyes off of the main show of the ball.

The room, though vast and expensive in nature, seemed to be growing too hot and overwhelming for you. You turn and head up the stairs to reach the balcony that overlooks the gardens, the gardens that you and the now queen used to stroll through just months ago.

The fresh air feels refreshing on your face once you step outside. The breeze flows by and brushes your hair off of your face for you, and you’re so caught up in staring into the night sky that you don’t notice the footsteps behind you.

“I thought I may find you here.”

Your flinch, heart stopping when you hear the familiar voice call out. Turning, yet keeping your eyes low, you give a bow.

“My Queen,” your voice is soft, “my apologies.”

You continue to bow even when you hear the footsteps draw closer. They stop directly in front of you, the elegant dress spilling onto your own shoes. A hand is felt on your cheek.

“Y/n.” The hand gently lifts your head, and you’re forced to meet eyes with the ones that make you weak.

“Irene.” You breathe out. She looks stunning tonight, as she usually does. Her hair is cascading down her shoulders, so silky that it seems to reflect the moonlight back into the night— her dress flows down her body, covered in gold lining and as white as marble. She took your breath away every time.

Irene gives you a smile, the one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You can see the sadness behind it, and you wonder if she can see it behind yours, too. It wasn’t until you heard the announcement of the ballroom dancing to begin that you turned your head back to the main room.

Irene follows your gaze, seeing where your eyes are gazing, and looks back at you. Tonight would be the last night that you could indulge in each other’s presence.

“I would love to have a dance with you.” She confirms your thoughts with a smile once again. When you look back at her, it’s hard to see through the gloss in your eyes.

You take her hand, leading her inside and down the grand staircase, where all eyes fall to her. You know they fall to her, because all your life, you have been by her side, watching her blossom into the beautiful flower that she is now. It hurts your heart to know that after tonight, she will be claimed from the ground, the flower you fought so hard to cultivate and keep safe being plucked and hidden away for someone else to keep.

The two of you reach the middle of the room, hands intertwined and one behind your back. You give a bow that she returns with a curtsy. You imagine that the new king is off mingling with the other royals, as he had no reason to be speaking with anyone less.

The music begins and you pull Irene close to you. As the two of you begin to sway, the room around you seems to crumble away to pieces, the people fading into nothingness, all until it’s only you and her in each other’s embrace.

Irene gazes in your eyes without shame. Her eyes always made you so shy, but tonight you couldn’t look away. You felt the way her hands held you tighter, and the way she kept close to you.

You didn’t want to believe that you were losing her. You had always imagined that it would always be just you two, forever, as if no force could ever drive you apart. It was a silly dream— and yet, you couldn’t stop the tears from knowing that it was dying.

You had to let go, never knowing that in the blink of an eye, Irene would leave this, all of this, for you. You never knew the extent of her love, never knew that a happy ending was just within your grasp, waiting for you to reach out and take hold.

Instead, you simply smile back at her. Irene lets her head rest on your chest, letting out a silent sob in the crook of your neck.

Your happy ending was so close, but seemed so far.

#red velvet scenarios #bae irene #red velvet #irene x reader #gg scenarios #kpop scenarios #irene #bae joohyun #irene scenarios #girl group scenarios #writeofmind

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mistersourwolf · 4 years

Text

A Lover from the Unknown- Geralt x Reader

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: None really, hints at smut but no nsfw in this piece.

Request: Hey could you possibly do a geralt request where he saves and falls for a girl who is set to be killed cause the mayor of a town deems her a monster. She has powers to be able to control the elements. She's not a monster but part of a race that was wiped out. Maybe marks glow on her skin depending on what elements she uses

Summary: Y/N has lived most of her years captive inside the castle due to her magical abilities. Being treated as an experiment, over time her anger builds up. One night a storm rips through the town she resides in and the mayor is furious. Before she could meet her demise, she fell suddenly unconscious. Only in the morning would she realize what and who had spared her that night, saving her life. The two decide together to go on a journey to help discover who y/n truly is.

A/N: This is probabaly one of the most elaborate pieces I’ve written. It took me entirely too long to write it but I’m so glad because I’m just in love with the final results. I tried to get as accurate as I could to the request which I believe I did though I didn’t include markings which I envision would be a crackling turquoise glow as her emotions overwhelm her. So use your imagination as you will. Also, if you think Geralt talks to much, he just might if you’re basing this off the show. I’ve seen the show and have been reading the books and Geralt talks far more than what he does in the show so please don’t take it as out of character, it is very much in his nature to talk. Anyways without further adue ... A Lover from the Unknown.

You sat in the corner of your room rocking back and forth with your knees pressed against your chest, slowly becoming more panicked as the thunder broke against the roof in a loud bang. You knew this was all your fault, attempting to stand to your feet, you gazed out of your window, the whole town was being ripped to shreds. Rain hit the ground furiously, each drop setting a new fire. The tavern was completely destroyed and fires were raging in the distant neighborhoods, clouding the night sky with soot.

You were to blame for this chaos, unsure of what you were and with nobody to guide you, your anger had disturbed nature’s balance. It was your doing but not your fault, after all you rarely saw anybody but your own reflection. With little interaction with any other humans aside from the guards who would bring you your meals, it’s understandable why you would be enraged. You had been held in the castle for far too long, a prisoner to the Queen. As she ordered her servants to poke at you, as if you were a guinea pig, as if you were a freak, you grew more and more angry by the day. Previous to this event, you had summoned wind storms, manifested tornadoes and sinkholes but the day you made hail come down the size of boulders, they had to force an elixir down your throat, one that left you in a trance for days. But this—this storm was much different than the last.

Suddenly, the doors to your room flew open abruptly. Two men, both of them head to toe in a suit of armor came rushing in, demanding you to come with them.

“What?” Your eyes widened, “No please!” You cried as they grabbed your arms dragging you from your bedroom.

“Foolish girl, what have you done?” They muttered, pulling you along the castle halls.

“I don’t understand!” You cried, “You have to help me please.”

The guards said nothing, pushing through the doors of the tower, revealing a smoke littered atmosphere. You could make out the sounds of townsfolk screaming as the fires spread, their screams pierced the night air from miles away. Horses trotting through the ruins made horrific sounds as you were thrown to your knees. Your flesh slid across the dirt, causing you to wince in pain.

Slowly, footsteps made their way towards you, sloshing in the sludge of the dirt. You, sure that you would face your demise right then, hesitated to look at who stood above you. In your gut you knew, it was the mayor. He had been the mayor in this town for quite some time and despised of creatures who possessed magical abilities. You’d come to face him before and his threat, his penalty he’d deliver was far worse than being prisoner.

“Pitiful girl, what have you done to my town?” He yelled, crouching down beside you. “I spared your life once before, I won’t make that mistake again!”

You whimpered, tilting your head up slowly to meet wicked eyes. He was furious and veins showed clear through his forehead. “Get her up, onto the horse will you?” He phrased his command as a question to the guards but it was perfectly understood that it was a demand. That if they didn’t pick you up and place you on the horse that second, they’d be subjected to your fate as well.

You squirmed as the men complied, throwing you on top of the horse. At this moment, a lightning bolt shot from the sky, frying the men in their metal gear. You let out a scream, horrified as they dropped to the dirt. Simultaneously thunder cracked through the air once again, a demonic rumble. The horses kicked the dirt, terrified but obedient. Your hair blew violently in the storm watching the mayor struggle to his horse. He called out to you, a string of curses that you couldn’t make out. Your arms wrapped around the mare as if they would protect you from your own doings. Confusion grew on you as you smelt in the air lavender, chamomile and a powerful mixture that surely was a magical concoction. The mayor gripped the dirt, on all fours as he continued to make it to his horse. Your eyes grew heavy, starting to flutter shut. As your body grew calm, the storm eased and your hair blew gently in the fall night. Just before your eyes shut for good, you saw a man approach the mayor and in a swift movement, his elbow collided with the mayors crooked nose and he fell unconscious as did you.

When you awoke, the smell of the earth was so pungent you could nearly taste it. Immediately you sat up, glancing around the rather dingy, colorless inn. You were laid not on a bed, in fact there were no beds in the room, only a cot, one which appeared old and unclean. You stood up, the floorboards creaking beneath you, a deafening sound. The sun was starting to rise and gleamed through the broken window, dimly lighting the room. Where in the hell were you? You recalled the storm from the previous night, one you had caused surely. You remembered the mayor threatening your execution, a threat he would have surely followed up on. A man who emerged from seemingly nowhere and then—.

A tall figure entered the door to your room, closing it behind him.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, walking over to his bag to store something away.

You didn’t feel frightened but confused, “Where the hell am I?” You asked the white haired fellow.

He answered, still turned away from you, “Maybe the question you should be asking yourself is ‘What the hell am I’.”

“Oh yes, you’re probably right,” you pondered sarcastically, “stranger who kidnapped me!”

“Kidnapping? Ive been accused of worse.” He grunted, shifting his body to face you.

You sighed, walking back to the cot to sit down. “Who are you?”

“You first, what are you?” He pestered.

“Me first? What are you, a child?” You scoffed, but gave in to him, “I’ve been asking myself that question for years, I’ve got only a sliver of an idea. I know I can make the ground beneath me crumble and swallow us whole, that I can create storms of dust and pull lighting out of a clear blue sky. But I don’t know why I can do that, I don’t know what I am and I’ve only ever been prodded at.”

After a moment of silence, the man spoke again, “I’m Geralt of Rivia, a witcher.”

You were surprised by this but like him, showed no reaction to what you were told.

“Okay, Geralt of Rivia, you’re a witcher so tell me why did you save a monster?” You asked quietly.

“You think you’re a monster?”

“Everyone does, I’ve hurt people and that sounds monstrous to me.”

“Hmm.” The witcher grunted, unsure of what to say.

“What do you think I am?” You asked, staring at your feet.

“Talkative.” He teased.

You grinned and the two of you sat in silence for a while, watching as the sun finally rise, lighting the entire room. Why he had brought you here you had no idea, most likely it was the safest place for miles. You hadn’t been outside the town in nearly a decade, held captive inside the castle. If you could’ve brought that castle down you would’ve but the Queen had it enchanted so no magic, not even your own could effect the tower.

“Teach me.” You blurted, “Teach me to control my magic.”

“I wouldn’t know how to teach you.”

“Says who?��

“History,” Geralt said turning his head away from you. “Any more questions out of you and my ears might just bleed.”

“Then I’d be the one taking care of you,” you teased, “and surely you wouldn’t want that.”

You stood up, walking over to the white-haired man, his eyes the color of the sun. You didn’t realize how good looking he was but it was clearer than ever in the light of the early sun.

“And I’m not asking you, I know you will aid me just as you already have.”

He peered down at you, an annoyed yet intrigued expression. He was impressed by your persistence.

“So,” you said, running your fingers over his chest. “Have you a lady or can I repay you for this lovely debt?”

“I have no one and you owe me nothing.” He never broke eye contact with you and neither did you, which surprised him as most women struggled to keep his gaze.

“You don’t understand what you’ve done for me, truly.” You trailed your fingers up his chest, wrapping a hand behind his neck. “And you look just as broken as me so I insist.”

You pulled him in closer, leaning forwards to kiss him, gently. His lips moved in sync with yours as his hand moved to the small of your back. His lips were soft and his touch was nostalgic for you. You failed to remember the last time anyone wrapped their arms around your waist and so you soaked in every moment of his touch.

He broke the kiss, staring down at you, “What is it with women and magic?”

This was an odd statement, but verified you were not the only magic woman he had come across. Ignoring it, you felt him grip the back of your thighs, lifting you up on his waist and in response you wrapped your legs around him. He backed you against the wall, laying kisses along your neck and jawline. With a tug of your dress, he managed to remove it all while still pinning you to the wall. His eyes gazed over you hungrily, a bright yellow of which you never questioned.

After moments of pleasure and curses echoing the room had come to a stop, you felt yourself stand on your feet again, pulling your dress over your shoulders. The witcher stood in front of you, pulling his clothing down over his torso and fastening his pants. You remained in silence, glancing out the windows to seem occupied. You didn’t notice the witcher still staring at you and the marks on your neck that he left.

“Don’t let anybody tell you what you are,” he spoke, “A monster, a coward, a sex symbol or a fucking gnome, those names are nothing if you know your worth.”

You gazed at the witcher, blushing at his words. But something about him told you he wasn’t practicing what he preached. He carried himself with pride but his aura said something entirely different, that he was caught between embracing who he was and despising his own kind. You could see the world had made him feel that way, that witchers are to be spited.

“Do you?” You questioned, staring intensely at Geralt trying to get a read on him.

“Hmm,” He muttered, ignoring the question. “I’ve never seen anyone with your abilities and I’ve seen almost everything there is to see.”

“Yes, well I’ve heard several variations, you know the first being I’m a monster and brought to this Earth by the need for a balance between good and evil, I’m clearly the latter. Another says I’m a mutant, though there aren’t mutants like me as far as I’ve seen. Lastly, the mayor who sought after my death believed I stemmed from a line of ancient gods and goddesses who were thought to be mythical but he insisted they were real and that my bloodline is that of theirs. I don’t know if I believe that as those gods would’ve long been dead before my birth.”

The witcher analyzed every word you said and wasn’t phased by the mention of gods and goddesses. “I don’t know if any of those variations are true but I know a trusted bard who does his research.”

“Where might this bard reside?” You jumped excitedly, smiling broadly as you were excited by the thought you would finally find out who you are. At this same time your excitement bubbled up, the wind began to pick up outside and a strong breeze came through the shattered window, occupying the room.

“Hey,” Geralt spoke loudly over the wind, noticing it was your excitement which initiated the sudden breeze. “I don’t know for certain if he will be of help but it’s worthy to note your magic is tied to your emotions.” He walked over to you, placing his hands on either sides of your shoulders, staring down into your hopeful eyes. His touch was calming and your adrenaline settled inside of you and thus the wind came to a slow. Geralt observed this and interpreted that you had connected him as an anchor. His face suddenly softened and you hadn’t seen this expression on the witcher yet.

“Come on,” Geralt said, grabbing his bag from the floor, “before you blow the inn away.”

You followed him out the door of the inn and into the outdoors, where the odor of the musky inn didn’t follow and instead was replaced by the scent of Lilly flowers and petrichor, both of which you hadn’t smelt in ages. A lovely mare stood outside, the sun reflecting of its coat beautifully.

“Roach, this is—“ Geralt paused, embarrassed he had never got your name.

“Y/n.” You chuckled at the fact of him talking to his horse. “Roach? For a mare?”

“A pretty name like Y/n for a monster?” He said jokingly, annoyed by your commentary. You let him slide, laughing at the witcher.

“A jester I see, lets get going shall we?” You suggested, letting him mount himself on top the horse. He offered a hand out to you which you accepted, climbing atop the horse.

You started towards your journey, one seeking a know-everything bard to help teach you of your kind. The soft breeze whispered freedom as you laid your head against Geralts back, watching the trees pass you by. Soon enough, you’d learn of your origin and it was liberating to no longer be trapped in the four walls of your room in the castle. So you closed your eyes, inhaling the scent of flowers and pollen as the sound of the rushing wind took over your mind and put you at ease.

—Let me know if you’d like to see a part two as I already have some plot ideas :)) thank you

#imagines #geralt of rivia #geralt imagines #the witcher #the witcher imagine #geralt x reader #witcher x reader #geralt x y/n #netflix the witcher #notmygif #x reader imagine #henry cavill #send in requests

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whumptopia · 4 years

Text

My Cup Runneth Over

d&d oc whump commissioned by [anon]

content warnings: blood drinking, terminal illness, very brief emeto mention

—

Rolith never imagined he would step foot inside a vampire’s home for any reason other than to slaughter the fiend, yet here he is, knocking on the front door of Lord Serador’s estate with no malicious intentions to be found. He’s been tasked to perform a wellness check on the behalf of Queen Juliet, the matriarch of Willowfen, or the independent human settlement they both call home. As the town’s military leader, he receives his orders directly from her and spends a sizable portion of his time advising the crown. They’ve built up a healthy working relationship over the years, and she trusts him indubitably. She told him she was worried about Serador because he returned the Empyreal Wand (the Queen’s family heirloom, which she gave him in return for his help in solving their werewolf problem). Considering how badly the vampire initially wanted the wand, her highness saw his generosity as cause for concern.

Brows furrowing, Rolith glances down at the wand. Although Serador seems to be somewhat less of a prick than most vampiric nobility, Rolith still can’t imagine him helping them for free. There must be another reason why he returned it.

As time passes and his knock remains unanswered, Rolith begins to suspect the Queen’s worry was well-founded. Unwilling to wait any longer, he reaches for the door knob and, surprisingly, finds it unlocked. Perhaps Serador doesn’t consider the animal inhabitants of his domain to be any threat to his safety. Still, in Rolith’s experience, an unlocked front door is never a good sign. He might be young for a military leader (all of the older commanders perished in the fight to free Willowfen from vampiric rule, leaving the next generation to carry the torch alone) but he’s seen enough in his lifetime to know a bad situation when he sees one.

Without hesitation or any regard for proper manners, he slips inside. As soon as the door closes behind him, he’s consumed by darkness. All of the windows are covered, and none of the candles are lit, so he unsheathes his sword and casts Daylight upon the blade. The spell causes the metal to glow and illuminate the foyer. White brightness crawls into every nook and cranny, and he takes a look around.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The manor is archaically well-decorated, of course, but it’s in bad shape. Nothing has been cleaned in ages: the painted portraits are peeling, the wood paneling is dusty, and the ceiling is covered in cobwebs. A shudder of unease rolls down his spine, and he heads toward the stairs, hoping to find Serador quickly so he can get out of this place.

“Hello?” he calls, marching up the creaking steps, “Serador? You here?”

He reaches the second floor and starts down the hallway toward the East Wing. All of the heavy, velvet curtains are drawn closed, but specks of light peek through moth holes. The state of Serador’s house reaffirms his suspicions about his well being. During the period of their alliance thus far, Rolith has noticed that there’s something not quite right with him. The vampire seems to have little to no regard for his health, the most prominent example being the time when he overexerted himself in battle to the extent that he was vomiting blood for hours after. At the time, Rolith tried to help, but he was brushed off. They’ve never discussed the matter. Even when he’s not visibly ill, Serador always has dark circles underneath his red eyes, and his pale skin is more gaunt than even a vampire’s complexion should be. There’s definitely something wrong with him. If only Rolith knew what the problem was.

Turning a corner, he spots an open door at the end of the hall. He heads straight for it, entering the room without preamble, anxious about what he might find.

“Mother of God,” a familiar voice groans. It’s Serador. He’s lying in his bed, his eyes slammed shut against the white glow. “Put that out.”

Rolith waves his hand to disperse the magic, and the vampire sighs in relief at the ensuing darkness. His comfort is short-lived, however, because the paladin immediately strides over to the nearest window and throws open the curtains, letting the evening sunlight in. Serador hisses. Rolith ignores him.

“Your door was unlocked,” he says, turning around to face him. Serador’s bed is ornate and massive, a large canopy frame that’s almost as tall as the ceiling. Propped up by a mountain of pillows and tucked under the covers, the vampire looks none too pleased about being seen in such a vulnerable state. His red eyes immediately hone in on the Emperyal Wand.

“What are you doing with that?” he asks brusquely. “I returned it to your Queen.”

Rolith sheaths his sword and places the wand down on the nearest surface. “But you didn’t tell her why.”

The vampire shifts. “I no longer desire it.”

Approaching his bedside, Rolith takes a moment to more thoroughly examine his appearance. Gone is the demeanor of a haughty immortal. The creature before him looks sickly, and the sheets surrounding him are covered in blood. His chin is stained red.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rolith demands. The vampire doesn’t answer, averting his eyes. He makes a face and then coughs into his elbow. His throat makes a wet, gurgling sound, and his shirt sleeve is soaked in crimson.

Alarm bells go off in the paladin’s head. The carnage isn’t from feeding. It’s not the blood of his prey. It’s his own.

“Serador.”

“What?” he gasps, breathless and clearly annoyed.

“You know what. You look like you’re dying. You need a cleric or, or something,” Rolith says, running a hand through his blonde hair and wracking his mind for a way to help. He doesn’t know much about vampire physiology. Information regarding their weaknesses is kept secret by the vampiric nobility. Before this very moment, he thought they couldn’t even get sick in the first place.

Intent on rushing out of the manor and grabbing the first healer he comes across, he moves toward the door to leave, but Serador clears his throat and makes him pause.

“A cleric won’t help,” he says.

Crossing his arms, Rolith glares at him. “So you know what’s wrong with you?”

Serador sighs deeply. He looks miserable. His cheeks are hollow, and his limbs sag with every movement as if his very bones are weighing him down. Rolith hates seeing him like this.

“I was cursed a long time ago, in a blood feud. The curse manifests as an illness of sorts, weakening me until eventually…” Rolith shrugs, “Well, I assume it’ll kill me someday. It’s been a decades now.”

The vampire’s casual tone makes it difficult for Rolith to immediately comprehend the meaning of his words, but the more he thinks about it, the more everything begins to make sense. He recalls every time he’s witnessed Serador utterly drained after battle, and the pieces of the puzzle slot together in his mind. “You’re cursed?”

Serador gives him a tired look. “Yes. I thought perhaps the wand could cure me, but I doubt it.”

Rolith raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even try?” At this, he marches over to the table and grabs the wand, determination pumping through his veins. “You’re dying. You should at least try.”

“It would destroy the wand,” Serador explains, struggling to sit upright, “and the odds of success are low. It’s more important to preserve it for future generations if there is to be any hope for an insurrection.”

Rolith looks at the wand skeptically. “I thought it was just an heirloom.”

The vampire coughs into his fist, his shoulders shaking in violent jerks. “The Queen’s father was a legendary cleric, as you know. If you and your people want to harness the power of the forbidden magics and overthrow the corrupt court, then you’ll need that wand.” He gives Rolith a pointed look. “I can’t teach you everything.”

The paladin frowns. It’s true Serador taught him illegal spells to use against the undead. The enchantments aided him in defeating an evil witch, but the vampire was burned by simply being in close-proximity when Rolith cast the spell. Serador has taken great risks in aiding them in their goal of freeing humankind… and now he would sacrifice his only chance at life for their sakes?

Rolith shakes his head. “Then there has to be another way to break the curse.”

The vampire sports a wry smile. “As much as I admire your optimism, I’ve been around for much longer than you’ve been alive. I doubt there’s a cure.”

“Well, I’ll find one,” he asserts, leveling Serador with a challenging look. He doesn’t appreciate being told what he can and cannot do by vampires, especially when he’s trying to help. He takes a step closer to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, fire burning in his blue eyes.

“You might’ve given up on your life, but I—we haven’t. Queen Juliet wishes to continue her alliance with you. Your help has been immeasurable, and I know the other paladins feel the same. You’ve saved my life multiple times. It’s only right that I return the favor.” Rolith takes a gamble and reaches for the vampire’s hand, squeezing his pale fingers in a reassuring grip. “I’ll help you break the curse. I promise.”

Serador meets his gaze with an unreadable expression. Rolith has always struggled to understand him because of their differences. He’s loathed all vampires for so long, it’s taken him a while to realize that Serador is a valuable ally and a good person. Before he can even attempt to dissect the nuances of his face, Serador breaks his silence.

“Do you ever cease to be charming?” he murmurs. It’s the first compliment the vampire has ever given him, and the words level Rolith. His breath catches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking.

“Only on my days off. Right now I’m here on the Queen’s dime.”

The vampire pulls his hand away to brush back several strands of long, white hair from his face. “Of course you are.”

Rolith smiles briefly before his face settles into a grave expression once again. Although he enjoys how far they have come since meeting each other (Serador no longer calls him ‘boy’ in a derogatory way), the pleasantness of their camaraderie is overshadowed by the revelation of a deadly curse.

“What can I do to help? You’re not going to be confined to your bed forever, right?”

“I should hope not,” the vampire huffs, smoothing down the stained sleeves of his black robes. “I should be back to normal in a couple days. It comes and goes in waves.”

“What about…” Rolith bites his lip and gestures vaguely, “When was the last time you fed?”

Serador’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “It’s been a while.”

Eager to help, an idea forming in his mind, Rolith continues, “Would that help? If you had something?”

The vampire sets his jaw. He doesn’t speak. Rolith takes that as a yes. His hand goes to his blade, and Serador makes an insulted noise.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I won’t allow it.”

The paladin unsheathes his sword and rests it in his lap. “Why not? I’m perfectly healthy, you’re on the verge of death… if I can hasten your recovery—”

“No,” Serador cuts in, his voice stronger than it has been all throughout their conversation thus far. He seems resolute in his refusal, but Rolith knows that a vampire’s morality blurs at the edges of hunger, so he takes a deep breath and presses the sharp edge of his blade against his palm. He pauses there, waiting for protest, but Serador doesn’t say anything further to stop him, so he drags the sword across his skin and slices open a thin red cut. It stings, but only a few beads of blood rise to the surface. He looks Serador in the eye. The vampire’s breathing is labored as if his fight against his baser instincts is a physical effort.

“I trust you,” Rolith reassures, even though he knows he’s already won this argument. “Just take a little bit, since you’re so worried. I’ll even get it healed later today.”

Serador raises a trembling arm and wraps his clammy fingers around his wrist in a delicate manner, gently pulling his hand closer. With his other hand, he caresses the inside of his forearm soothingly, as if calming a spooked animal. Shivers race down Rolith’s spine, but he isn’t afraid of a little pain. He’s willing to endure it for a friend.

Serador opens his mouth and slowly sinks his fangs into the cut, widening the wound a bit. An odd sensation spreads across his palm—the venom must be numbing him. The vampire seals his lips over the cut and sucks slowly, eyes closed. The whole affair feels strangely intimate, and although he knows blood is being leached from his body, Rolith can’t look away. He doesn’t tell him to stop, either. He was serious when he said he intended to find a way to break Serador’s curse. He doesn’t intend to let the vampire wither away anytime soon.

A couple minutes later, some of the color has returned to Serador’s face, and he pulls away with a wet pop. Rolith’s fingers are tingling, but otherwise he feels fine. The vampire licks the wound clean and then grasps his palm with both hands. Warmth spreads across his skin in a flash of golden light, and when Serador lets go, the cut has healed.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Rolith says, rubbing his thumb across his palm where the slice had been. Serador sits back against his pile of pillows, evening his breath. His face is placid, but underneath his calm demeanor, he looks refreshed.

“You didn’t need to offer yourself to me,” he counters with a tilt of his head.

“I wanted to.” Rolith wipes his blade clean on the sheets, earning a disgruntled huff from the owner of the bed, before sheathing his weapon.

“If I were in a better state, I would’ve never let you do something so unnecessary and, frankly, dangerous,” Serador insists, coming back to himself now. He looks embarrassed, but he really shouldn’t be, in Rolith’s opinion. “Don’t try that again.”

“Alright,” the paladin agrees. He doesn’t regret encouraging Serador to drink from him against his wishes. If it keeps Serador alive, he’ll do it, even if it makes the vampire uncomfortable. He recognizes that he overstepped a boundary, though, so he stands up from the bed and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

Serador snorts. “You’re not. But you should be.”

Rolith’s lips quirk up in a half-smile, unbidden. “I have to tell the Queen why you returned the wand, you know.”

“I suppose you do.” The vampire doesn’t sound happy about that. “While you’re at it, tell her to stop sending trespassers into my home.”

Rolith’s smile broadens into a grin. He pockets the wand, handling it with much more care than he did previously. “I might advise her to send a cleaning crew over, if anything.”

There’s a long pause, and then, “You are one of the most audacious humans I have ever met.”

Rolith laughs, daring to meet the vampire’s eyes. He looked genuinely affronted, which only amuses him more. “You clearly haven’t met enough humans, then.”

“Clearly,” Serador drawls, “Now get out of my house.”

“Gladly,” Rolith shoots back, even though he would rather stay and ensure the vampire doesn’t drop dead anytime soon. He slowly moves toward the door, hesitant. The hallway is dark. He glances over his shoulder briefly and catches one last glimpse of Serador. He’s looking down at his hand, the evening sunlight casting shadows over the bed.

Rolith steps into the darkness and leaves before he can be caught watching.

#my writing #whump #oc whump #vampire whump #blood drinking #blood sucking #dnd oc #dnd whump #coughing #discomfort #illness #guys i think they might like each other 👀

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retroateez · 3 years

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Seventeen

length: 3k

tag list: @hewwo-from-the-other-side

prophecy masterlist

Strolling arm in arm with Seonghwa, the kingsguard of Ateez's powerful monarch, was not a situation you had ever expected to be in, not in a million years.

But yet, here you were, clutching onto the tall, handsome man as he led you through hallways and down great wooden staircases. Really, you didn't know what you were more nervous about, being in the spotlight in front of hundreds of people, or seeing Wooyoung dressed like this.

Your gown, an exquisitely made garment just for you, fits your form beautifully. The skirt sways gently with every step you take and every so often, you swear you catch the stitched butterflies fluttering with ease.

"Yeosang enchanted the butterflies," Seonghwa explains quietly. "They gave me quite the fright too when I saw them moving."

You smile, thinking of Yeosang whispering softly to the fabric and watching as the rose pink butterflies come to life.

Before long, you're both stood in front of the great oak doors that lead into the main hall. Seonghwa adjusts his position, putting his heels together and straightening his back. You can tell he's done this countless times before; he knows exactly how to carry himself and you would expect absolutely nothing less from the man who exudes regality.

"I don't know if I can do this, Seonghwa." You exhale sharply, tightening your grip on the kingsguard's arm.

"Of course you can!" He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "All you have to do is walk, and sit. When Wooyoung comes to you and offers to dance, you accept, and then you dance."

"I'm- I'm not cut out for fancy stuff like this." You say, looking up at him with sad eyes. "I'm just a nasty little street thief."

Seonghwa scoffs.

"You think a street rat would ever wear something as beautiful as this? Nonsense! The past is the past, Iris. You're one of us now."

Something about Seonghwa's words calms you, the thought of being accepted by (almost) everybody in the castle warming you to the heart. In a sense too, he's right. The shades of your old life had been completely cast out, starting with Yeosang giving you a proper home, and Hongjoong giving you a job of sorts.

Really, you had it all.

But the insatiable hunger for more still burned within you, and no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind, it would come back ten times louder.

Seonghwa reaches out and knocks firmly on the door, and immeditately, both of them are pulled open.

You stand there, mouth agape, taking in the scenery before you.

The great hall has been completely transformed, from an empty, lonely space to a bustling center of hospitality and entertainment.

On the far left, where Hongjoong's brilliant throne is, sits a long table, with space for nine people. In the center, is a smaller, but no less impressive version of the throne, where you assume the king himself will be sitting.

Off to the side of that, is a rectangular platform, upon which is Mingi, expertly playing his lute whilst accompanied by three other men playing various instruments you couldn't name. The rest of the hall is full of grand oak tables, each one lined with people chattering and singing along loudly with Mingi's song. Every table is graced with an abundance of hot food and goblets of ale. Whole roasted pheasants, hogs, mountains of golden roasted potatoes and boiled carrots covered every single surface and filled the air with a delicious aroma.

You spot Yeosang and Wooyoung occupying two chairs on the top table, conversing with each other, probably about the prophecy. You also spy San admist the guests, who laugh heartily as he speaks to them. Perhaps a jester is more than jokes after all.

At the end of the table is a sturdy young man with chesnut brown hair, who looks incredibly familiar to you, but you know you've never met him. Next to him is Yunho, who you grin at, happy to see a familiar face. He doesn't reciprocate your smile, instead giving you a small wave. You pray that he hasn't noticed the stolen textbook.

Seonghwa keeps you closely by your side as you glide into the hall and the silence in the room becomes abundantly clear.

Everybody is watching you.

All the guests take their seats and they sit like obedient children, observing as the stoic, cold-faced kingsguard accompanies you to your seat at the head table.

For some of them, this is a completely new experience; to see Seonghwa leading a beautiful woman to the most importaant table in the room. But for the older attendees, it is a sight they haven't seen since the passing of the Queen.

It's only when you're sat, Hongjoong's empty seat to your right and a giddy Yeosang to your left, that you realise you were holding your breath the entire time. Seonghwa tucks your chair in gently, and takes his own place on the other side of Hongjoong's vacant space, with Wooyoung faintly blushing to his right. The noise in the hall picks back up again, allowing you to quietly converse with your mentor.

"You look positively beautiful, my little student." Yeosang beams at you, and you shyly smile at him.

"You look rather dashing yourself, Yeosang." There's no lie; his brilliantly blonde hair is styled (for once) so it trails ever so slightly down the back of his neck, his outfit makes a start contrast to his usual attire, although he has opted to keep his signature white shirt, but over the top is fitted, beige jacket with embellishments of gold down the line of buttons, and leading down to his wrists.

"Do you like the butterflies?" He asks, a glint of pride behind the eyes. "I thought you would like them."

"Yes, Yeosang." You nod. "They're very pretty."

Suddenly, a hush falls over the room once more, and you guess that can only signify the arrival of a certain person.

The same doors you entered though swing open again, and Hongjoong himself confidently strolls in. He's wearing the tawny brown fur coat you saw before, fancy black trousers with gold patterning up the outside seams of the legs. His boots are ordinary, but they shine brilliantly, almost putting the jewels on his crown to shame.

It dawns on you then that you have actually never seen the king wear his crown, and you're astonished at how stunning it is. At the center is a huge blue gem, identical to the one sitting in the middle of the silver circlet on your own head. Each peak of the crown is embellished with glittering green sapphires, and between the tufts of his fluffy, mousy hair you can spot the sparkling rubies and garnets fitted around the base of the crown.

Hongjoong paces slowly, aware but unaffected by all eyes watching him in awe. He gets to the table, and stands on the other side of where you are seated, and he turns to face the crowded hall.

"Welcome!" he cries, motioning out in front of him. "Esteemed guests and distinguished friends, welcome to the annual Ateez ball."

The guests clap and cheer at their welcoming, Hongjoong patiently smiling as he waits for them to shut up. Sometimes he really hates his obligation to these dreaded social functions.

"It is with great sadness that the kingdom of Seventeen is not able to attend tonight," He says. "Commander Jeonghan sends his regards to all of you."

Hongjoong claps his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the hall and ringing in your ears.

"Nevertheless! Let us enjoy a night of feasting and festivities! Please, thoroughly enjoy yourselves." He finishes with a deep, sweeping bow, upon which the attendees go wild once more, taking up their goblets and gulping their mead down hungrily.

Hongjoong moves around the table, and takes his seat beside you with an exhausted sigh. All chairs, except for two which belong to Mingi and San who are busy entertaining the guests, are now occupied, and you can't help but wonder who the brown haired man next to Yunho is.

"Hongjoong?" You turn to your right and timidly ask the king your question.

"Jongho?" He questions. "He's the tailor who made your dress. He's a quiet lad, from somewhere up north I believe, but he's damn good at what he does."

Jongho's face perks up over hearing his name and he whips around to face you. Hongjoong signals for him to come over, and he does.

"Jongho! This is Iris, Iris, this is Jongho." The king introduces you, and you can't help but blush at the handsome smile the young man gives you.

"Pleasure to meet cha," He says. "You look even more beautiful in that dress that I ever could'a imagined. Hope yah like it?" You notice the difference in his accent, figuring that must be how they talk up in the north.

"It's gorgeous. Thank you."

"Oh hey, you're that kid from the inn!" Yeosang's voice behind you makes you jump, and you slowly realise that Yeosang is in fact correct.

"The inn with the bear!" You gasp. "Do you know if the bear is okay?"

Jongho chuckles. "The bear is fine. I actually recognise you two from the inn also, fancy meeting here, eh?"

You laugh along with him, one of the many worries settled in your mind as you finally learn about the bear that's been plagueing your dreams for so long.

"Well, I'm glad we are all well aquainted." Hongjoong smiles sarcastically, and Jongho takes that as his notice to return to his seat, bowing politely to you before he does so.

"So when do we start dancing and stuff?" You ask Hongjoong, your eyes following Seonghwa as he hurriedly gets up and scurries out of the hall. Your gaze falls back to the king as he shrugs.

"Probably within an hour or so," he answers. "Only people of high status are allowed to dance, so lords, ladies, princes and princesses from other kingdoms will take the center."

You nod, gulping nervously.

"I hope you've been practicing." Hongjoong says. "You'd better not embarrass me in front of my guests."

"What?" you yelp. "Why don't you go out there and dance if you're so bothered?"

"Because I'm the king." he smirks. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to, and I can make anyone do anything I want."

"You're evil." you snarl at him.

"You love me really." he grins. "Besides, I'm being awfully nice to you, am I not? Letting you live in my castle, giving you lavish clothes, allowing you to do whatever you please?"

"But why? All I do is cause trouble and get in the way."

Hongjoong stays silent for a moment, mulling over his answer before turning to face you once again.

"Truthfully, you remind me of my mother. She was very headstrong, very determined. She would never let my father order her around, not a day in her life would she obey the king's command." He stares into the joyful crowd, his eyes misting over ever so slightly as he remembers his late mother.

"I think she would have liked you very much." He continues. "She loved me dearly, but I think deep down she would have loved to have a daughter. My behaviour as of late, I know she would not have approved of it. My mother firmly believed I would be a good king, and so I strive everyday to make her proud. Your arrival reminded me of the promise I made to her before she passed."

"What promise was that?" You whisper.

"To treat everyone fairly, as she would have done. Regardless of age, race, or gender, my mother was a kindred spirit to every soul she met. Did you know that both Mingi and San were found abandoned outside the gates of the kingdom?"

You shake your head.

"My mother refused to have them sent to the orphanage, so she brought them here and they were raised alongside me."

"She sounds like an amazing woman, Hongjoong."

"She was." He smiles fondly. After a few moments, he shakes his head, rubbing his hands together. "My mother also loved to dance, and so with that, the ball shall properly commence!"

Hongjoong stands up, grabbing a glass goblet and a shiny silver spoon from the table and clinking them together to seize the attention of his guests. You watch as he commands the room like a true king, speaking confidently and without hesitation.

You look out at the sea of guests that hang onto his every word, and smile proudly.

Even if you haven't always seen eye to eye, he's a good man who just wants the best for his people, even you can recognise that.

Hongjoong raises his filled goblet towards the ceiling and grins cheerily at his spectators.

"To Ateez!" he toasts.

"To Ateez!" The crowd, including the table at which you are sat, mimic Hongjoong's cry and you sip eagerly at the alcohol in your cup.

When you place your goblet back on the table, you see Wooyoung stood in front of you, on the other side of the table.

You hadn't actually noticed just how handsome he was looking tonight, and now you had a perfect view.

He was wearing his signature, loose, white shirt, except the first two buttons were undone, giving everybody a direct peek at the top of his chest. He also wore a brilliant crimson waistcoat with bold, green plant stems stitched across the front. Beautiful emerald leaves accompanied the stems, with gorgeous, multicoloured flowers dotted here and there all over the front and back of the waistcoast. You even noticed dainty pink butterflies opening and closing their wings, sitting on the flowers of his outfit, butterflies that were completely identical to yours. Wooyoung's trousers were his usual black ones, but tighter than usual.

His jet black hair was soft and curly, parted in the middle and allowing him to stare at you fondly with his stunning amethyst eyes.

"Would you care to dance?" He asks politely, offering you his hand over the table.

Of course, you nod, and hurriedly rush past Yeosang and San who are sat at the table, to take Wooyoung's hand. He gently takes your hand in his, and raises your hand to his lips. He kisses the back of your hand delicately, and smiles at you with a sparkle in his eyes and a warmth in his heart.

"You look stunning tonight, Iris." He whispers to you, leading you towards the middle of the room where the other couples are preparing to dance.

"As do you, Wooyoung." You blush deeply.

The two of you are stood in the center of the hall, and it feels like you're the only two present. You place your arms around his neck, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, and try to contain the blushing when he puts his hands on your waist.

"Are you ready?" He teases. "Remember all your training?"

"Of course," You mumble back. "How could I possibly forget when I had such an amazingly gifted teacher?"

"Don't let San hear you say that," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "Or else his ego will shoot through the roof."

The music starts up again as you giggle quietly. You feel Wooyoung's hands tighten slightly on your waist and the nerves slowly begin to creep in once again.

But then Wooyoung's fingers are on your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

"Hey." He whispers. "No nerves here. We've got this."

And you grin from ear to ear, because he's right.

You manage to keep yourself standing, Wooyoung assisting you most the time by leading you with gentle spins and careful twirls. The two of you join the rest of the crowd in a group dance in which you temporarily switch partners. To your delight, you ended up with Mingi, who despite the vast height difference, was very pleasant to dance with. At one point, Mingi even picked you up and spun you so fast you thought the room was spinning around you.

"That was so fun!" you exclaim to Wooyoung when you return to your original partners.

"I'm glad you thought so." He replies, a hint of playful bitterness laced in his voice. "I much prefer dancing with you than San, his shoulders are much too sharp."

You nod in agreement, laughing joyfully and grinning as Wooyoung matches your gleeful expression. The dancing continues for a short while longer, most of the dancers filing out to eat and drink as the music becomes calmer and slower. But you and the elf carry on as if you were the only two in the room, whispering to each other as you gracefully move across the floor.

Hongjoong watches the two of you from his seat at the main table. He's sitting alone, Yeosang, Yunho and Jongho having collected themselves at the table of King Chan and his guests, talking animatedly.

Hongjoong watches as you and Wooyoung dance, observing with an amused twist of his mouth as Wooyoung dips you down, holding your waist, and gently places his lips on yours.

Hongjoong can't help but admire the bravery displayed by the elf.

He watches you smile into the kiss, and notices how Wooyoung's grip on your waist tightens. The king might even go as far to say he's impressed.

With an exhale, Hongjoong's gaze moves from you to the others, to San cracking jokes, to Mingi expertly playing his lute, and to the other three who seem to be getting along well. He's glad he went through with the ball, the stress of the prophecy getting to him more than he would have liked.

The king sits silently, pondering over the last few months, when Seonghwa, visibly distressed comes hurrying over.

"Hongjoong," he rasps. "We've recieved a message from Seventeen. They've recieved word that there's magic in the kingdom and they're sending soldiers to attack-"

"Ah." Hongjoong nods. "That's why Commander Jeonghan didn't show up. I see."

The king stays silent for a few moments, Seonghwa staring him with panic written over his entire face.

"Well, there's no reason why we can't talk this out. Tell them to send their commander and we can assure them there is zero magic in Ateez."

"But-"

"But what, Seonghwa? There is zero magic in the kingdom. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." The kingsguard nods hurriedly, and once again rushes out of the hall, no doubt to instruct the messengers.

Hongjoong sighs. He won't tell the others, not yet.

"Let them enjoy themselves." He mumbles to himself, watching Wooyoung twirl you around in his arms.

#wooyoung #san #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #mingi #jongho #yeosang #ateez au #medieval!ateez #ateez #ateez fic

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

Text

Unfettered IV

Original; I, II, III Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Forest Dark Fey Reader; Philip x Aurora; King John is Everyone’s Dad (reprise)

“And you raised them all?” John asked Udo with a twinkle in his eyes.

The whole of you left the tribunal together – the trio of the royal family as well as the council-five of you. You were pleasantly surprised when members of the gentry murmured apologies in passing, a few of them even daring to meet your eyes, especially considering Borra spared them no details of what he’d seen done by poachers – or what he’d done to them in retribution.

Azarias heard none of it, and that pleased you immensely. Nearly as much as Aurora’s impromptu decision to go home for the night, whether or not John and Philip desired to accompany her (they did wish to, and they were).

Borra’s hand was on your back, and you tucked your wings against his as best as they would allow you to, strained as they were from remaining upright for so long. Your pinfeathers practically sagged, and it didn’t help that they could hardly rise to bristle when a girl barely older than the red-haired one Maleficent had grown quite fond of ran out from one of the shops directly toward you.

“Here!” she held out a length of fabric to you, nearly the same shade as the new-dawn of your dress.

You were touched, but very confused. It was hardly long enough to wear, even wrapped.

“For your wings,” She said like she could tell you needed the context, “they seem tired.”

Your eyes met hers, and you swore before the phoenix that, had you not cried all of your tears when they carried your pain, you might’ve shed some.

I wouldn’t know how to sling them if I wanted to, you thought, though you thanked her quietly with your hands over hers all the same. She was a beautiful girl, redwood-brown like your mother, with a circlet of braids like Aurora’s in her long, dark hair.

She even smiled at Borra before retreating, never once hesitating to give you her back.

Skies, maybe you were fostering peace. They had every right to fear you, and yet their children swarmed to Udo like a train of ducklings, and you looked to the man you loved with a length of soft fabric in your grasp. He knew more about binding wounds and making slings than you did.

He fanned it out, right there in the middle of Ulstead, and wound the middle of it like a brace around your shoulders. It pressed flat against your back to keep from damaging the impermanent paint on your chest, and he paused to look at you before winding the fabric around your wings. “You’ll tell me if it hurts.”

You rose on your toes and gently bunted horns with him. “I will.”

He was careful, practical. A sling could not disrupt your plumage in any significant way, so your wings were mostly braced at the joints to sit aloft. It had to be tightened on your left one, since it had nearly no strength, and you wore its support thick like a bandage around your arm.

You folded them, and the flutter you felt in your tired muscles made you flinch. “The tendon,” you offered before he even asked. The sensation of its displeasured jump never ceased to make you bristle.

He ran his fingers over it gently. Neither of you could do anything about how tired they were, though you were grateful for the caress of his talons through your feathers all the same.

“It’s pretty,” Ini offered, which meant that it looked strange.

You gave her a theatrical shrug. “I still have my wits.”

Shrike laughed entirely to herself, and you half-fanned your wing like you intended to hit her with it, not that it wouldn’t hurt you more than her.

Philip broke stride with his wife to bring the remainder of your collective individually-papered treats. “Here, we should celebrate.”

You and Ini took them without hesitation. She was nearly as fond of palace sweets as you were, though it took the pleased flutter of your eyes when you bit into cinnamon, cardamom and sweet anise to inspire the other pair to join you.

“Swear it’s not poisoned with rowan?” Ini joked, and made the others of you stop short.

“Considering I bought them for myself,” Philip replied, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile he had to force down, “they wouldn’t have thought to, no.”

Borra half-growled, and the smile the prince tamped rose up again.

You shook your head fondly and toyed with a curl at the end of Philip’s well-preened hair. “You should know better.”

“Do you?” Aurora teased. The immediacy of her response gave you pause; they, too, had inside jokes, the likes of which even John smiled at.

“Do I what?” Philip asked in a faux-haughty voice.

Aurora lowered hers, tried to smooth it, and the playful glint in her eyes betrayed that they were mimicking their respective mothers. “Know better?”

This was how it should’ve been, you thought. They were young, they deserved to be happy and in love. They deserved to run wild through their kingdom, as they did – Philip moving to take her in his arms and Aurora bolting like a deer in the tall grass, making him laugh as he gave chase. The impropriety of it warmed you – and John, as his face could never lie. They had duties, yes, but you were not the only ones seeking peace.

You glanced to Borra’s wing as it curled around you, and you pointedly slowed to offer up the end of your pastry.

There was no one else in the world when he took it from you. When he deliberately brushed his lips against your fingers, cradled your hand in his palm. Kissed them. The warmth that filled your chest began to travel, and you became newly and intimately aware of how different things were from how they’d been when the tribunal began – than when the day started.

Perhaps he was, also. You certainly made no effort to deny yourself the thrill of pleasure down your spine when he guided your hand to his chest, as though you didn’t have the impulse to caress him.

His heart beat against your palm. You pressed yourself against him, soaking in his warmth – basking in the safety of his grasp and how lucky you were that you, of all people, were allowed to reside there. Welcomed. You were his, and he was yours.

“I love you,” you reminded him. Part reminder, part promise, without any hidden subtext about how you hoped the night would progress.

He smiled, and the glint in his eyes made your traveling love-warmth pool low in your belly. “And I, you.”

You spent so long displeased by the idea of him striding around like a peacock with the knowledge that he’d made you beg that it made you feel foolish now that you had. In every version of your fantasies, he made you beg. Made you shake. Bedded you so well and thoroughly it’d make your belly quiver just to look at him afterward.

But there was no striding, no smirking, no fluffed wings. Just his thumb tracing your knuckles while you rested your hand on his chest, and you smiled as you pressed your cheek against the weathered leather at his shoulder.

Ini broke stride with you and threw Shrike a glance, “Seems we’ll have to make plans of our own tonight.”

You could not generate wind with your wings, but you certainly tried. They flapped like a clipped bird, and, this time, it made them both laugh.

Your face didn’t heat. There was no shame in your failure to do what you might’ve once; your wings were tired, but they moved. Your heart was heavy, but it beat. And, just as the young king and queen of Ulstead ran like children for the enchanted bridge (right into a flock of eager flower sprites), Borra kept to the earth at your side.

The sun lowered beyond the peaks of the moors, and you were happy.

Under the cover of night, twelve men assembled in a long-dark smithy. They were each given a crossbow and two iron bolts. Only a handful remained within the kingdom, and they were woefully short on time.

“If you do not return,” Azarias stood before them with the moonlight glinting off his polished buttons, “your family will be given high honor for your dedication to the cause. If you do, and you can prove to me that you fired the killing shot, you will be paid the creature’s weight in silver. Have I made myself clear?”

He knew several of those men carried weapons that were not iron. He anticipated only one of them might return, if they succeeded.

The odds were not in their favor. And that meant his plans were thoroughly fool-proof.

“Do not fail me,” he said, and his dark eyes glinted like dying embers in the pale light. “Do not fail your families or your kingdom. We are our people’s last defense.”

“You don’t truly believe that, do you?” the youngest of them asked with a note of open fear.

“Have you not seen the way they look at us?” Azarias had to stifle a smile. “The queen may have been raised by a noble savage, but the rest are wild animals let loose among us; it’s only a matter of time before they grow fond of our blood.”

The youngest of the men thought he stifled the chill that ran up his back. He didn’t.

“Which one is it?” another asked, his crossbow already loaded.

“You will know it when you find it,” Azarias replied.

He did not imagine they would survive their journey, but he would not discourage them from bringing back more than one of you – especially if one of them was troublesome little you.

As soon as the drum-beats began, you danced.

You would’ve danced whether or not he was with you, but it was a great reassurance to have him there. You hadn’t tried to call anything from the earth since you returned – you weren’t even sure if you could. You had been so sick for so long that the idea of dancing at all, let alone twice in the same week, was as much a Celebration of Life as the dance itself. (Your people would forgive you for your weakness, but that did not mean you could forgive yourself – how stupid you were not to embrace your place in this world wholeheartedly before it was nearly vacant.)

The whole of your gathered people moved like the same great beast. It was as though you’d all arranged it, though you’d never spoken a word. The force of the drums made the earth tremble in time with the pounding of your feet. The dance was an instinct as much in the individual as it was in the whole. It was like the rise and fall of your mother’s dawn song – words you didn’t know the meaning to, but could still sing.

Your wings protested their shift and cant. There was a dull, pounding throb in your knees, and you had no intention or desire to withdraw. Even those of you who were not warriors outright did not shy away.

But your joints must’ve betrayed you a time and a half too many; Borra’s arm ensnared your waist. His wings fanned against yours, and, without thought, you were moving with him. Your back was to his chest, your hips flush against his, and the pounding of the drums matched the rhythm of your heart.

Your lips brushed his ear when you turned your head. “Like this?”

It took him a moment to recall the conversation you’d had in your nest several days ago – it felt like a lifetime already. As though the raging heat of his body against yours didn’t betray him as much as the firelight glinting in your eyes.

He traced his talons along the hem of your dress, followed its path from where it was bound in itself at your chest to where it was fastened with leather twine at your knee. When he turned his head to yours, your lips nearly brushed. “Are you ready?”

You had no intention of nearly doing anything tonight, so you kissed him. Right then, right there, the both of you already moving together.

His hips rolled against you, a low sound of desire rumbling from deep within his chest. The parts of him that weren’t already stone-hard were certainly soon to be, if you had any say about it.

You were tangled in one another when you stumbled back to your nest. You couldn’t find the hold-fast to his armor and you didn’t want to stop to ask. He made that low, heated purr against your mouth, and you whimpered into it.

“Wait,” he cautioned, and you let your hands fall. He took care of it for you, tossing piece by piece into the layer of soft down on your floor – his and yours, brown-sheened black and pale, sandy-tan.

You let yourself settle back on your bare feet. Let yourself pause to admire all of him as he was bared as though you didn’t see him without his armor at night – as though this, you, him, there, would be fundamentally different from the intimacy you’d already given one another.

He did the same for you, gathering your hair as you traced the plains of his chest under your fingers. The ardor of want and the slow-burn of love built together into an all-consuming blaze, and you pressed a gentle, loving kiss just under his jaw that became a path down his neck.

“Let me go first.”

You kissed a path down to his heart and let your lips linger there for a moment before you nodded. Whatever he wished.

It took him a breath’s pause to release you and undo the shell-button at your hip. You ran your hands over his arms while you watched him, thumb-traced the puncture-scar where Percival struck him with an iron bullet.

When your dress came loose, you let it fall. You watched his beautiful, sandstorm eyes drink you in; he brushed his fingers over the sword-scar at your hip, let his cupped palm lift along your side as though he wouldn’t feel the patterning of your flesh.

But this wasn’t about the tragedy of your shared pain. Not even close.

His lips began at your pulse. He kissed one side, and then the other. He kissed a path down your throat to the hollow of your collarbone. (You shivered, lightly, at the heat of his hands as they roamed your back.)

He kissed the steady pounding of your heart. Traced a path along your vital points until he was on his knees before you, and you held him against you when he kissed your belly, ran your fingers lightly through the ends of his hair.

“Want me to lie down?” he asked.

“I want to,” you murmured. You wanted to be his. Held and loved and made love to; you didn’t need your wings getting in the way of that.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” His horns brushed your skin and you pet them – they were dry and rough and that saddened you; you should’ve been taking better care of him, this beautiful, wonderful man who took such good care of you.

He waited for your affirmation, lips lingering on your skin. Your eyes gave him pause, so you had to hold him to keep him from withdrawing.

“I’ve been selfish, haven’t I?”

“Never, Cas.” He brushed his thumb over your hip.

“All this time, you’ve done nothing but wait for me. Care for me. Keep me safe.”

“Shh.” He rested his cheek against you as though basking in the warmth of your skin as you did, his. “I wanted to.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Why should it be?” he traced one of the scar-patterns on your back, his eyes lifting to hold yours. “I love you. Let me.”

You ran your thumb along his cheekbone, cradled his jaw. He kissed the heel of your palm, careful not to bump you on his horns. “Will you tell me if you want me to stop?”

“Yes,” you murmured. You were still hung up on how painfully unfair it was that you had run from your feelings for so long and yet there he was, on his knees, worshipping you. Like he hadn’t held you almost every time you cried. Like you hadn’t made him suffer alongside you.

He didn’t feel that you’d made him do anything. He kissed your belly, and then your hips. He kissed the soft down between them, your inner thighs, and then, so sweetly, the parts of you that you’d longed for him to touch. He didn’t ask you to lie down if you weren’t ready, though you clutched his hair when his tongue brushed right where you hoped it would. The sound of your delighted gasp gave him chills.

You did lay down so he could kiss the rest of you. Down your thighs, over the scars on your calves and back up them. He slotted your legs over his shoulders so he could settle between them, and you bit your lower lip when you realized that it wasn’t going to be like you thought it would be at all – the hot, harsh rutting that would leave you kiss-bruised and pleasantly sore was not what he intended to do with you, the passion in your dance aside.

He held you like you were sacred, his hands cradling your hips. Your skin brushed against the down at the joints of his wings. Every kiss was long, slow and hungry; his tongue did things that made you arch and squirm. You whimpered and he pressed closer to you, picking up on the finer points of your body language that even you weren’t aware of. He tasted you as though you were the relief of an oasis and he could hardly believe it was not still a mirage.

“Not yet,” you whimpered when you started to feel like the light, sweet brush of his tongue against your bundled nerves might push you too close. “I want you, Borra.”

He groaned softly, and the heat of his breath against your center made your hips rock toward him. “Oh, stars, I want you inside of me.”

You didn’t think he would’ve moved more quickly if you’d begged.

His trousers joined the rest of your clothes, and you felt your skin flush at the sight of him fully bared to you. In your fantasies, you were not so far ahead of yourself when he undressed – he wasn’t so ready for you.

By the Phoenix, he was beautiful.

The nest crinkled as he settled his weight against you. He was patient; he eased into you little by little as though your hips wouldn’t buck and you didn’t cry out into his shoulder when he rocked back a little in retreat like he was teasing you.

“Let me be gentle,” he whispered, his voice strained.

“I don’t want you to,” you whined.

“But I do.” He put the brunt of his weight on one arm so he could press your hip into the down. “There’s a way I want to do this, Cas. I want be good to you.” He advanced a little more, and you were suddenly flush with him. He was nestled inside of you, so close that your skin touched, and you couldn’t form a coherent response to how warm and how full you were. “I want to be good for you.”

There was absolutely no doubt in your mind he would ever need to worry about that. Stars.

He gave you a moment to make sure it wasn’t too much, that he wasn’t going too fast, before he started to move with you. You weren’t the only one with fantasies, though it could’ve made you laugh to imagine that you, who had been avoiding your feelings for so long, imagined the hot, hard and rough parts while he, who could’ve taken you whenever he so pleased, wanted to make love to you this way. He wanted to prove to you that he was worthy of you, that your feigned apathy was unwarranted – he knew who he was, he knew why you hesitated, and he believed that he could be someone you wanted to love regardless of whether or not you loved him already.

You cradled his jaw when you kissed him.

He could’ve rut you into the down and you would’ve come apart enthusiastically. You’d wanted him to, but this – this honey-sweet love that you hadn’t imagined, the natural rhythm that developed between you as easily as breath – this was also wonderful. It was so wonderful. Your fingers crept into his hair and his tongue parted your lips. You whined, and he shifted, and your eyes fluttered half-closed.

“Cassia,” he breathed against your lips. You never thought the sound of your name would be so sweet.

“I love you,” you whispered, all devotion.

“I love you, too.” His voice was low and rough and it made pleasure lap your body like the tides. You curled your toes and squeezed his hips with your knees. Your fingers traced his shoulder, and then your lips forged a path down the other side. You stopped to kiss a spot at the hollow of his throat, and you couldn’t have resisted the mischief that seized you if you tried – you bit down softly, pressing a love bite to one of the places between the stone-patches on his skin.

His hips snapped up into yours and robbed you of all sense. You swore your insides quaked.

He started to draw back – to apologize, to check in with you – and you tangled your fingers in his hair. “Do that again,” you whispered against the leaf of his ear.

He did. You dug your nails into his shoulder; left sweet, stinging cuts against the back of his neck.

You did not hear your people singing out at the bonfire. The words that would’ve been so familiar, changed so that your human companions – and the two that weren’t – could learn them.

“The dark is deepest before dawn,” your elders sang as though in prayer – because it was as much their prayer as it had been the song of your mother’s people when it was in a different tongue.

His breath caught on a groan. You quivered around him, drove your hips against his. “Harder,” you whispered, “Please, I need you.”

“From the ashes of the old day, the sky will brighten before long.”

The union of your bodies as natural as the marriage of the forest and the desert in the canyons and the peaks. You clung to him and he, to you. The sight of his tawny hands on your earth-dark hips stole his breath.

“The phoenix rises.”

“Cassia,” he warned you in a whisper.

“Don’t stop,” you replied, “please, don’t stop.” You were flush with his warmth, certainly not honeying anymore. Sweat bloomed on your skin, and you moaned out loud when he lapped a bead of it from the column of your throat.

“The phoenix rises.”

“Yes,” you whispered, gripping a handful of his hair. So good. You were panting, and the warmth of his breath fanned your chest in between hot, hungry kisses. Every delicate, loving little sound you made set his nerves aflame. Somehow, he found your hand and laced his fingers through yours. You squeezed them as tightly as you were able. You couldn’t warn him even if you wanted to – the tension in your belly was so tightly taut that you could hardly fathom it would release. You could hardly fathom a moment when this, you, him, there, did not exist.

“The phoenix rises!”

You were there, and then he was, and you gripped him tightly at the new flush of warmth inside of you. Your body was soft and receptive and you pushed your hips against his harder, begging, pleading, asking, demanding to join him on the other side. He didn’t stop moving. He didn’t stop when the taut cord that was your tether snapped, and you felt as though your pounding heart might just burst. He didn’t stop after, and you had to muffle your cry against his shoulder while you clutched him with your trembling legs. You were falling, falling from the sky with wings that could not carry you.

He kept you aloft. As though he’d ever let you go.

You did not know that all throughout your camp, the tap-roots of all the trees became entangled. You did not know that you tore their spindly, woody limbs straight out of the ground – thickened them, sharpened them, made them surge skyward. Thorns long enough to wield as a dagger lashed branches around the trunks of trees, made them into vines that grew flush and green with new life. You did not know that the song stopped as though a great power had been summoned – that Aurora gripped Philip’s arm, and John pressed the child who’d been lounging in his arms against him as though in their defense. Roses the size of royal dinner-plates bloomed in the warm blush-pink of new love, choking the hot air with their perfume as their velvet-soft petals unfurled.

Your heart pounded against Borra’s chest while he kissed you. You lay together in your afterglow, the air beyond the heat of his body making you tremble until he drew the thick furs over you both to keep you warm. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your throat, your chest. You quivered around him, and the little roll of his hips offered to carry you back to the very heights of the skies again.

“I love you,” you whispered. Your hands were so tightly interlaced that you didn’t imagine you could ever let go. “I love you,” you said again on another breath as he shifted, running his hands over your ribs and your sides and fanned them out over your wings to make sure your half-folded limbs caused you no pain.

It was so tender, so kind, that you nearly cried. You threw your arm around his neck and brought his lips back to yours.

“What just happened?” Philip asked, daring to look toward your elders.

For a moment, no one spoke. No one knew save for Ini, who noticed that the two of you were suspiciously absent.

And then she laughed, so high and so hard that it sounded like birdsong in the dead of night.

In the darkness of Borra’s remembered dreams, you burn.

You know, now, that you knew little of your first waking week – you knew that it took you a full day to stir; that you were dressed in desert red when you threw your iron-fevered body into his arms. You knew, you remembered, that you recoiled from John; how Borra eased you back into the unfamiliar softness of the royal bed. How your wounds seared. That you had been so fatigued you did not believe it was him, there, with you. The unabashed fury on his face when he saw the severity of the unhealed puncture through your wing.

The parts that were mentioned only briefly were the parts that still haunted him.

He had not slept the whole of that first night on the moors with them. His body would not allow it; they were strangers in a foreign land – a land that he knew only because of the blood shed upon it. Your people arrived for war. Now they slept, exhausted and restless, in the trees – a great many of them as deep into the heart of the moors as Maleficent.

But he waited on the banks of the river. He waited for cannon-fire. Tomb-bloom powdered spears. He waited for the cavalry on horseback, the infantry on foot, even lone aggressors crossing with ropes and dinghies. He did not sleep despite being found by a willow sprite that he’d saved nearly a month before; the little creature curled into the crook of his neck for safety and he pet them lightly along their flattened wings with the pad of his finger.

He thought of you. He thought of you without thinking of you by name.

So many were gone – dark fey and moor-folk. Your kinsmen, your father.

He began to think that you were, as well.

He did not admit those feelings to himself because he waited for violence to erupt. He could not acknowledge the profundity of the pain that the very thought caused, lest it doom everyone. He would weep for you when it was safe to do so. Your glinting eyes, your lovely hair, the fact that he had tried to kiss you only once and never made contact with your lips.

In the blackness just before dawn, while he perched with his wings supported by the branches, he touched one of the baubles you’d taken out of your hair before you’d vanished. It was painted, once, but had been well-loved. Your mother was an artist, revered among her people – she made all manner of things for herself and for you and for everyone who’d take them. The paint had long since worn pale, but it had worn off entirely in the two moons it had been bound to his armor.

And he admitted, even though it felt like an iron blade split him from his throat to his belly, that he loved you.

By the stars, he loved you. And you could not just vanish.

When Philip’s chestnut horse appeared at the banks of the river, he sat upright. He took the little being in his palm, rousing them from their peaceful slumber, and placed them safely in the boughs away from harm. He barely knew the boy, though he knew Maleficent trusted him; there was still a burn on his neck from the tip of his blade.

He landed, swift and silent, to meet him at the banks of the river.

“One of yours remains in the castle!” he called, for he still thought Borra was something of a king.

All who’d come with him were accounted for, whether it be that they’d returned to the nest of origin, remained with him on the moors, or perished.

There could’ve been a reasonable explanation, but that was not the thought that seized him. You loved a strategist, a tactician – he spent the bulk of his time weighing odds.

There should have been almost no chance that it was you, yet he knew it was. He hoped it was. He did not admit it to himself, but it did not stop him from ignoring Philip outright when he said something about finding Maleficent.

He did not linger long enough to be told where to go. He found it all the same, the etched door with the secrecy-gap in it, standing open in the early-morning sun.

It stunk of death.

Fury burned in him well before he landed. He landed, folded his wings close, and stepped through the low, open door, ducking his head so as not to be hampered by his horns.

It stunk of death so terribly he nearly choked.

Aurora’s godmother may have given the fey who perished in those jars the dignity of a proper burial in their tomb-bloom fields, but the smell of their sacrifice remained. The smell of hot iron clung to everything, the sickly-sweet floral essence that drenched Ulstead in the smell of burning flesh.

The sound of burning flesh remained, just beyond where the lovely young queen knelt in her circlet and her embroidered gown, the creamy white-gold of it splotched with dark rust.

He had not been sickened by that sound since he was young. He had worked through it – confronted the fear of physical pain as well as the pain itself, though it hadn’t stopped him from flinching when Philip pressed the tip of his blade into his throat, and it certainly didn’t stop him from wanting to recoil then.

He would never admit that, for a moment, he had wished – more than anything – that it was not you. That it was not your skin against iron that he heard, that it was not your blood he smelled. Your blood you were drenched in. Soaked to the skin.

For the first time in an age, he faltered, though he went to you all the same. He lingered near Aurora, his jaw set, trying not to breathe.

He seared with hate when he saw the iron collar, the shackles, the plate. Had it been only two days ago that he swore he would kill that boy – the one who’d just come for him? The one who’d lured him away? He could’ve, still. Maybe. If this was a trap, it was a cruel and twisted one. His thoughts fled like flock of songbirds disturbed; hating the boy had no purpose. He did not even look at Aurora, did not hear what she said when she spoke. He waited – every muscle in him was tense – for her to move so he could place his foot on the ledge of the iron cage and gather you from it.

You were dressed as you were when he last saw you just outside the meeting-cove. The sunshine yellow of your dress was blackened-brown with your blood, especially along your sides, and you were limp. Your skin burned. He had never felt flesh fevered like yours.

And then he saw your wings, and that became the truest test of his resolve.

You did not move. You did not shift even when you were lifted and your crooked bones caught in the narrow door. You did not make a sound. Aurora moved to help, and he let her steady your battered limbs as you were carried from your prison. He stifled himself when he felt your still-bleeding wounds, your blood like tar binding his skin to yours.

You were not breathing. You were not breathing, and he did not breathe until the thing he was strangling in his chest was the echo of his pulse in his ears and not another wild cry.

“Borra?” Aurora sounded so much like a child, lingering away from you both with her bloodied hands quivering. “Who is she?”

He said nothing, at first. There were no words. They had not made words to describe the weight of you in his arms, the way horror and hate and rage and agony swirled together in him. The memories of you, your bright eyes glinting, your curls loose, your gold-veined wings canted before you took off for home with the others, were as stained with your heat-thickened blood as his skin.

He did not acknowledge that his fingers trembled as they laced in the fabric at your sides when he gathered your iron-hot body into his arms.

He caught the sound of your hitch in breath by accident. A gentle breeze could’ve thrown him off his feet; he lifted you, pressed his ear against your chest, and heard it again – the soft, dull throb of your pulse, the echo of your shallow breath. So close, he had been so close to losing you – completely, forever – that the relief that overcame him when he knew that he did not could’ve brought him to his knees.

Thank you, Conall, accompanied the breath he took against your skin.

You never realized how deeply he had to fear for you to trust them as he did. Had he not believed you might die during the journey back to the nest – had he not believed taking you to the moors might mean departing for your final resting place – he never would’ve lingered, with you, in Ulstead. He never would’ve accepted the young queen’s guidance through the too-narrow halls, ignored the looks of shock and horror on the faces of the humans you passed. He never would’ve laid you down in a bed so large it engulfed you, though it couldn’t fully hold the span of your wings.

Ancestors, before the phoenix-goddess herself, your wings.

Aurora bustled around the room like a serving-girl herself, gathering pillows from any surface that had them. She called for chairs to be brought from the great hall, more pillows from the guest rooms, and she made piles of them on either side of you. She intended to pile them to cushion and support your broken wings for you.

You did not know he’d grabbed her wrist like a vice when she moved to touch them. Even he did not know that she felt his hand tremble – the darkness of your plumage made into mats where you’d bled, the white flash of bone through a point in your mid-wing, the odd angle at which the thumb-claw of the right one sat.

The man you loved had seen bloodshed. He’d seen violence and war and hatred for your people nearly as long as he’d been alive.

The worst that he had ever seen, by far, struggled for breath in a royal bed.

You were immobile for nearly the whole of that first week. You woke regularly to eat, though he spent much of that time sitting vigil at your side. He was not the only one – Udo came, Ini, Shrike, the people of the forest, the elders, Maleficent herself – but he was the one who remained.

He held your fingers while the fever ebbed from your skin. You were hotter than desert sun, hot like powdered iron staunching the air in your kinsmen’s lungs. You trembled when you were uncovered, so you wore blankets to your chest. One of your arms was folded across your stomach, the pallor of your cracked talons nearly as painful a contrast as the ring of bright burns on your wrist. His thoughts were more violent then than they had ever been – Ulstead can’t be trusted. Poachers, murder, slaughter, you. The moor-folk they’d rescued were smaller in number than the ones who had been taken, your father had been shot in the back, your kinsmen were fired upon before they ever reached the shore, and you…

You.

You were peaceful. A waking dream. His memories of you nestled in the high branches of the forest’s canopy with your braids laced together in a high twist, the gold in them glinting in the pale light of the filtered sun like the glimmer in his skin, bled into the imagined ones of how your voice grew hoarse from pleading. Every image conjured inspired others – wringing Lickspittle’s neck, returning to the courtyards to finish off the royal guard, following through on his promise to bring Ulstead to its knees.

His thoughts then didn’t compare to the memories you’d shared. There was no imagined retaliation to the thought of you weighted with chains; in the darkness and the violence of his dreams, he was powerless to save you.

You’d burned with iron-fever in that bed, when he and John sat beside you. John did not dare touch you; the king was wrought with guilt well before he had plans to make amends.

Borra needed to feel it when your skin tempered. He needed to see when your breathing deepened, evened, in response to the elders’ balms. You snored, once, and the abruptness of the sound had made John startle.

The man you loved laughed under his breath. Lowered his head to kiss your battered wrist. You didn’t stir with pain; the violence of your memories hadn’t yet claimed you, and if he’d known that they would, he might’ve better cherished the sound.

You were so beautiful, even then. Your earth-dark skin, the softness of your parted lips, the contrast of your sharp cheekbones. How beautiful you’d always been – dressed in a green deeper than the forests, swaying in your long skirt on the fringes of the dance. You never joined them, and he never knew why. He’d wanted to. He thought you were restless and hoped that you’d express it in some way that was familiar to him – but you hadn’t.

Hollow bombs, like poplar fleece, exploding into clouds of powdered death. The ashes of your kinsmen – people you’d known your entire life, people he’d known all of his – slaughtered in the air, slain on the earth, rent with swords and axes and riddled with iron bullets.

The whole battle was as terrible as the quiet sound you made when they set your wings. He had not been able to stand by and watch, sound asleep as you were. Even with them cushioned and spread, Maleficent stood with your elders to make sure they would set – that they would not be rendered wholly unusable. She’d healed you three times in that bed, though you only knew of one.

The night was dark and cold in Ulstead. The moors danced with life – glowing flowers, luminescent mushrooms, dancing will o’ the wisps. As deeply as it pained him to hear the little catch of your breath, the quiet hum of pain you made when your wings had to be re-broken to set, he was glad you didn’t wake. His teeth set, his jaw tightened, and the mist in his eyes spilled over when he rested his palms on the weathered stone to shift his weight. One sound – you barely made one sound, and it tore the whole of his heart to pieces.

You pressed him closer as you slept. You stirred, though at first, you knew not why. You curled your fingers in his hair, guiding it back from the leaf of his ear. Your touch soothed some of his tension – he was tense against you, muscles locked like he waited for poachers in the trees above the river. Your body was soft against his, pliant with sleep, and you shifted just enough to press your cheek against his temple – adjust his weight so that you might try to fold your wings around him.

He didn’t expect to wake so gently from the tumult of his dreams. They bled into his waking thoughts – violence and terror and iron and death – until his half-lidded eyes met yours, and the familiar curl of your smile betrayed that you thought of no such things.

You were safe in his arms. Safe, warm, loved. He was a part of you, now, and you of him. It was only natural that you adjust your grip on him, fold your arms around his shoulders like you had when you couldn’t get him close enough to you. You’d both shifted since then, but he was as eager to return to your arms as you were to his.

“I love you,” you whispered, just for him.

He kissed your pulse. His weight settled comfortably against you, the warmth of him soaking into your skin. You drew the covers closer around you both, encouraged him to tuck his head against your neck.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your skin. For soothing him as he soothed you, for loving him, for letting him be the shield at your back, and so much else.

“Peace will not come easily,” you replied, your voice still sleep-soft, “but time will be kind. To both of us.”

You could almost believe that there would be a happy ending when the tribunal closed. You could almost believe that your wings might heal like he hoped they would, and it was simply because you were love-warmed with his body fit to yours. You were sleepy, but not tired; the bonfire had long since burned dark, yet the thrum in your veins kept the dance’s rhythm.

You wished, with all your heart, that your father could’ve seen you with him. Seen the way he smiled at you. The way his wings fit to yours, the ease at which he matched your steps. Your heart was light, and you were warm –

And you heard something, in the distance.

The snap of twigs.

Your heart jumped into your throat. It’s John, you thought, though you squirmed to press yourself closer. John, or Philip, or Aurora waking in the night, that’s all.

Borra listened. You sought his eyes, and you were grateful when you saw that they were still open – alert, as though your heart wasn’t pounding near his ear. You were afraid to let him go, but you were afraid to stay in place. He listened without focusing on you the way you did on him, and you forced yourself to calm – to steady your breath so that you, too, could hear what he did.

Boots on the needle-softened earth. Not far. No, not far at all – too close. Whoever they were, they were too close to all of you.

Borra sat up slowly, nearly soundless. He touched your chin, though you moved to rise with him – to grab your clothes and dress alongside him.

“Stay here.” His voice was softer than a whisper, meant just for you.

You shook your head. No. Paralyzed with fear as you had been, you were not going to let him walk out into the unknown by himself.

His eyes told you why he wanted you to stay, as though you didn’t know. He would not see you harmed – he would not let you be taken from him.

But fear was a ball of iron in your chest, and you burned with it throughout the whole of you. You clung to his hand until he brought your knuckles to his lips and, gently, briefly, kissed them.

He didn’t repeat himself. He thought you would listen.

But you didn’t. You were a breath behind him when he stepped out onto the softened earth, and you were never happier for the forest’s downy under-layer beneath your bare feet. He couldn’t waste the extra time to convince you not to follow; he spread his wing before you to keep you at his back. You were fine with that; you would rather cover him than allow him to be fired upon. You didn’t realize what a stupidly self-sacrificial trait that was, or how familiar it would be, to him, in the natural space between the moors’ old trees.

He kept to the earth for you, flight-immobile as you were. You moved like you used to, swift and silent, parting only from him so you could keep to either side of the path between the trees lest you need the cover.

Torches flickered in the gaps ahead. Several. The weight of fear in your chest began to sink, and you let it claim your face when you looked to him.

He held your eyes for a heartbeat. Go. Turn back and wake the others.

You nodded, though you had no intention of doing it. You would not leave him. You had been running from your problems for so long – you ran from loving him, you ran from the pain of losing your mother, you ran from yourself when you couldn’t handle stifling your feelings – you would not now. Even if Philip had a weapon and your people had numbers, there were more of them than him, and your wings weren’t entirely useless.

He leapt into the low branches with a familiar half-beat of his. He moved between the trees as easily as he did on land, and it gave you no envy to watch him even if you could only follow from below, a shadow passing through the darkness with your wings folded at your back.

“It’s a big one, isn’t it?” one of the younger men spoke to the others. “It’s not…” He nudged one of the little, glowing mushrooms on the ground with the toe of his boot like it might bite him.

Another, larger man glared daggers at him.

“What part of killer of men don’t you get?” a third asked in a half-whisper.

“If the bastard offered to pay its weight in silver for a little one, I’ll stick a bolt through him too,” a fourth added.

“Quiet,” the larger man hissed.

A bolt. Its weight in silver? Killer of men.

They’d come for Borra.

You dared take your eyes off them long enough to try to find him in the trees, as though he wasn’t a better hunter than you – as though he didn’t know where to find the advantage of high ground, if he was anywhere close to you. You didn’t even know how many men there were, you’d only seen four—

One of which was, suddenly, nearly at your face. The younger one, whose eyes widened when he saw that you weren’t a part of the tree you stood behind, who scrambled backward and raised his crossbow.

That was one way to strategize, you supposed, draw fire from him before you had no idea what the second step of that plan was supposed to be.

“It’s here!” he yelled, scrambling to load and cock the bow before you shifted. Before you ran. King Henry killed your mother while she tended peasant children. Ulstead’s infantry shot your father in the back while he covered Maleficent.

You did not make a conscious choice to do what you did. A flame-flicker of fury rose inside of you, made the tired muscles of your belly quiver, and your talons scraped against the bark of the tree when your fingers curled.

The roots of the pines tore themselves from the earth, thick and thorned and no longer belonging to the trees. They grew a flush of green, budded and bloomed with dense, dark flowers the red of hate.

And your tall, free-standing rose vines lashed around the younger man, engulfing his crossbow. Engulfing him. You jerked back your hand, and the no-longer-roots yanked him off his feet.

They fired in your general direction.

You were no warrior. The paint on your chest was marred – impermanent. But you fit your body against the trunk of the nearest tree, and you felt the earth shift beneath you.

“Forgive me,” you whispered to the pendant on your chest.

The curse of your family’s death by good intentions ended there and then.

You cast your arm wide – roots turned to climbing branches dressed with thorns sharp enough to use for a dagger. You choked them in the perfume of your flowers as the iron queen soaked Ulstead in bitter tomb bloom dust. You weren’t angry, you were furious, and the sound that left you when you ripped sentient whips from the very earth was nothing you’d ever made before.

One. Two. Three. Four. They fired upon you in waves, shot into the pines, shot into the darkness. None of them struck. Their eyes were not as keen as yours; you engulfed the first one in the earth, dragged him down until he was no longer warm. The second – the large one – you snatched off his feet. Your thorns struck deep into his middle, thoroughly embedded, and you flung him with strength you did not know you, or your extended limbs, possessed.

Others joined the remaining two. Five and six. They had a clearer shot of you, and so you ran into the forest.

You ran in the opposite direction than you thought he’d gone.

You did not know the moors, you did not know the land, but you knew yourself. You knew the bare earth beneath your feet. You knew that if you tensed your body just the right way, if you exerted unnecessary force in the muscles of your wings--!

You tried to make the leap and failed. You fell painfully short and landed on your chest in the bramble. But you still rolled, forced yourself up, threw yourself behind the trunk of another.

Thwip. Thwip. Iron bolts flew past your settling braids.

“It’s over here!” someone yelled.

Someone ran toward you.

Branches rose with the sweep of your hand; you turned your wrist and curled your fingers, and your dagger-thorns joined with the whips of your root-vines. They ensnared him fully like a shroud, and you let the tangle of them around the body fall.

Three more.

You didn’t know about the six who were being watched by your mate. You didn’t know until their heads perked at their companions’ cries – and Borra cut them off before they could join the others in hunting you.

He landed between them and you with his great wings spread, swift and silent. His eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, bright like an animal’s night-shine. They saw his horns, his breadth, his size, and fear twisted in your heart though you didn’t know why.

The man you loved was smarter than most would ever give him credit for. When they moved to cock their weapons, the beat of his wings threw them off their feet. He launched to draw their fire – flew in sharp, erratic dives that cut the air like a sword.

They didn’t have the capacity to fire more than a dozen times between them. Several shot at once, and without regards for their missing bolts, reloaded.

You ran through the trees. You knew you’d gotten turned around – you had gone West, then somewhat North, and you thought you were going East but you couldn’t be entirely sure. The river toward Ulstead was to the East – that was the point from which you needed to orient yourself in order to find your way back to camp afterward.

Wait – the moon. If you could see it through the trees, you would know where you were. You wouldn’t be running blind. (Your hands were trembling, and you listened too closely to the rustle of small animals in the branches – the breath of tiny fey close to the earth.)

You almost relaxed when you saw its full, silver glow through the high boughs. You might’ve, had someone not run full-force into your back.

You hit the ground hard. Their arm was around you, and there was a blade at your neck – iron against the swath of your scars.

You dug your talons into their forearms. And you pulled.

Flesh rent. Hot blood welled to your fingers. It stung.

The blade withdrew. You called the roots from the earth, but that didn’t prevent you from staring down the end of a crossbow before you’d had the chance to shift your weight off of your wings

“Azarias better be counting the wings,” said the man who intended to fire upon you.

Rage engulfed you like a fever. You were sick of little, cowering, iron-studded men – so sick of having the people you loved torn away from you, sick of hiding, sick of cowering, sick of fear, sick of fighting. You were tired of begging for peace, of begging to be recognized as a living, breathing thing, that you didn’t even have to move to call your roses from the very depths of the earth.

They didn’t bloom. They just ensnared. Ripped. Tore. Shredded.

Your jaw was set. You swallowed hard and brushed the silent tears off your face with the back of your forearm.

Never again. (You stood, didn’t even brush the dirt or the conifer-shed off your skin.) Iron-blooded little men would never steal from you again.

The man you loved vowed to show them no mercy, and yet, he did. Time and time again, Borra spoke loudly only to act with respect for them that they did not return. And you would not (spindly vines rose to meet your steps, flush with life; their thorns weren’t as long or as sharp and their bloom-buds were small but, still, they flowered – blush-pink like lost innocence, the white of forsaken peace) afford them the satisfaction of taking his life when they were too weak and too cowardly to successfully take yours.

They shot him from the sky.

Again.

It was different, in Ulstead; the gravel against his stone-hard skin stung but didn’t rend. It was a bullet, then, not a bolt, and it hit him in the arm, not the side. This was just a graze wound; he was smart enough – fast enough – to cast back his wing to narrowly avoid the strike, but he still went down, hard, on the soft-packed earth. Blood bloomed on his naked skin. The wound, though shallow, stung.

He got back up regardless. Even if it meant keeping his hand to it. There were six of them and two bolts left unaccounted for.

They did not get to use either.

Branches cracked and twisted as they changed. They became thick, thorny ropes, raised high into the air like poised snakes with their fangs at the ready. A tremor ran through one of the armed men as he cocked and fired upon them.

You caught his bolt and whipped it back. Through his chest and the chest of another.

“Cas.” Borra fanned his wing to slow your approach.

Your sentient thorn-vines snapped around the body of another. Buried deep, wrung him like a wet cloth. You snatched another from the earth, slammed him into the body of a tree, and when that didn’t seem to be enough to finish him, you did it again.

“Cas!” He took hold of your wrist. Their blood, on the thin skin of your scars, made you burn iron-hot.

You saw his blood, and even as you moved to make sure he was alright, the hatred and the fury in you lashed out without control. Your branches surged through the earth, ripping trenches in their wake. They went higher, higher, and then struck the rest of the fleeing men down as though they were no better than a rabbit in a fledgling’s talons.

He took your face in his hands, the warmth of his blood on your cheek nearly enough to make you recoil. A heartbeat passed before you lifted your eyes from his side, and you wished you hadn’t.

He brushed his thumb over your skin, imploring you with his eyes. “Stop.”

“They shot you,” you whispered, though you were surprised by the violence just below the surface of your breath.

“You’ll regret this.” He pressed his horns with yours, encouraging your traitor heart to lodge itself in your throat.

I won’t, you wanted to reply. They’ve earned this. They deserve it.

“I know you, Cassia.” He knew you’d hold his beautiful eyes while he held your face, while his wings made a shield around you as though your roses hadn’t deepened in color where they bloomed – the pink of love at war with the red of hate.

You hated that you had to press your lips together to stop them from trembling. You put your hand against his wound, and seeing him flinch made your heart burn over.

“I am so angry,” you whispered, though your eyes betrayed you. “I would rather be angry than afraid.”

“Let me help,” he softened his voice even further, brushed his sideways thumb along your cheek to catch whatever tears came.

You leaned into his covered palm, let his blood dry on your skin. You couldn’t feel your branch-limbs any longer; they’d sagged back into the belly of the earth. There were paths in the needle-down that had been thoroughly disturbed, little hills and mounds of earth where they’d resettled, and you hated to admit that he was right – that the suddenness of your violence stunned you.

You wanted, more than anything, to tell him that you did not think he could. But was his hold on you not proof that he could? Or the fact that you were no longer trembling – that you had seen that violence and responded in kind without cowering in fear? Of course he’d helped you, you’d be foolish to think otherwise.

But you were angry, and frightened, and so very tired.

“Azarias sent them,” you whispered. “He put a bounty on you. The killer of men. He would’ve paid any of them who killed you your weight in silver.”

You wished he hadn’t held your eyes, because you saw the flicker of sadness behind the cloak of his fury. He pressed you close against him, wrapping your body in his as though you were the one in need of a shield. His arms around you were so familiar, his pulse against your chest setting the tempo for your breath. You told him that they wanted him dead, and he still tried to soothe you.

“Don’t go into Ulstead with me tomorrow,” you whispered. “Please.”

He rested his hand on the back of your head. The warmth of his breath stirred your hair, and you reveled in it. You reveled in him as though there wasn’t an air of finality in the way you held one another – as though you knew he intended to listen to you as well as you had, him.

“Everyone I love has been taken from me, Borra. Please.”

He was silent for another heartbeat. “The last time you left on your own, I nearly lost you.”

You couldn’t even protest that you wouldn’t be on your own – he knew that. He knew you’d be safe with them, that your feelings were as motivated by your own selfish desire to protect him as his were to you.

You sagged against him, linked your fingers in his hair, and tried desperately not to cry.

It took so long for you to compose yourself that he shifted his arms around you, held you closer like he intended to support the joints of your wings. He held your shoulder and your hip, your body engulfed in his, and you were reminded all over again of the freely-bleeding wound on his side.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered. “Come back to bed.”

There would be no more time for sleep, you presumed. Not when he held you like he did – like he would be willing to surrender if it kept you safe. You would have to plan, if you went to Ulstead together – you would have to know your odds.

“Do you trust me?” he murmured into your hair.

“With my life.” Without question or reserve.

“Then trust that I will not leave you. Ever. For any reason.”

You closed your eyes and pressed your hand to his neck, keeping the warmth of his skin against yours. “I trust you,” you repeated. “Not them.”

He could no more argue with you than you could with him. His rested his jaw against your temple, the curve of your horns pressing into his cheek.

You returned to your nest together, almost as though nothing had ever been wrong. Your people were still asleep in their beds, your mortal friends having retired to Aurora’s nature-palace in the heart of the moors. You took the woven water-jug and cleaned the wound on Borra’s side, rinsing it well and wrapping it in your dawn-purple wing-cloth. He didn’t stop you – not from your tending, not from guiding him to lie down beneath you so you could curl against him under the furs. The warmth of him seeped into you quickly, and your tired eyes grew heavy again.

“I love you, Cas,” he murmured. You were glad there was sleep in his voice; that meant you could sleep, too. That meant you could rest your head on his chest, and he could wrap his arms around you, and you could tuck your body safely against his as though your weight would keep him tethered.

“I love you, Borra,” you murmured into his chest. “Forgive me for tonight.”

He toyed with your hair lightly as he fell asleep. The brush of his fingers over your jaw betrayed him, and you raised your hand to hold his there before it fell.

Forgive me for tonight, you thought, and for what I am prepared to do tomorrow.

#Borra x Reader #Dark fey #Unfettered #cw: Really Smoopy Love Scene; Murder Is A Coping Mechanism; mild gore?; trauma mention

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luxaofhesperides · 4 years

Text

those were beautiful dreams

happy birthday @calormen!!! i hope u enjoy this angst fic and have a really nice bday!!

this is also on ao3 for easier reading! . . .

The air in England feels heavy. There’s a smog always hanging over the skyline, settling into his chest as an unbearable weight, like a stone pressed over his ribs. The ever present noise of chatter and movement stifles everything else and without anything to focus on, it’s dizzying. He remembers this; it’s always been like this, buzzing with energy and loud and heavy. He remembers how he’s missed it those first few weeks in the countryside where they were safe from the bombings.

Now, Edmund desperately wishes to leave England.

It’s not the world’s that’s changed, but him, through three lifetimes of joy and heartbreak. And though he longs to leave and settle somewhere familiar, nowhere resembles Narnia. Even the countryside and the manor felt wrong; a stillness in the air that set his nerves on edge, always a sign of some oncoming danger that never revealed itself.

Edmund, now and again and again, is just a boy trapped in the wrong everything.

It would hurt more if he was alone. It still hurts.

Peter and Lucy turn to each other; they’ve always been a pair. Peter looking out for Lucy and Lucy looking up to Peter. They speak of Narnia in fond tones, always when no one else is there to hear what they speak of, and the memories they have only become stronger when shared.

He used to have that bond with Susan. Used to.

The first time they came back to England, Susan had found him unable to sleep and took his hand in hers. She said, “It’s alright. We can do this again. We’ll help each other through it all until we learn how to live again.”

After a lifetime of sharing fears and nightmares, defending each other against those who refused to accept who they were, shared in the delight of a world that let them be who they are. The despair of coming back to world that only wanted to hurt them, one where hiding was survival and honesty was condemnation, Edmund couldn’t understand how he would live knowing something better was possible.

But Susan was there, just as she always was. She was there until Aslan told her and Peter they would never return, and she walked out into that train station and left him behind.

Edmund looks at Susan and desperately wishes to go back in time to a place where they stuck together and shared stories of Narnia just to find hope in this world. Susan keeps her door closed and never comes down to the kitchen in the middle of the night. It’s only Edmund who cannot sleep.

And so he remembers, but he remembers alone.

It starts a week after their coronation.

Everything before had been a whirlwind of movement and fear. This is the first time he is able to rest, and with it, able to think.

He wonders if he will ever see his parents again. If he will ever be able to go home. He wonders if he wants too.

It feels like there is a noose around his neck these days, and every breath is a struggle. The guilt of betraying his siblings when all he wanted was someone to care, the chill of the ice that seeps into his bones, the feel of his blood on his hand as he lay dying on a battlefield, just a child caught up in the struggles of higher powers.

He wonders how any of the Narnians can stand to see him.

Rather than deal with nightmares for another night, Edmund instead chooses to wander the quiet halls of Cair Paravel, slowly becoming familiar to him. The guards nod to him as he passes, and Edmund hurries past them, unable to look them in the eyes.

Not a single one asks why he’s up. Why would they? He’s one of their kings, of all things, and so he is free to do as he please. Edmund wishes, not for the first time, that he could be just a child again.

He stops in a private courtyard, tucked away between wildly growing bushes and doric columns that line the edges. It’s an ideal place to hide, somewhere people know to look when they need to find him, but somewhere people rarely intrude.

But someone is already here. At the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard sits Susan, with a shawl given to her by the Beavers wrapped around her.

“Ed,” she says, standing, “What are you doing still up at this hour?”

“I could be asking you the same thing,” he answers.

She sits back down and says nothing more. Edmund wishes she would smile again. She looks so much like their mother; worried, with her brow always furrowed, arms crossed defensively over her chest. But her eyes carry the same sadness of their father.

He takes a seat next to her. “I have no idea what we’re doing here.”

“Kings and queens, can you imagine? And yet,” she sighs, “Here we are. Somehow.”

“Should we try to go back home?”

“I… I don’t know. Part of me wants to, but it would just be going back into war. We may not fight in that one, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening. Narnia is in peace now. I want to hide away for a little longer.”

“We can,” Edmund says, “But I don’t feel like I deserve to.”

Susan turns to him with a frown. “If you are blaming yourself for the actions of Jadis, you better stop before I make you.”

“I still went to her,” he tries to argue, giving voice to one of the many thoughts that has plagued him for the past week. “It was still me who turned my back to the Narnians.”

“You did no such thing! Jadis enchanted you. She gave you sweets and warmth and lied to you, then blinded you with her magic and pulled you away from us. It’s her fault, not yours. How could you have known any better? You’re a kid. We’re all just kids.”

Her voice fades away by the time she stops speaking, hunching in on herself. “Ed, what are we doing? How are we going to rule a country in a world we never knew about before?”

Edmund leans against her; she’s always found comfort in the physical presence of others. Always reaching out and holding them all close.

“I wish I knew,” is all he can say. “I wish I knew.”

She wraps an arm around his shoulder. “At least everyone here is nice,” she says, forcing herself out of her negative thoughts. “They’re all happy to teach me more about Narnia. And the maids they assigned to me were really nice about helping me dress. I surprised them, but they got me new clothes that made me feel pretty. It’s not so uncommon here, people like us.”

“I mean, they gave us weapons. I’m sure they’re going to be fine with a lot of other things too.”

“Shush you, I’m trying to cheer us up.” She shoves him, and when he laughs, Susan finally smiles.

“I know,” he says, “Thanks, Su. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Edmund finds her on the balcony, three hours into the ball. He didn’t mean to stumble upon her, but he desperately needed some air, a quiet place where he could gather his thoughts. It seems that Susan beat him to it.

“Ed,” she says, turning around to face him, “I thought you’d be busy dancing.”

“I got tired. Needed some time to rest. What are you doing out here?”

Susan stares out into the distance for a long moment. She’s perfectly still, looking like a sculpture of some mourning maiden. “Hiding, I suppose,” she answers.

“From what?”

“The future.”

Edmund settles against the railing besides her. “Four years since we were crowned,” he muses, “We’ve changed quite a lot, don’t you think?”

“Have you thought about England recently? Of going back, of our parents. Anything.”

“No. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.” It surprises him, to hear Susan speak of England. To hear England at all. He’s fully settled into Narnia, where the language rolls smoothly off his tongue and the weight of a sword is familiar in his hand. England almost feels like a dream now; of giant stone buildings and skies full of smoke, trains and cars and only people filling the streets. His memories of England are colorless and painful.

He’s had every reason to forget England, and none to remember it.

“What brought this on?” Edmund asks, breaking the silence again.

“Someone asked for my hand in marriage.”

“Someone what?!”

Susan smiles just a little at his shock. “Yes, it appears that I am now old enough to be courted. I hadn’t thought of it before. Or, I thought of it back in England, before we came here, and now I can’t really imagine what the future will look like.”

“Oh.” Marriage. That’s something he hasn’t thought about at all. He’s been so focused on keeping Narnia safe, helping all who sought his aide, looking after the those who were forgotten. He never believed that anyone would want him in that way and banished that line of thought from his mind entirely. But now…

“What are you going to do?” he asks before he can get lost in his thoughts, as he tends to do.

“I said no, of course. I don’t think I’m ready yet. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“We’re still young,” Edmund says, “You have time.”

“Peter’s been asked too,” she remarks casually, “But he didn’t notice. Mentioned it to me and was shocked when I told them what they were really asking.”

“That sounds like him.”

“Ed?”

He looks at her. “Yeah?”

Susan looks up at the stars, head tilted back. Her hair has grown long over the years, tumbling down her back and ending at her hips. It shocks him to realize how much she’s changed. How much they’ve all changed.

Their parents wouldn’t recognize them anymore. The thought doesn’t hurt at all. It doesn’t make him feel anything. But none of them had had parents in a long time. He wonders if Lucy even remembers their mother’s face.

“Ed,” Susan says again, “Are you happy?”

He looks back into the ballroom, full of light and music, where couples twirl and laugh and sing. He looks out over the lands he can see from the balcony, green and prosperous. He looks at Susan, who holds herself tall and carries an air of confidence that only really emerged in Narnia.

“I am. I think I am. Are you?”

“I’m getting there.”

The arrow nearly hits him. It doesn’t, of course, because Susan is the one shooting and her aim is impeccable.

Peter and Lucy are known to be reckless and pull incredible stunts while training just because they can, so Susan and Edmund are known as the rational ones. But those who know them better know that they are just as reckless as Lucy and Peter, just quieter about it.

Edmund readies his sword again, eyes on Susan as she nocks another arrow.

She is still, gauging the distance between them, then moves suddenly and lets loose the arrow.

The moment the arrow goes flying, Edmund moves, swinging his sword upwards in a quick slash, then bringing it back down again.

At his feet is another arrow, cut in two.

“Shall we stop here for today?” Edmund asks, sheathing his sword. The sun is high above them, steadily shining at its zenith. There are only a few clouds in the sky, and so the few hours of training has their faces flush and sweat dripping down their cheeks.

“Yes, it’s about time for lunch.” Susan slings her bow over her shoulder and wipes her face with her sleeve. “I’ll be sure to catch something tomorrow with my aim. Even if it’s not the white stag.”

“Save some confidence for the rest of us, will you?”

“As if you need a bigger head.”

Susan laughs when he jokingly pushes her away, and tosses her braid back over her shoulder. A few faun children wave at them as they pass, grinning widely and jumping to get their attention. Susan smiles back as Edmund waves, and the children giggle as they go back to their game, filling the space with their laughter.

“It’s been so nice lately,” Edmund comments. “No threats, no diplomatic guests coming, no horrible tragedy coming to strike us down.”

“Quiet enough to let us have some fun. I hope it stays like this for a while longer.”

“I’m sure it will. I can hear you start to worry, Su. Stop thinking so much about the future and just focus on enjoying this hunt.”

She sighs, but relents. “I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s been known to happen, yes.”

“Shush. Well, we’ll only be out for a few days and we’ll be able to ride back quickly enough should something come up. This will be a nice break.”

Edmund hmms a quiet agreement, and looks over the busy halls of Cair Paravel. It’s always lively during the day, full of knights training and staff organizing the castle. But there is a lightness to everyone as they move. A light in every eye. Compared to the stress of the first few years of their reign, when Jadis’ supporters continued to cause trouble, where each Narnian was on the lookout for the next disaster, now there is a calm that allows everyone to smile more easily. The peace has settled into the foundations of the land and it truly is a Golden Age they live in.

Edmund looks upon all this, and thinks that though he is excited to have a break and leave the castle with just his siblings, he’ll always be happy to return home.

Of course, none of them know yet of the lamppost in the forest, one they’ve long since forgotten, or the world that waits for them still on the other side of the wardrobe. None of them are prepared for the guilt and heartache that comes from unwillingly abandoning the world they cared for so dearly. None of them know yet the feeling of looking at the reflection of themselves and seeing a child they can’t recognize. But that is a story for another day.

He hasn’t seen Susan in decades. Susan hasn’t seen him for a year. The distance between them is larger than ever.

Part of him wishes he could blame her for turning her backs on them. For refusing to remember Narnia and avoiding them as much as possible in order to form new relationships in this world. But Edmund understands Susan, always has, more than Peter and Lucy. The two middle children, often overlooked and forgotten, who turned to each other for support.

Now, it’s just Edmund, alone, as Susan spends another night out.

He had tried to tell her about his time in Narnia, the life he’s lived, the love he’s held. But the moment he mentioned that he grew old and had children and grandchildren in Narnia, Susan had looked at him coldly, and told him to stop daydreaming so much.

She left, and none of them have seen her since.

Lucy reassures him that Susan has been home; she’s grabbed her library books and another set of clothes early in the morning before leaving again. Lucy also tells him that he can talk to her, that she wants to know about his last time in Narnia after she and Eustace left.

But it’s not quite the same.

So Edmund spends another night unable to sleep, struggling to find his footing in a world he left behind two times over, when the front door opens.

Susan comes in, pulling her hair out of a ponytail and toeing off her shoes. She barely glances at him as she grabs a cup and puts on the kettle.

Neither of them speak.

Edmund carefully keeps his gaze on the table, no longer able to break the silence between them. The stillness of the kitchen settles like a noose around his neck. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time; the tightness of his throat, the heaviness in his chest, the way the world seemed to press down on his shoulders until he couldn’t move at all.

Is it guilt or fear? They’ve always felt the same to him.

“Fifty years,” Susan says, and the suddenness makes Edmund flinch. “You come up with the strangest things.”

“I was happy there. I wasn’t alone.”

“It doesn’t do anyone any good for you to be stuck in your daydreams. You should focus on what’s in front of you. I’m sure someone will catch your fancy.”

Edmund bristles at that; she dismisses him so casually, as though anyone could replace Caspian. He bites his tongue and keeps his silence.

She sighs. The kettle begins to whistle, and she quickly takes it off the heat. “I’m just trying to help you.”

There is nothing to say to that. He knows she is. Knows she’s determined to live another life here and refuses to let grief pull her down. But she’s forgetting everything they shared together, and that is what hurts him the most.

“I never really took you as the sort who would want kids. Tell me about your daydreams. They sound nice.”

He wants to. He almost does.

But.

They’re not daydreams, and talking about the people he loves as though they’re not real isn’t something he’s capable of. It isn’t something he wants to be capable of.

“It’s late,” Edmund says instead, “Goodnight Su.”

Two years after the funeral, Susan finally has the courage to open the boxes that hold her families belongings. Five boxes were all that were left after she sold the houses and the furniture and most of the clothes. Five boxes that were left to gather dust in her attic before she finally decided to open them.

She finds sketchbooks filled with fauns and dryads and centaurs. Lucy’s work, which she was so proud of. Peter’s novels, with comments written in the margin, full of questions that were never answered. A favorite blanket, a stack of cards that have been painted over, pictures and memories.

Susan doesn’t cry.

There’s a wrapped present in the bottom of one of the boxes. To Susan, says Lucy’s handwriting. She always got people’s birthday gifts early and waited impatiently until she could give it.

Susan hasn’t celebrated her birthday for a few years. It always hurt too much.

The present is a shawl, and it resembles the one the Beaver’s had given her years (decades, lifetimes) ago. She doesn’t notice how hard she’s gripping the shawl until a tear lands on her right hand and makes her look down. Carefully, Susan wraps it around herself, and thinks back to all the times she wore it, sitting on the fountain in the courtyard.

Edmund often appeared there late at night. He’d keep her company until they nearly talked themselves to sleep. She wonders if he remembered it. He remembered a lot. He’s always had a good memory.

Not that it matters now. She’s the only one carrying these faded memories, holding onto the last remnants of her family.

The last box she opens is full of journals. Lucy’s, Peter’s, and Edmund’s. Most are Edmund’s.

Reading them doesn’t feel right, but these are the only things that still carries their voices, and Susan wants desperately to hear them again.

So she takes a few days off work, reads through them with careful fingers, and takes care not to let any tears ruin the pages.

Lucy writes of dryads and mermaids, her longing for the sea, how she spends every day searching for another way back. Peter writes of doubt and restlessness, feeling distance between himself and his peers, wanting to help in any way he can.

And Edmund.

His life is documented with care, written in his steady hand. The bombings, Jadis, the coronation. Sleepless nights, battles, and a white stag. Caspian and his children and his grandchildren and a whole life Susan refused to listen to because her own hurt blinded her to his.

Caspian sent me off and I found myself walking to the kitchen where Eustace was. I laughed when he startled, but the pain of leaving Narnia behind swallowed me whole. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I remember the first time we came back, all of us, and Susan and I turned to each other. We worked together often and shared so many memories.

It helped, not being so alone back then. But this time, after decades and a year, Susan left and I had no one else. I understand why she did it. Susan has always been the type to distract herself from pain by working herself to the bone. But I was in an unfamiliar world with a family I hadn’t seen for a lifetime.

I should have known things would change. I just wish they hadn’t.

Susan, don’t be alone. I know I will never be able to say this to you, but please don’t forget. Our memories in Narnia are all we have of each other now. And no matter what, remember that we all love you. We always will.

The last journal read, the last box opened. Susan weeps, grieves for two lifetimes lost, grieves for a family pushed away, and finally stops lying to herself.

And so she remembers, but she remembers alone.

#userdorian #narnia #narnia fic #tcon #the chronicles of narnia #my writing #i wrote this in between a midterm and two projects lol #didnt have a lot of time to edit but i think i got most of it but if u see something that needs fixing let me know!!!#happy bday dorian!!

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