#her family tree must be like a flower shape with her as the center where all the petals meet

[prankprincess123]

Thinking about how Zelda is in every lifetime Hylia reborn to fight alongside her Hero once again, but Demise' curse was on the bloodline of the goddess not on Hylia specifically, so Zelda must always be part of the same family, and now I have the song "I Am My Own Grandpa" stuck in my head...

[blues824]

I Love You, Malleus... But You're Not Mine...

Word Count: 9862 Female Reader Genre: Angst

The dragon fae was torn.

He knew that he would have to be wed to someone soon in order to inherit the crown. 

Also… his grandmother was nagging him to marry someone because she was growing older and she wanted to see her only grandson be married.

The only issue was that no one in Briar Valley really managed to capture his eye nor his heart. They all wanted to be married to him either for his money or power, or to escape their families. 

Actually, some of them did not wish to be married to him and were in love with someone else entirely, and he granted them liberty to marry who they wished.

Malleus was torn. 

So, he went to do what he always did whenever he was torn.

He walked over the bridge and through the woods.

In the woods, he would talk to himself and to the trees and animals. The wintertime meant that there was also snow and ice upon the ground. When that happened, the moonlight would reflect off of the glittery surface of the snow. It offered peace to Malleus to see the view.

Well, now was a better time than any to practice his vows.

He took out the ring that he had in his coat pocket, turning it over and over with his fingers, contemplating.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.”

He lifted his hand, palm up, as though he were actually marrying someone beside him. He stepped forward three times as he said the line.

“Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

There was no real cup, so he just summoned a chalice with his magic and a bottle of wine. He was above the age limit for consuming alcohol in public, so it was alright. He poured the aged liquid into the cup, and then took a sip from the cup. Of course, his bride would then also sip from the cup right after. However, there is no bride as of right then.

“With this candle, I will light your way in darkness”.

He took a twig from a nearby tree and acted as though it were a candle. In the specific spot he was in, there was a tree stump that acted as the podium at an altar. On it was a small piece of bark that he used as the ‘flame’ with which he was to light the candle. 

Then, he set the twig down.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

In retrospect, the prince was asking himself why he didn’t ponder the curiously skeletal shape of the branch he placed the ring upon. However, it didn't matter, as the wind started whirling around him. Leaves started making a small-scale tornado around the branch on which he placed the ring… until a woman stood in the center.

She was as radiant as she was dead.

Her skin, or rather, where it existed upon her body, was smooth. One of her hands had no skin on it at all and was all bone. In the bodice of her wedding dress, he could see her ribcage. She was wearing a veil over her head, attached to a crown of flowers arranged in a multitude of different shades of blue. Peaking out of the tulip-cut skirt of her wedding dress was her skeletal leg. She was wearing white heels. In her hands, she held a bouquet of blue flowers, similar to her crown.

Understandably, Malleus was entranced but kind of frightened by the corpse he was seeing before him. His flight or fight response had not kicked in yet, not until he heard her whisper two words:

“I do.”

She then reached out towards him and started walking to him. The dragon prince, who had gone even paler than he already was, stayed still.

As she got closer and closer, he saw how the moonlight enhanced your figures, and he felt his heart beating faster. The woman leaned in, to the point where her nose was grazing against his.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Then everything went black.

~~~~~~~~

It took him a while to wake back up, and when he did he was in for it.

“Oh, look! He must have fainted. Are you alright?,” he heard the woman ask as he started to open his eyes.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a breather!” A skeleton man said.

“He’s still soft!” A skeleton boy exclaimed while jabbing at the prince’s torso with a stick. Malleus backed up into the bar, unsettled by what was going on around him.

Two skeletons dressed as soldiers clinked their beer steins toasting to the “newlyweds”.

“Newlyweds?” Malleus was quite confused as to what they were talking about. He stood up, trying to take in his surroundings.

“In the woods, you said your vows so perfectly,” she had a dream-like tone in your voice as she showed him the ring he had placed on your bony hand.

“I did, didn’t I?” Further leaning against the bar, he rubs his temples as though he were trying to remember something. Then he heard little legs crawling on the bar itself. 

He turned to see a walking head along with a few cockroaches. His eyes widened in silence as he backed away from the bar.

“Hello, my name is Paul! I am the head waiter, hehehe,”... the head was speaking. “I will be creating your wedding feast!”

All of a sudden, Malleus felt something hit the shoulder she was standing next to. When he turned to see what it was, a maggot was peeking out of her eye…’s socket. Her eye was, in fact, now on the floor.

“Wedding feast?! I am salivating,” the maggot said.

She gasped as she covered your eye socket, clearly embarrassed that it happened. She tried laughing it off, but it was a bit too late.

Now, to be fair, he recognized that he must be in a land of the dead. After all, there were skeletons all around, and his supposed bride was a decaying corpse. However, that did not leave him at peace. He was actually more disturbed when he came to that realization.

He squeezed out from between her and another skeleton and started creeping back in the other direction. He eventually reached the soldier skeletons, and that’s when he saw that one of them was impaled with a sword. He unsheathed it and turned on everyone.

“I need some answers before we proceed with anything. What’s going on here? Where am I? Who are you?”

She stepped forward and started fidgeting with her hands before saying, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“What a story it is…” a voice from the shadows on the stage emerged. “A tale of romance, passion, and a murder most foul.”

“This is gonna be good.” The skeleton who was formerly impaled by the sword Malleus was holding right now spoke, gently taking back the sword.

“Hit it, boys.”

~~~~~~~~

One catchy but macabre musical number later, Malleus understands where he is. A few of the people down here were people he recognized. Old fae folks and humans alike rejoiced with each other, and it was beautiful to see. There was no judgment between the two species, which means a lot of them died prior to the war.

Well, they were dead. There would be no point in harboring resentment towards each other if you’re stuck with each other forever anyway.

Anyways, her story made him angry. How dare that man turn her down?! She was beautiful and kind, and all she wished for was to be a bride. Even though it had only been a day, Malleus found himself drawn to her. In fact, right at this moment, they were walking arm-in-arm to the cliff to gaze over the town.

The sight was beautiful. The moonlight made its appearance again, and the dragon prince breathed in the night air.

“Isn’t it beautiful? It takes my breath away…” The woman let go of his arm and twirled, her veil trailing after her.

“...Well, it would if I had any,” She giggled before sitting down on a bench, patting the seat next to her. He, with gentle steps, made his way and sat down next to her. “Isn’t it romantic?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to have your name. After all, I do believe a groom should have the name of his bride,” Malleus stated after a moment of silence.

Well, that’s a great way to start a marriage.

“Shh… Shut up!” The woman hit her temples before smiling at him. “It’s Y/N.”

“My name is Malleus Draconia, prince and crowned heir of the Briar Valley.” Her eyes widened in shock at his response.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you!” She pulled out a box and placed it in his lap with care, taking the required measures so as to not startle him. Not to worry, as he was quite excited about receiving a gift from his… wife? She then whispered something, “It’s a wedding present”.

He lifted the neatly wrapped box up to his ear and shook it gently, seemingly trying to find out what could be inside. The corpse beside him let out a small gasp of shock before recovering with a smile.

Once he unwrapped the bow and opened the box, he saw a bunch of bones… including a skull. Malleus immediately recognized it to be a stray dog that he found in his youth. Growing up isolated meant that he hadn’t many friends, so when a dog made its way to him in the forest, who was he to turn it down?

The lid clasped itself back onto the box out of nowhere and started rumbling in the prince’s lap before falling to the ground. Then it went still before the lid burst open and out jumped a skeletal dog, barking and everything.

“Samson?” Malleus asked, wondering if the dog could hear him. The cadaverous canine jumped into his friend’s lap, excited to be reunited. “Samson! My dog, Samson!”

“I knew you’d be happy to see him.” The woman beside him exclaimed. The prince had nearly forgotten about her presence.

“Who’s my good boy? Sit. Sit, Samson, sit!” At his owner’s command, the dog sat down. 

“Good boy, Samson. Roll over. Roll over!!!” Now, the way that the dog did it was quite unusual. His head remained upright as the rest of the body rolled over.

“Play dead.” The dog let out a whine when Malleus realized his mistake. Both recovered, and Samson jumped into his wife’s lap instead.

“Awww, what a cutie!” She exclaimed.

After a few seconds of quiet between the newlyweds, save for Samson’s panting, Malleus spoke.

“My grandmother did not approve of me keeping a stray. Nor did Lilia,” Malleus trailed off, remembering from his childhood that he hadn’t any friends apart from the staff who were forced to play with him.

“Would she have approved of me?” His bride asked.

“I would very much like to think so, but I wouldn’t know… What if we were to go meet her?” He proposed.

“That sounds wonderful! Where is she buried?” She asked with enthusiasm and excitement in her tone. It pained him to be the bearer of bad news.

“I am afraid that they are still with life, my dearest,” He lowered his head, a bit embarrassed and thus focusing on Samson.

“Hmm… that is a problem…” The corpse bride brought her hand to her chin in thought, wondering how they could get to the Land of the Living.

Then, Samson started barking at you. 

“No, we couldn’t possibly,” Luckily, Malleus was well-versed when it came to speaking with animals, but he did not know who ‘Elder Gutknecht’ was.

“Well, if you put it like that…” She was responding to the dog, as though she was having a full conversation with him.

“Who is ‘Elder Gutknecht’?”

“He is the person everyone goes to when they have matters concerning the living realm. Now come, dear husband,” the woman held her hand out, and the prince took it, and the pair made their way to the Elder’s room.

~~~~~~~~

“Elder Gutknecht? Are you there?”

If I’m being honest, Malleus has no idea who you both are looking for. Samson is trailing behind the two of you, the three of you moving with grace up the stairs. One thing he noticed was that there were books and candles everywhere. He made sure that he didn’t trip over anything nor make anything fall.

“Is anyone home? Hello?”

Unfortunately, Samson did not take those same precautions and made a pile of books fall over, startling what seemed to be a full murder of crows. The lantern that lit up the place started swaying from the force of wind from the birds’ wings. Then, a hand reached up to steady the lantern.

An old skeleton, coughing, a whisper of a beard on his chin, and half of the top of his skull lifting, made his appearance.

“There you are!” Y/N exclaimed.

Placing his glasses on, the presumed Elder Gutknecht spoke, “Huh? Oh, my dear. There you are.”

“I’ve brought my husband, Prince Malleus Draconia.”

“What’s that? Husband?” The Elder scratched his skull, making the lifting plate lift even more.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Malleus called out, not sure if the skeleton could hear him.

“I believe the pleasure would be mine, Your Highness. After all, it’s not everyday that you find yourself in the presence of living royalty… especially if you’re dead.”

“Anyways,” Y/N butted in, “We need to go up. Upstairs? To visit the Land of the Living.”

“Land of the Living? Oh, my dear,” The skeleton had a disappointed tone in his voice as he started making his way down the stairs that led up to his podium.

“Please, Elder Gutknecht.” The woman clasped her decaying hands together in hope.

“Now, why go up there, when people are dying to get down here?” The elder responded.

“Sir, I beg you to help. It would mean so much to my wife and I.’ A small gasp of shock made its way out of Y/N’s mouth. For so long… she wanted to hear herself be called a wife.

“I don’t know… It’s just not natural.”

“Please, Elder Gutknecht. Surely there must be something you can do?” Y/N took the old man’s hand in hers and looked into his eyes, pleading.

“Hmm… Let me see what I can do.” Elder Gutknecht patted the back of her hand. “Now, where did I put that book?” He then started looking everywhere; in the cabinet, in the drawer, and he started going through his piles and piles of books. That was, until he checked the bookshelf and found the book he was looking for. “There it is.”

On the way back up to his podium, he grabbed three bottles of things akin to potions as well as a chalice, as per Malleus’s guess. A crow was perched up there already, waiting for his master’s commands.

Elder Gutknecht started flipping through the pages of the book, muttering to himself, before he stopped at a certain page.

“I have it.” Y/N let out a gasp of excitement. “A haunting spell of sorts. Just the thing for these quick trips…”

Leaning to the side closer to her husband, Y/N whispered, “So glad you thought of this.”

“Me too, darling.”

The old man took two of the bottles and poured some of the liquid contents into the chalice before taking some ashes out of what the newly married couple realized was an urn and adding them into the concoction. Then, a feather from the crow was added in, and it dissolved immediately. A little cloud of red smoke popped out of the cup, making the skeletal man cough. He took the chalice in his hand, and it looked like he was going to splash it on the two below before he drank all of it.

“Now, then…” He let out a belch. “Where were we?”

“The haunting spell?”

“Ahhh…” He grasped the crow on his podium by the neck and squeezed its stomach, making an egg pop out. Malleus and Samson flinched while Y/N didn’t seem phased.

“Ah, here we have it. Ready? Just remember: When you want to come back, say ‘hopscotch’.”

Y/N giggled at the childishness of the word, asking, “Hopscotch?” with an amused tone.

“That’s it.” He cracked the egg on the podium, and out of the egg came a gas of some sort.

All of a sudden, the married couple found themselves under the moonlight once again.

~~~~~~~~

Back at the palace, everyone was worried. Some of the servants have been fainting from panic…

The prince had vanished.

Queen Maleficia is very close to sending out the entire military that Briar Valley has to go looking for her grandson. General Lilia is separating the soldiers into groups, and assigning those groups to different parts of the Valley. Sir Sebek and Sir Silver are paired together as leaders of two of those groups, going to make their way into the forest section.

It was very unlike Malleus to just vanish without a trace, so everyone figured that he was taken. It also must be someone stronger than him, as you wouldn’t be able to capture the 5th most powerful mage if you didn’t have magic.

The villagers have also joined the search efforts, but there were folktales spreading about the danse macabre. It was All Hallow’s Eve, and a tale passed down for generations was that Death would come up with the dead and dance. Maybe their prince had joined them?

That was what caused the frenzy to begin with. Everyone knew about that tale, and if Malleus had joined the celebration of the dead, then he wouldn’t be seen until the following year.

Lilia gave the order, and Sebek’s squad and Silver’s squad made their way over the bridge and into the woods to go find the dragon prince.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N took in the glow of the moonlight, tears coming to her eyes as she stared at the moon itself for a few moments.

“I spent so long in the darkness, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”

At that moment, a butterfly flew past her face, causing her to giggle at its purity and innocence. Malleus also had a grin as he followed the butterfly with his eyes. However, that is when he realized that the butterfly was just as blue as the flowers upon her crown.

Y/N inhaled deeply, before stepping forward and twirling about in the snow. The trail of her mother’s wedding dress as well as her veil almost floated so delicately and gracefully behind her.

“My lady, might you give me this first dance as my wife?” She stopped when she heard Malleus ask, and a tear fell down her cheek as she nodded. He held out his hand to her and she accepted it, being pulled into his chest.

The two of them would have to thank their dance instructors, Y/N from when she was alive, and Malleus from when he was a boy. Sure, the steps they were doing were rehearsed, but the connection that the two felt was real.

Suddenly, Y/N’s skeletal leg snapped, making her fall. Luckily, the bones were only disconnected at the joint, so she easily snapped it back into place.

“Are you alright?” The dragon prince was understandably alarmed, as his magic could do no good upon a dead person. After all, magic is alive itself.

“I am quite so. It happens quite often,” she giggled, a bit embarrassed. Malleus smiled before they continued their waltz in the snow for a few more moments. Then, they walked hand-in-hand over to where Malleus knew would be the road back.

That is when Malleus had an idea.

“What if you were to stay here and I could bring my grandmother to you? I believe everyone would erupt in a ruckus if they saw me walking with a mystery human woman.”

“Ah, that’s right. I was here before the conflict. That should be fine. I will wait right here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And so, with that being said, he set off into the forest, alone, on the path he had traversed many times before, to go bring his grandmother to meet his new wife.

~~~~~~~~

About 20 minutes into the journey, Malleus heard something close by.

“THE PRINCE IS HERE! WE FOUND HIM!” 

The said prince’s neck snapped toward the direction he heard the voice come from. He recognizes the lady’s voice. She was one of the people that his grandmother had set him up with for marriage, and she was one of the ladies who wanted him for his status.

He heard marching, and he saw his former retainers: Silver and Sebek. In seconds, he was face-to-face with them, the lady mentioned before clinging to his arm.

“Your highness, we have been searching for you for hours! Where have you been?” Silver asked, making sure that the surrounding forest was clear and that the lady was in no danger.

Sebek didn’t say anything. He was moved to tears upon the recovery of the prince, his personal hero, who he revered and worshiped.

“I was strolling through the woods, and I got lost.”

“Sire, with all due respect, I didn’t think it was possible you could get lost,” Silver found the prince’s response to be a bit suspicious, but didn’t think to question him further. After all, he had orders from Queen Maleficia herself to bring her grandson back.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Prince Malleus, we must be taking our leave now,” Sebek bowed down as he stated. He then told Silver that he could take him back while he escorted the lady back to her own manor.

However, as Silver began to lead the way, he noticed that he was not being followed. He looked back and saw that Malleus was looking in the direction from where he came. 

Perhaps he did dance with the macabre.

“Your highness?”

Malleus snapped out of his trance before going to follow the knight. This might be an easier way to speak with his grandmother, so he followed Silver. 

~~~~~~~~

This is the voice of your conscience… Listen to what I say:

I have a bad feeling about him. You know he is no…

An all too familiar voice made itself known to you, and you rolled your eyes. You reached up to your ear and hit the side of your head, making Maggot shoot out into the cold snow.

“Go chew someone else’s ear for a while. Malleus has gone to get his grandmother, just like he said,'' To say that you were annoyed would be a tiny bit of an understatement. However, you couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness once again drape an arm about your shoulder. You missed your husband already.

“If I hadn’t just been sitting in it, I would say that you had lost your mind!” 

“I’m sure he has a perfectly good reason… for taking so long.” You crossed your arms in your lap, letting the doubt get into your decaying mind. Maybe Maggot was right.

“Oh, I am sure that he does. Why don’t you go ask him?”

“Alright, I will.” With that, you stood up, and began to follow your husband’s footsteps, picking Maggot up as you went.

~~~~~~~~

Malleus should have expected this. 

His grandmother, Queen Maleficia, had overreacted upon being reunited with her grandson, and locked him away in his room, placing a magical barrier to prevent him from leaving. Not only that, but he had learned that if someone were to find him first, more specifically, the women that the Queen had lined up as his suitresses, they would get his hand in marriage.

One small issue with that: he was a taken man now, and he had no plans in betraying his wife. She was beautiful, a free-spirited person to boot. She knew music and understood the beauty of both human and fae-kind. He was starting to miss her, and while he tried to tell his grandmother, she was not hearing it.

“Oh, Malleus, darling~”

And there was that insufferable voice.

Lady Aerwynn, the lady who had ‘found’ him in the forest originally, was the one set to marry him. She came from a long line of fae nobility, a green flag in his grandmother’s eyes.

To be quite frank, Malleus found her insufferable. She was only looking to gain power and influence, not his love. That’s where he loved his undead bride. She loved him before she even knew his name or title.

“Yes, Lady Aerwynn?”

“Well, soon I am going to be Princess Draconia. But anyways, I was wondering which shade of white would look best with your suit? After all, I need to make a good impression on the people at our wedding!”

“Lady Aerwynn, I need to inform you of something. I already have a bride. I am happily married to someone. Our wedding would be unlawful. If you could go get my grandmother, I can explain everything and you could be free to marry anyone else.”

This seemed to make her upset. Tears started welling up in her eyes as she heard what her ‘fiance’ was saying to her. 

“It’s not true! You just don’t want to marry me! Well, I don’t care! We’re getting married, whether you like it or not!”

All of a sudden, the window burst open. A large draft of wind swept through the room, putting out the candles and the fire within the fireplace. Malleus turned to see his wife, his true wife, on the balcony, fixing her veil out of her face. He had never been so relieved to see her.

~~~~~~~~

“My darling, I just wanted to meet-” Once your veil was out of your face, you were able to see your husband with another woman in his arms. However, you quickly brushed it off as the wrong place at the wrong time.

However, the woman let out a gasp of shock at your appearance.

You reached over and grabbed Malleus’s arm to pull him towards you. You wrapped your arm in his, making sure that the strange living woman knew that he was yours.

“Darling? Who is this?” You asked.

“Who is she?” 

“I’m his wife.” You extended your hand with the wedding ring on it towards her, letting the moonlight reflect off of the glistening golden band.

“Malleus? What is the meaning of this? You’re not going to marry me because you’re married to a corpse?!” Lady Aerwynn was only getting angrier, as were you.

You felt betrayed. You snatched your arm from Malleus and stared menacingly at the woman.

“Hopscotch.” You snatched your husband’s arm before sinking back outside, a murder of crows flying in a circle around you two until you were back in Elder Gutknecht’s room.

~~~~~~~~

“You lied to me! Just to get back to that other woman!” You shoved Malleus away from you, again feeling betrayed. Emotions came punching you in the face, and you were first experiencing anger.

“You don’t understand, my love. She means nothing to me-”

“Oh, really? Am I preventing your marriage to her? Would you rather be married to her?” Tears were threatening to spill as you interrupted Malleus. “You’re married to me! She’s only the other woman!”

You turned around, not wanting to let him see you cry. 

Elder Gutknecht let out a cough before saying, “She’s got a point.”

Through sobs, you were lamenting the early and untimely death of your marriage. “And-And I thought… This was all going so well.” More tears fell. Your eye actually popped out of your skull from the pressure, rolling its way to the dragon prince’s boot.

He bent down and picked it up, giving it a brush against the lapel of his suit so as to clean it up a bit.

“Y/N, darling, you misunderstood everything. I-” He reached out his arm to give you your eye back, and you snatched it quickly.

“It’s my eye, isn’t it?” You popped it back into place.

“No! Your eyes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever had the pleasure of gazing into.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Prince Malleus Draconia.” “Don’t you see? My grandmother is attempting to wed me with Lady Aerwynn!”

“You should have thought about that before you asked me to marry you.”

“Can’t you see it was a mistake? You were never supp-”

You drowned out the last of the sentence. He thought your marriage to be a mistake. Maybe it was. Maybe Maggot was right, and you were in the wrong. All you wanted was to be a bride, as that dream had been stolen from you before.

Oh, yes. You were to be married to a wealthy fae that you loved so dearly about a century ago. You were one of the human nobility families, but the Wikora family was of lower standing at the time compared to yours. Your parents had forbidden the union for that very reason. Lord Piersym Wikora, to be precise, was the one you were to be married to. He was a mysterious stranger to you, having traveled about to many locations outside of the Briar Valley.

He stole your heartbeat, both literally and figuratively.

You walked off, the memories flooding back as well as the tears. It was time to give up on having a happy marriage, as you figured that matrimony between a dead human and an alive fae could never be compatible.

If only you had heard what he had said.

You were never supposed to see us like that. She wants to ruin my happiness for her own gain.

~~~~~~~~

In a desolate corner in the Land of the Dead, you could be seen sulking. Your veil was hanging upon a random stick of metal sticking out of the ground. You were sitting upon a broken coffin, a bench, if you will. 

“Roses for eternal love.”

You reached into your bouquet and snatched a rose head out, letting it drop to the ground in a messy fashion.

“Lilies for sweetness.”

As with the rose, you grabbed a lily and let it drop to the ground.

Upon seeing the third type of flower, you breathed in shakily before whispering the name.

“Baby’s breath.”

You tossed the bouquet away from you, feeling lost on what you were going to do now that your marriage was in shambles. Samson was with you, whining that his two owners were separated.

“Why so blue?” You looked over to see the Widow, someone who you looked up to as a motherly figure. Her six hind legs were lifted up in the air while her other two legs were acting as arms.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe it was a mistake.”

Maybe he should have his head examined.

You reached into your ear and pulled out Maggot, holding his tail between your pointer finger and thumb.

“I could do it!” Maggot exclaimed.

“Or maybe he does belong with her, Little Miss Living, with her rosy cheeks and beating heart. Plus, she’s a fae. I’m human.”

A heart can break once it’s done beating, you guess.

~~~~~~~~

“It’s true, Your Majesty! Malleus is married to a dead woman!” Lady Aerwynn looked the worse for wear. Her blonde hair was out of place as well as her dress. She looked a mess, and quite like a delusional patient. “I saw her. A corpse! Standing right here with Malleus.”

“I beg your pardon? My grandson… married to a corpse? Are you sure you don’t have a fever, dear?” Queen Maleficia lifted her hand to the girl’s forehead, checking for any unusual warmth.

Yes, she knew of the danse macabre story. However, she did not believe in it. And she refused to believe that her grandson indulged in frivolous tales and thus ran away… especially since he was an adult in fae terms.

“Come here and let me fetch you a blanket. You seem to be a bit feverish, dear.” Maleficia had a servant fetch a wool blanket as she assigned another servant to make sure that Lady Aerwynn didn’t go outside and worry the citizens even more.

Her Royal Majesty tried using her magic to see if she could locate Malleus through sensory magic, but she came up with nothing. He was not even in Briar Valley, but he couldn’t have made it to another land in that short amount of time, especially since she put that spell on his room. So, she started considering the possibility of the danse macabre.

~~~~~~~~

Malleus had been wandering about for a while in search of Y/N. He wished to hear her voice once again, as he felt his heart aching for her.

Sure, it was only during the night that he had gotten to know her, but his draconic instincts were telling him that she was his beloved, the person he was destined to be with for all of eternity, and not even death could part them.

He turned the corner to a street he had walked on before, following Samson who had your bouquet in his mouth. It was the bar where this entire journey started. Where he got to know what had happened to you.

Upon opening the door, he heard the piano playing. It was finely tuned despite being so old. You were sitting at the bench, both your decaying and skeletal hands dancing on the keys. Malleus walked up quietly, placing the bouquet that Samson had given him onto the top of the coffin-style piano.

“I’m sorry, my love. I just wanted you to know that I have no wish to be with her. I am happy with you, not with her. She wants to ruin our happiness to gain power for herself.”

You said nothing, and you continued playing. You were at the lower end of the piano, playing the deeper notes. Malleus joined you on the bench, turning his body towards the higher notes.

His years of learning the piano would come in handy.

To compliment the melody you were playing, he decided to add a more lighthearted spirit by playing a few notes.

That backfired, as you glanced at him with a look of disdain. You turned back to continue playing, but Malleus responded with the higher-pitched notes again.

You watched with an annoyed look on your face, before finishing off the melody.

However, Malleus started another one. He looked at you as he paused for a few seconds, inviting you to join him. And so you did.

Much like the dance you both shared in the moonlight, you were also in-sync with your piano playing. It turned into an expression of the both of you, lighter notes symbolizing life and deeper notes symbolizing death. The song was a motif for the joining of both life and death.

But, you got carried away, and your skeletal hand broke off and continued playing despite the rest of you as well as the entirety of Malleus stopping. You let out a gasp of shock as your hand started dancing about on the keys by itself, running up Malleus’s arm.

Giggles emitted from the both of you, much like children. The dragon fae took your detached hand in his before handing it over.

“Pardon my enthusiasm.”

“I like your enthusiasm.”

You both leaned in a bit as he reattached your hand to your arm. You looked up and into each other’s eyes before-

“NEW ARRIVAL” The bell started sounding, startling you both.

“Lights up!” 

Everyone started flooding into the bar. Paul and his cockroaches started pouring drinks.

“Hurry up, boys. Vite, Vite! Bonjour! Bienvenue! Drinks for everyone! Another pint, sir?”

“Oh no, just a half.” The man who ordered completely split in half.

Paul whistled at his roaches, having them bring the beer stein over, which ended up knocking him over.

“It is impossible to get good help anymore!”

Ms. Plum started making her way through the crowd of people.

“Welcoming committee, coming through! Coming through! My name’s Plum. Miss Plum.”

Malleus turned to see who had exactly died, and he recognized the man. He was one of the servants tasked with caring for him when he was a youngling. He had always been on the weaker side, having a horrible cough. He was one of the few human servants still remaining in the castle.

His name was Mr. Nimbus, or Nimbus Redrose. He just grew up calling him Mr. Nimbus because of the stories he would tell.

“Mr. Nimbus? Is that you? It’s wonderful to see you again!”

“Your Highness? Why, everyone’s been worried sick! Well, not me anymore!” The man let out a loud laugh before patting the prince on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t worry about me, though. It was about time I passed.”

“Hurry up, boys! Can you not see the gentleman is parched?!” Paul addressed his cockroaches, exasperated at the slow rate of his staff.

“How is Lady Aerwynn?”

“She was purely hysterical from what I could tell. Her Royal Majesty is concerned for her, but she’s more worried about you.”

“Yes, I do feel horrible that I had taken leave without informing anyone of my whereabouts, but my night has gone better than it ever could have. She was truly insufferable.”

A random drunkard of a skeleton threw his arm around Nimbus, stumbling and slurring about, and he said, “Women; you can’t live with them… You can’t live with-” Then he fell down.

“Well, I guess it’s time for you to pick up the pieces and help them to move on.”

“Speaking of picking up the pieces…” The skeleton from before was on the floor in just a heap of bones, making Malleus amused. He would use his magic, but it didn’t work on the dead. So the poor, drunk skeleton was just left there to sober up.

However, your husband had more concerning matters on his mind. He needed to somehow inform his grandmother that he wished to stay in the Land of the Dead with you. With that, he walked off to start contemplating methods.

“Malleus? Where are you going?”

~~~~~~~~

Queen Maleficia rested her forehead in her hand as she sat upon her throne. This whole day had not gone according to plan. 

She was feeling horrible for trying to force her grandson into a marriage that he did not want. However, she wanted to at least give him a push to marry his true love before Lady Aerwynn.

The Wikora family was indeed powerful, as their family came from sprites and faeries directly. Aerwynn Wikora, the daughter’s name, was a faerie herself. She had a way with music that Maleficia found light and airy… much different to the Draconias. However, despite that being her style, her entire family was corrupt. They wanted more power, and they were second only to the Draconia family.

It had frustrated the Wikoras that it had become a trend for the Draconias to pick up human lovers and marry them despite them being taken by death so early. However, as we all know, a dragon must be with their true love in order to truly be happy.

Every so often, a maid would come into the throneroom and update her on Lady Aerwynn’s state. She seemed to be getting a tad better, which was a relief. However, her ramblings set an ounce of doubt in Maleficia’s mind. What if the story of the danse macabre was real? It could be the only explanation.

However, if that were true, then he wouldn’t have turned up in the forest in the first place.

~~~~~~~~

Malleus was walking around once again, as he tended to do when he was in deep thought.

You see, he knew that there was no way he could go back to the living world or else he would be barred from his beloved. But, the Briar Valley would need a king once his grandmother passed the crown onto him. He doesn’t know how well his subjects would take it upon hearing that their Queen is technically dead.

Then, he came across a door that he knew led to the kitchen. He peaked in to see you talking to the head chef, Ms. Plum.

“Oh, Ms. Plum. What am I to do? He just walked off without saying a word. Are all men like this?” You lamented. 

“Well, I’m afraid none of them are very bright. They get something stuck in their heads…” Mrs. Plum began her response before pulling a knife out of the head of her colleague and wiping it clean. Then she continued, “...and you can’t do a thing with them.”

Elder Gutknecht burst into the kitchen with a rather heavy book. It actually seemed to be more than his skeletal weight, and it made Malleus briefly concerned. It was flipped to a certain page, and Maggot resided on top of the page.

“My dear, we have to talk.” The Elder seemed burdened by something, which made the dragon prince worried.

“Let me tell her, please. Let me tell her!” Maggot seemed quite the opposite. Whatever misfortune had happened, he seemed to be fairly excited about it.

“What?” You seemed to have the same fear that was now residing in your husband.

“There is a complication with your marriage.” A gasp made its way out of you, and Malleus was pretty close, but he knew that this was not his moment to pop in yet.

“I don’t understand.”

“The vows are binding only until death do you part”

“What are you saying?” “Death… has already parted you.” Another sound of surprise emitted from you, and your hand flew to your mouth. You started to bite your nails in quick contemplation.

“I don’t think he would leave, but is there something you could do to make the vows binding?”

“There is one thing…”

“Oh, please, please, let me tell her!” Maggot interrupted. The suspense was drawing you and Malleus (who was still outside) towards the elderly man.

“...It requires the greatest sacrifice…”

“Go on, get to the good part~”

“What is it?”

“We have to kill him!”

A moment of silence fell on everyone. It was overwhelming for even the dragon prince to comprehend. 

Is he really willing to give up his life?

“What?”

“Prince Malleus would have to give up the life he had forever. He would need to repeat his vows in the Land of the Living…

…and drink from the Wine of Ages.”

Elder Gutknecht pointed at the page his book was opened to, and it pictured a vial or bottle of something. Your hands clasped themselves over your mouth as you turned away. Your face held a look of disbelief and remorse.

“Poison…”

“This would stop his heart forever. Only then would he be free to give it to you.”

Dropping to the floor, you bowed your head.

“I could never ask him…” A lone tear traveled down your decayed cheek.

“You don’t have to, dearest.” Malleus made his presence known, entering the kitchen finally. He extended his hands to you as he said, “I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant spending eternity with you, Y/N.”

You looked up in surprise, originally hinted with a bit of mortification. However, upon hearing what he said, the mortification wiped itself away.

“My boy, if you choose this path, you may never return to the world above. Do you understand?” Elder Gutknecht looked at the prince, waiting for his response.

Continuing to look into your eyes as he helped you up, he said, “I do.”

~~~~~~~~

“Gather round. Gather round, everybody! My soon-to-be-official bride and I have decided to wed each other properly, so grab what you can and follow us. We’re moving upstairs for a proper celebration.” Malleus shouted as he held your hand atop the foundation of a statue.

“Upstairs? I didn’t know we had an upstairs!” A lady in the audience exclaimed. Everyone was now buzzing with excitement for the wedding. They rushed off to prepare both the bride and groom.

“Ms. Widow? I was wondering if you could touch up my suit. I want to be looking the best I can for Y/N.” Malleus explained, also beaming with excitement.

“Why, of course!” She let out a loud whistle, and a few different spiders appeared. The feeling of them walking all over was a bit ticklish, but the dragon prince remained as still as he could.

Then, a hush fell over everyone.

The women started singing in a rather calming tone, announcing that the bride was there.

You walked down the stairs, bouquet in hand and your dress trailing behind you. Once again, Malleus had his breath taken away at your beauty. Some of the widows dropped down with your veil, placing it lightly upon your head.

The men joined in the singing as you twirled about.

Maggot was in tears, blowing his nose in a smaller-scale handkerchief. He just couldn’t believe that his dear friend was finally getting married. He was so proud.

Everyone made their way upstairs. There was a large cake following everyone as well that the chefs whipped up. It was extravagant to say the least, but so were the wedding festivities of Briar Valley.

~~~~~~~~

Queen Maleficia was torn.

She sat at the dinner table, accompanied by Silver, Sebek, Lilia, and the Wikora family. A simple soup was served for dinner, as no one could really stomach an extravagant meal. However, the Wikoras were not really appreciative of the dismal dinner.

Lady Aerwynn looked a tad better, some color having returned to her skin. She was not as feverish, but she was not touching her food. Her hair was brushed neatly, courtesy of the servants who were attending her.

That aside, the Queen was wondering how she was going to break the news to the Wikora family that Lady Aerwynn’s engagement to her grandson was invalid as per her orders. 

The entire room was silent, save for the flickering of the fire behind her in the fireplace and the scraping of spoons against the ceramic bowls. 

“Has there been any news about His Royal Highness?” Lord Piersym inquired. He was Lady Aerywynn’s older brother, and even more insufferable.

“I am afraid not. There are a few parties out in the woods searching for him.” Maleficia responded.

Then, the fire turned green. It cast an ominous emerald glow in the room, surprising everyone. They all stayed frozen still, only moving their eyes.

Creeping up behind the Wikoras were what Silver, Sebek, Lilia, and Maleficia recognized as dead bodies and skeletons. The one behind Lord Piersym, their eye accidentally fell out of its socket and landed in his soup.

“There seems to be an eye in my soup,” he stated rather calmly.

That is when poor Lady Aerwynn ran to her wit’s end and started screaming. The knights were also considerably spooked at the happenings, but they came to the realization that their weapons were taken by the walking dead. They were left defenseless, basically.

Her Royal Majesty didn’t seem scared but rather on the defensive. This was living (?) proof that the danse macabre was real. That means her grandson would be back. All the living dead were headed a certain direction, she noticed, after spooking her guests and the knights. 

Lilia also seemed to notice that pattern and started leading her out of the castle and down the roads. A bunch of skeletons were climbing over the palace walls and into the village outside, so the two faes started making their way to a meadow, as that was where everyone was going.

All around them, couples who had lost each other because of death reunited, and it was beautiful. Typically, in Briar Valley, no one remarries once death has parted them from their first partner. Hence why Queen Maleficia has no king consort. So, to see that loved ones were able to see deceased loved ones again was truly magnificent.

After the reunions, they started heading towards the meadow where a wedding seemed to be set up. An altar of both dead and alive flowers (that symbolized death), as well as the typical wedding flowers (like roses, lilies, and baby’s breath, as mentioned before). The feeling of excitement was in the air, and Maleficia had never seen the village bustling with life like this before… pun intended.

Whispers made their way through the crowds of people, both dead and undead. From what Her Royal Majesty and Her Right-Hand Man gathered, His Royal Highness was repeating his wedding vows in the ‘Land of the Living’ to be with his true love.

…Lady Aerwynn was right. Malleus had, in fact, danced with the dead. Now he was going to join them alongside a dead woman he had only just met that night.

The severity of the situation was donning on both faes as they took their seats in front. More whispers of amazement at seeing the Queen as well as the (at their time of life) General as they sat down. 

The two let out a gasp as they saw Malleus teleport to the altar. His suit was a black coat with a green vest. A black button-up resided underneath along with a green tie about his neck. Black dress pants and shoes accompanied the rest of the outfit.

Gasps resounded from the rear of the venue and everyone turned to look. There you stood, your veil hiding your face. Because of its transparency, everyone could still see your face, albeit it was still slightly shrouded from view. You walked slowly down the aisle, as per tradition. There was no question about it: you were beautiful.

Maleficia could tell that you were once a gorgeous human woman. Actually, you seemed very familiar. That dress was one that she had seen before. 

You reached the altar and stood beside your about-to-be husband. At the podium stood a rather old skeleton with a rather large book and a bottle of what was presumed to be wine and an empty chalice. The officiant, the Queen guessed.

“Evening. Dearly beloved… and departed… we are gathered here today to join this man and this corpse in marriage.”

Silence washed over the people attending the ceremony. It was like magic the way that everyone wanted to speak but no one dared utter a word. Malleus gently lifted your veil to reveal your face to everyone, and he swears that he is gazing into your eyes for the first time. The pure amount of love in his eyes could have made your heart begin to beat again.

“Living first.” The old skeleton pointed to Malleus, who turned towards you.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” Just like he rehearsed, he raised his hand up and you accepted it, and he led you three steps forward. 

“Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” He took the empty chalice and lifted it up.

“Now you.” The officiant pointed at you. You realized that you would finally be able to say these vows in however many years since you were set to marry.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” Just like you had rehearsed many times before, you took a step towards Malleus.

“Your cup will never empty, for I will be…” You opened the bottle and took it into your hand and started pouring the liquid into the chalice that Malleus was holding. But, you paused.

Malleus looked at you expectantly, wanting you to finish the vow so that he may drink the Wine of Ages, wanting to join you eternally in death.

“...I will be…” You came to the realization upon stealing a glance at the crowd. They needed a king once Queen Maleficia gave away the crown. Not just that, but Malleus still had his entire life ahead of him. He was signing it away just for a woman he had only met that night.

“Go on, my dear.” The elderly skeleton prompted. You focused your gaze back on Malleus, who had a hopeful but fearful look in his eyes. However, you did not have that hopeful look in your eyes to match. Malleus realized that.

You take a deep breath in as you go again, “Your cup… will never empty… for I will be…” It’s as though something is prohibiting you from saying the vows in their entirety.

“...I will be your wine.” Malleus finished, going to drink from the chalice. However, before it reached his lips, you put your skeletal hand over it and brought it back down. The dragon prince looked at you in shock, but you looked down to avert his gaze.

“I can’t,” You looked back up at him, tears in your eyes. You were whispering so that no one else could hear you.

“What’s wrong? Speak to me, my love,” He whispered back.

“This is wrong… I was a bride. My dreams were taken from me. And now… I’m taking someone else’s life for my own selfish dreams.” Malleus was about to say something, but you stopped him.

“I love you, Malleus. But you’re not mine to have.”

You both were fragile in this moment as everyone was staring in suspense as to what would happen next. However, someone started clapping in a very slow manner.

“Oh, how touching. I always cry at weddings.” The two of you could recognize that voice from anywhere, and that man started walking down the aisle towards you both.

It was Lord Piersym.

“Our young lovers… together at last. Surely now they can live happily ever after?” The antagonizing tone in his voice did not go unnoticed, and your was-to-be husband put his hand on the other side of your waist and pulled you into him, so as to not leave you vulnerable.

“But you forget… HE IS STILL MY SISTER’S HUSBAND BY ORDER OF THE QUEEN!!! THE WIKORA FAMILY WILL NOT LEAVE EMPTY-HANDED!!!” He screamed. Malleus was about to put an end to this by using his magic, but you stepped out of his grasp.

“You?” You asked. The dragon fae as well as the crowd watched as you walked to the edge of the plateau upon which the altar stood.

“Y/N?” Looks of recognition flashed on both Lord Piersym’s and your faces. 

“You.” Your face turned into one of disgust and hatred.

“But… But I left you!” The man turned as white as a ghost.

“...For dead.” Gasps emitted from everyone in the meadow. It seemed that even the animals that were still active went absolutely silent.

“This woman is obviously delusional! It would do you good to hold your tongue, you filthy human!” He pointed a sword at you, and while you were aware that you could not die twice, Malleus seemed to have forgotten about it. All he processed in his mind was that his mate was in danger. 

“You were set to marry me. You have no right to call me that,” you stated, diction quite clear and distinct.

“Touche, my dear.”

“Now, go away.”

“Oh, I’m leaving. But first! A toast!” He grabbed the chalice out of Malleus’s hand, lifting it in the air and turning towards the audience, who all had either surprised or angry faces, depending on if they were alive or dead.

“To Y/N! Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” 

Malleus was about to shout and lose his mind over what he had just said to you, but you took a step closer to him and kept a vigilant eye on Lord Piersym. 

“Tell me, my dear…

Can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?” Venom laced within his voice, he, too, kept a vigilant eye on his surroundings. His words were enough to bring you to the verge of tears.

“Let me at him! Let me at him!” Maggot was furious. He wanted the death of the puny lord to be by his own ‘hands’ with how angry he was at that moment. However, Elder Gutknecht held him back with his finger, along with the rest of the crowd with his other arm.

“Wait! We are amongst the living! We must abide by their rules!” The Elder warned.

“Well said,” Lord Piersym said in response. He then lifted the chalice to his lips, as though to ‘cheers’ what he said. Then, he proceeded to drink all of the wine that was in the cup. He gave it back to Malleus and started making his way to the side and out of the venue.

“...Not anymore~” Maggot said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, as all of a sudden, Piersym Wikora doubled over, gasping for air. He could feel his magic drain from his body and be replaced with something else.

As I have mentioned before, dear reader… magic is alive. At least, the kind of magic that faes, trolls, and others have in the Land of the Living. The kind of magic that was being replaced in Piersym’s body was something unexplainable. It was like a dead magic. No, not dormant, and certainly not like a volcano. But a dead magic.

The lord looked up, and his skin was pale with a blue undertone to match. His heart had stopped. He was now a walking corpse.

“Yep. You’re right. He’s all yours,” With those words, Elder Gutknecht put his arms down and the dead in the crowd started making their way to the, now dead, lord. They dragged him back through the village, back to the Land of the Dead via the fountain in the center.

That left the living as well as you at the altar. The Moon was close to giving way to the Sun. You turned back to Malleus.

“Y/N, I made a promise to you when I proposed to you. I intend to fulfill that promise if you will have me.”

“No, Malleus. You have kept your promise. I loved dancing with you under the moonlight. You’ve set me free. Now I can do the same.”

Right then and there, butterflies started cutting their way out of the bottom of your dress and legs. It was as though you yourself were an image. You began to disappear as the butterflies flew away. 

However, Malleus was not ready to let you go without giving you a farewell gift. He gently pulled your… upper body… closer to him and placed a kiss on your cold lips. A tear escaped from his right eye. Then, you were gone.

~~~~~~~~

Maleficia didn’t know how to feel. However, there was one prominent emotion that made its way to the front of the line, and it was sympathy for her grandson. She stood up from her seat and made her way to Malleus, going to wipe away a tear and say something in encouragement.

“Grandmother, why does it hurt so much?”

“I am afraid, Malleus, that it is the one thing no potion or spell will be able to fix. You will have to recover on your own.”

This took forever, and I was supposed to have it out on Halloween but that clearly did not happen lol.

Thank you for reading! Like, comment, reblog, share, whatever lol.

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Quotes from JJK chapters are not mine.

RATED M

Sister Edith warned her the day she arrived at St. Horatia that The Sight was an unpredictable sort; It bends what nature should not permit; What magic alone cannot teach. “Memory is the foundation of being, mon cherie,” she would say. “The anvil from which our reasoning is forged. Without it, we are nothing.” Perhaps that’s true.

Hannah could not explain how she knew these to be Satoru’s memories - or rather - Satoru’s memories from the perspective of a passerby. Some things you just know for certain.

Blinking, her eyes adjusted to the gloom. This was not her bedroom, and Satoru was not asleep beside her. She began looking around the place and discovered she was still home; the genkan with the Gojo family tree, painted by the great Jakuchū himself, big enough it canvassed the entire wall with songbirds and flowers. But she startled at the sensation of a woman walking directly through her like a figment of imagination, followed closely by two others.

“Hurry, this way,” the leader said. “They’ll be in the reception hall.”

The three women made a right turn and bounded towards their destination like foxes on a hare. Hannah stood bewildered. She had never seen those people before. How had they not bumped into her? She was standing right there.

The little wife checked herself up and down, moving her ligaments, placing her hand on her chest to feel it was beating. She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t hot. Her feet did not sink to the ground.

The nuns warned her of this too; The memory must be experienced till its conclusion. You must stay the course.

“Well.” Hannah gulped. “When in Rome.”

Good thing she knew her way around. However many years into the past, the rooms and hallways had not changed. She walked down the hall for a spell or two before passing the small corridor which led inside the living room. Not the reception hall, so she continued onwards till she passed the English dining room, and then the parlor, then the long L shaped engawa, passing fine storage cabinets, hand painted screens, and a whole plethora of ancient artifacts and treasures. Whenever Hannah walked by a mirror her reflection did not show.

She noticed a lot more people mulling about the house, mostly maids carrying water pitchers and cleaning supplies to and fro, stopping every so often to whisper excitedly in another’s ear. Hannah couldn’t catch their game of telephone, but something was definitely afoot.

She arrived just outside the reception hall. A convalescence of servants surrounded the entrance like hungry news reporters, listening through a slivered crack in the door. None of them made a peep, their eyes fixated on the people conversing in the formal room.

“Abandoned? By who?…”

“Precious little thing…”

“…400 years.”

Not wanting to barge an entry, Hannah thought of staying put with the house staff, but then remembered where she was and felt almost silly for thinking it. She sojourned on, walking through the servants and the door and into the grand reception hall with no pushback.

Her eyes settled on a huddle of seven women, including the three she encountered earlier, all of them dressed in elegant kimonos and fabrics. Now given a better look, none of them seemed a day over sixty, greying strands and scarecrow wrinkles. Whispering in concealed voices, they stood centered around a woman cradling a bundle of blankets.

Hannah stepped closer. Her eyes widened when she saw the small tuft of snow white hair. Tiny nose and tiny hands.

A baby, she marveled. And by the looks of it, not just any baby.

Hannah felt her lips tug into a smile. So this is where you were hiding, you sweet sod. Her husband was sound asleep in his swaddle of blankets, sucking on his tongue, barely a few hours old.

Unfortunately, not everyone was delighted by the prospect.

“Satsuma, that drunken dog,” cursed the woman holding the newborn. “After I told him to be careful. This is the last straw.”

“But is what they say true, Isako-chan?” said the woman nearest. “Does he really possess the…” She lowered the blankets from the sleeping child’s face, but before she could lift his tiny lids open, the woman named Isako rose from her seat and turned him away.

“Bolster our security and fetch a servant to alert Master Tengen at once,” she ordered, cradling the sleeping infant, her prognosis grim. “We must stay vigilant. The Star Plasma Vessel cannot be far behind.”

Three years old. Five years old. Eight and ten. The memories Hannah glimpsed were not linear.

In one instance, the boy would be reading Chinese letters on a page, symbols he could not understand, and speaking them aloud in front of his tutors; sounds they told him to say. Most of it Confucian literature, supplemented with essays relaying the art of classical warfare like Tzūzoku sangokushi and San Lüeh. He seemed to be doing well, however, Hannah held her breath whenever a word was repeated wrongly and his palm would be met with the stinging end of a bamboo rod. Although, he never once shed a tear and would start over from the beginning again, moving on to algebra, and biology, and a few plucks on the shō. His teachers would then instruct him how to compose poetry and practice calligraphy and Hannah questioned whether any of these skills were necessary for a child to master, impressive as they were.

Not unlike her own childhood when she’d been forced to wake at the crack of dawn and feed the horses, the chickens, then milk the cows, and de-muck the barn stalls if needed. Then attend Mass. Go to Medieval History. Change clothes. Pray. Weed the vegetable garden. Go to Geometry. Pray some more. Scrub the floorboards. Hang dry the laundry. Do it all over again the next day. Childhood was a myth.

For him too, it seemed, she thought.

The boy was not given the smallest relaxation. During his afternoons, he would take up kendo and various other mixed martial arts, as well as learning to cast jujutsu. For Hannah, watching from the sidelines was like watching a cotton seed fight the wind. While the boy was tall and sturdy for his age, around seven or eight, he was by no means strong enough to take on a person thrice his size. He was shown no mercy. “You have poor form!” they would bark. “When he was your age, your father could take down two grown men.” This was a lie of course, but she saw something ignite in the boy at being talked down to, an all consuming fire. Every time he was knocked to the floor, bruised and hurting, he’d wipe the sweat off his chin with a grimace and stand back on his feet. Anger, Hannah thought. So much pent up anger.

This would be met with rebellion. By age nine, he stood 4’11 and could creep out of the house without getting caught. These excursions were beyond risky. There existed many who would pay a stiff price for the Six Eyes wielder’s head. When Hannah ventured with him on these clandestine escapades, she would be astounded at how cavalier he was; plotting his escape, walking alone to the bus stop, boarding said bus, then hopping on a random train that would segway them into Tokyo.

They’d walk around the city for hours, dawdling nowhere in particular, strutting about the streets venturing for candy shops and gaming stores; stereotypical boyhood pursuits.

If he was lucky, which he often was, he’d be back home before dawn. If he wasn’t, there'd be no supper for a week, possibly a month.

Still, he was spoiled. Every fortnight, the boy would be subjected to his elderly aunties, cooing and smothering him, pinching his chubby cheeks raw till they turned red. “Toru-kun has been a good boy, hasn’t he?” He had not, objectively speaking, been a good boy, but didn’t want to pass up a cookie when offered. Most of these relatives would be cremated before his eleventh birthday. He wouldn’t mourn them.

Yet for all his prodigious achievements, vast intellect, and tiny seeds of rebellion, Hannah could tell the boy suffered from loneliness. Loneliness. It draped over him like a heavy curtain, obstructing him from peering out into a happier, brighter world. Imperial princes had more freedom than he.

“You shouldn’t be so rough with them.” Hannah knelt on the floor, observing the boy aggressively assemble the legos together, a legion of abandoned toys piled in the corner. “They might break.”

Socializing was a struggle. The other children who visited for play dates sensed something wasn’t right about him, something abnormal; his albino white hair and alien blue eyes. They tried being nice with kind words and toys, but he knew what they were really thinking. He saw it in their stares. They only said those things because their parents told them to. None of them wanted to be his friend. Such sentiments added to the isolation he already harbored being surrounded by adults and strangers his whole life, and rather than cry or internalize it, the boy dealt with his loneliness through violence.

A busted lip for the boy who looked at him funny. A light shove in the pond to the girl who laughed at his hair. Jeers and taunts. He once slipped a small frog down a Kamo girl’s shirt and rolled in howling laughter as she scampered across the room like a decapitated chicken, squealing and crying for her mommy. Made no difference how prominent the children were or what family they hailed from. If they were cruel, he’d be cruel back; an eye for an eye. That’s the quintessential lesson the world taught him.

“Oh, Satoru,” Hannah sighed, crouching in front of the boy after another failed play date, alone again with his legos. Silent tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t hear her. Out of sympathy she lifted a lone hand to cradle his cheek. It coursed through him like mist. “My darling.”

Makoto was his only true companion. He was a royal pain to the other servants, spitting and yelling at them, but never her. It took Hannah a full minute to take in the future housekeeper, then a humble nanny to the Six Eyes wielder. She knew when he was having a good or bad day. Between breaks in his studies and spar sessions, she would sneak wrapped pieces of candy to the boy, shooting him a wink as she plopped it in his palm. He would grin and stuff the candy inside his mouth before anyone saw. Favoritism could’ve gotten the nanny sacked. Her break in protocol showed her tenacity, and perhaps her (not so) hidden affection for the young master.

Hannah would admit, it was quite entertaining watching the woman sprint down the halls to try and apprehend the boy, his little athletic body covered only by a foam of bubbles. Apparently, he took exception with bath time, leaving Makoto to go on a wild goose chase. The marathon was probably the most excitement he had that day. He laughed and laughed and laughed. You’d hardly believe this was the same boy who angrily punched two adult molars out of another kid.

However, much of the time the boy was confined to his bed. His brain was still developing as were the Six Eyes. Like growing bones, the older he got, the more excruciating the migraines. In due time, their technique would activate and there’d be no going back. Some days he could not find the strength to get up.

“I hate them, Koto-chan.”

“No, you mustn’t say such things, sir.”

“But I do. I wish they were gone.”

The beloved nanny pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. “It’ll be alright, sir. Now, shhh, get some rest.”

The boy wearily closed his eyes and Makoto departed. Hannah cozied herself beside him, his small chest breathing in and out. She grinned at watching his lids flicker. “What are you dreaming of?” she whispered, sweeping his hair gently to one side. It didn’t work of course. Like before, her hand disappeared through him.

The light evanesced.

The next memories Hannah saw were of teenagehood, Satoru roughly fifteen or sixteen years old, unscrewing the bolts of a school chair with a wrench. His Jujutsu High uniform looked non-dissimilar to the one he presently wore, darkened round frames shrouding his eyes.

Upon disassembling their bolts, Satoru would set the chairs upright like normal. One poor decision later and, whump, your posterior would be on the floor. Hannah supposed this was his idea of a prank.

“Sorry, is this Room 44B?”

Satoru’s eyes snapped up to inspect the newcomer, taking note of his overgrown raven bangs, inflated bontan pants, and two fingered shoes that looked more to him like socks.

Perhaps a tad nervous, the newcomer scrupulously re-examined the paper he was holding.

“Odd, the map they gave me says…” But he shook his head mid-sentence and offered out his hand. “You know what, forget it. My name is Geto. Geto Suguru.”

The Six Eyes wielder glanced at the hand, but did not take it, and went back to disassembling the chair, answering only after a pause long enough to make the newcomer think he’d been ignored. “Gojo.”

Geto awkwardly cleared his throat and fidgeted. “I assume you’re a first year then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What is it you’re doing?

Satoru successfully unmoored another screw and glared. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Geto cast a critical eye. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Probably.” Satoru switched hands, wrenching another bolt free, further showcasing his disinterest. “So, what is it you do again, Yamapi-san?”

“Yamapi?” Apparently, Geto did not take kindly to the comparison. “What do you mean?”

Satoru rolled his eyes and sighed. “Your curse technique; the whole reason they locked you up inside this penitentiary. Unless, of course,” his glasses slid past his nose, “you don’t have one.”

Pleasantries gone cold, Geto pursed his lips and stuffed his fists in his pockets. This asshat. “Curse Manipulation.”

Like the twitching of a cat’s ear, the white-haired teen froze and turned from unbolting the chair to the look at the other freshman. “Prove it.”

Geto wordlessly pulled out what Hannah initially thought was a plum from his back pocket, but was actually a strange, blackened orb. He brought it to his mouth and began taking bites, two, three, till none of it remained.

Then an insect-like curse, a Fly Head, materialized out of thin air, the buzz of its sickly translucent wings making Hannah’s spine prickle. It had the body of a mosquito, but the face of a goggle-eyed dogū. Hannah let go a pathetic shriek when Suguru began waving his wrist about, the curse under his complete control, buzzing around and doing summersaults mid-flight, unable to shake off the technique. Like a zombie, Hannah thought. After a short while, the long banged sorcerer felt he’d gotten his message across and with the snap of his fingers the Fly Head became engulfed in a cloud of flames, disintegrating to smoke and ash.

“Woah-oh, freaky,” Satoru whistled and placed his hands behind his head, chortling a laugh. “I take it back then. Guess this year won't be so boring after all.”

Shoko entered through the door not a second later; shortened bobbed hair, mini skirt, and busy sucking on a lollipop. Her expression was one of close-eyed-smile discontent, looking less than pleased about the two idiots she’d been partnered with. She glanced at one, then the other. “I do RCT,” she said, and that was it. There wasn't any need to say more. Hannah hardly recognized the doctor without the heavy dark circles smudging her eyes. She was very pretty.

Their trinity now complete, Satoru’s memories began unfurling once more like the pages of a long forgotten almanac.

Hannah was handed a mental catalog of his many pranks conducted over his years at Jujutsu High; covering stairwells with pine tar; drawing penises on chalkboards; conspiratorially pouring tubes of micro glitter in the air vents (almost caused a fire). There was one incident when Satoru, for whatever reason, thought it a brilliant idea to unleash a hoard of mice inside the main lobby. The mice took umbrage at being ‘mice-napped’ from their homes and it wasn’t abundantly clear who was chasing whom; the petrified rodents, or the reluctant school staff in charge of rounding them up. There was also the enormous banner which hung in the school cafeteria during the newly minted Goodwill Event with the words “Tokyo rules, Kyoto drools. Satoru is the greatest.”

While most of the Six Eyes wielder’s pranks were harmless, others were downright mean. On more than one occasion Kiyotaka would return back from P.E. to discover his uniform shoes strung from the ceiling by their laces. He had to enlist the help of a teacher to get them down. A sticky note depicting a mediocre Gojo chibi would be found on one or both soles.

Or Utahime, who was a mere hair-length away from skinning the Six Eyes wielder alive for “accidentally” snipping one of her braids clean off with a pair of rusty scissors. Steam was practically billowing out her nostrils.

“She’s such a girl,” Satoru snickered. “What is she cryin’ about anyway? It’s not like hair doesn't grow back.”

The red outline of Utahime’s double slap was visible on his cheeks for a solid week following the incident like a sunburn. “It’s senpai, asshole!!” That happened his second year.

A younger Nanami, known to Hannah now as Kento, also wasn’t spared the torment. He’d never forget waking up from a short-lived nap only to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and find a squiggly mustache and monocle edged in permanent marker on his face; his first week at Jujutsu High. Or the shaving gel in his shoes. Or the thousands of multicolored bouncy balls jammed inside his locker and spilling out onto the hallway. He would never call him senpai.

Throughout this myriad of stunts, Hannah would watch with Satoru, who was either directly involved amidst the chaos, or relishing his handiwork from afar like an evil mastermind.

Kento would say he was starved for attention.

Hannah would say it was something else, something attention seeking couldn’t rectify.

He wasn’t without his virtues however; fun being one of the few. When free, Satoru would encourage the small band of jujutsu sorcerers to hang out after school; usually him, Geto, and Shoko. The arcade was a popular joint to unwind and blow off steam. Here, Gojo and Geto were at their most competitive. Hashing it out over Ace Combat was a healthier alternative than coming to physical blows. It gave Hannah time to reflect.

The yin to Satoru’s yang, Suguru was an enigma to Hannah; opposite him in both demeanor and morals. He always wore his overgrown hair in a topknot, bangs styled to the side, handsome. Fairly tall, but stood at least an inch shorter than his albino companion. She liked Suguru a great deal, but couldn’t recall what about him sounded familiar. She had heard his name before. But when? Where? It took a while for the bells to clang …

“Nobody. Just some guy I used to work with...”

Brilliant! Yes, that’s when; the movie night. Contrary to Satoru’s declaration, however, the two appeared quite close; like soldiers stuck in a platoon who didn’t get along, but would die keeping the other alive if necessary. Mates. Brothers. Rivals. Something more. The truth wasn’t hers to disclose, but “just some guy?” wasn’t cutting it.

Nanami would sometimes tag along, as well as another underclassman by the name of Haibara Yū. Hannah took note of how bright his eyes shone, bursting with ferocious passion and enthusiasm for life, like a perpetual ray of sun. A little cheeky, he spoke quick; rambling on about his sister and family like an auctioneer at an art show. It was difficult to catch everything he said. Hannah found herself smiling nonetheless. Why hadn’t they met yet?

Favorite eateries they frequented included raman shops and karaoke bars and various fast food restaurants where everyone was forced to guess how many cheeseburgers Satoru could gorge in one sitting without throwing up. He always added an extra large fry and chocolate shake. Another reason to avoid fast food all together. Hannah craved a salad.

But she enjoyed partaking in their fun adventures, despite the fact they couldn’t see or hear her. These privileges were unbidden to Hannah as a teen, as a child, as an adult. Reliving them with Satoru and his friends - who she now considered her friends - felt precious. She didn’t want to stop hearing the stories they shared, or how difficult exams were, or what they wanted to do after graduation.

The normalcy it brought. Thinking there could have been a life where Hannah had gone to school, and played rounds of Ace Combat, and ate ice cream in the summer with her friends. And then she was given a cruel reminder there was nothing normal about this. About them.

“It’s such a pain looking out for the weak.”

Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko were sitting in a classroom, waiting for Yaga-sensei to show up. Aggravation gnawed on Suguru’s features.

“Jujutsu exists to protect non-sorcerers, Satoru,” he argued. “It’s our job to safeguard the weak and keep the powerful in check.”

“Please,” Satoru snorted. “Don’t act all high and mighty for spouting that garbage. Applying reasoning and responsibility is what weak people do. Being righteous?” He stuck out his tongue as though to gag. “I hate that stuff.”

Suguru heatedly rose from his chair. He’d grown tired of repeating this conversation over and over. How many times would it take for the knucklehead to learn the errors of his ways? “Let’s take this outside,” he challenged, but Satoru arrogantly dismissed him.

“You lonely? Go by yourself.”

Meanwhile Shoko made like a ballerina and gracefully pirouetted from the classroom. Adios, amigos. It was just the two of them.

Now one on one, Suguru activated his technique, an ugly beast from the cursed void, at the same time Satoru transferred his glasses inside his pocket, aiming for a bruising. However, the looming brawl was short-lived.

The door thrusted open to unveil an irritated Mr. Yaga, no more than a regular teacher at the time. Thus, the two teenagers unanimously sat back in their chairs, pretending they weren’t about to pummel the ever-living shit out of each other. Hannah couldn’t say what followed. The memory fizzled out before she could exhale.

Her stomach felt tied into knots. Who was that nihilist mimicking her husband’s voice and face just now? Someone who hated protecting the vulnerable and weak, believing righteousness was bad, even garbage? The Satoru she knew would never say something so…heartless. Would he?

Hannah could spend eternity ruminating the haughty question, but she wasn’t given the chance. The memories came crashing into her awareness like pressing “fast forward” on a tape recording. Her mind could not keep up.

They were brought to her piecemeal; a young school girl gazing up at a fish tank full of humongous whale sharks; an undetectable assassin, his crooked spear gored through the side of her husband’s neck; the lake of blood; A blinding collision of ultraviolet.

“I alone am the Honored One.”

The shock paralyzed her in the moment. Suddenly she felt she couldn’t breathe. The confusion raging inside her head became awash in a myriad of faces and bright light. All she could think about was Satoru, his lifeless corpse lying on the ground, throat slashed, dead eyes flung wide open. She screamed, wanting to go back to him, but no sound came. The assorted memories kept changing, hurling at the speed of light, faster and faster, refusing to slow down and stop until she’d reached either the Elysian Plain or Hell.

The memories were unrelenting.

“Don’t make me say it again. Suguru has — ”

“She’s a political pawn. The higher-ups should’ve never brought her — ”

“Explain yourself!!”

Hannah saw her bathing through a hole in the wall, naked and singing an Irish lullaby of fairies and ancient worlds, unaware Satoru was also there watching, his desire on full display. If he hadn’t already admitted to his lechery, the unabashed stalking would’ve mortified her. But he had told her of this. He had asked for forgiveness. She had granted it.

They kept coming.

“I thought I had set aside such petty pride.”

“We don’t care if you’re scared — ”

“Are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest, or are you — ”

Satoru carried a dead Amanai across the room, her corpse shrouded in a blood-soaked bed sheet. Killed from the stray bullet yet to be extracted from her skull. People clapped in disturbing applause, smiling like they’d done him a service. His eyes drifted listlessly to Suguru.

“Do you want to kill them all?”

“There’s no point in attempting the impossible — ”

“Is that right? Maybe you’re right! You’re soooo right!!!”

This uneasiness.

Deranged. Utterly maddening. A high.

The vision of unmentionable power.

“Any last words?”

The air grew thinner as Hannah grew unsure. She wondered. Was the world spinning, or hurling on its axis in a straight line? Her heart felt it was beating a million miles, booming loudly in her ears. She thought she might faint. Make it stop, she wanted to cry, but there was no getting off this runaway memory train.

Until she was shown one last memory.

An adult Satoru, her Satoru, sitting in a chair, face buried in his hands. They were in the same hospital room he had brought her home from last night, leaving behind that nightmare of claws and shadow.

“This is all my fault. I fucked up,” he mourned. “I led it right to her.”

Shoko’s hand gripped his shoulder. “You didn’t know, Satoru. None of us did.”

“She could’ve died.”

“But she didn’t. She’s still here. You have to hold on to that.”

Satoru removed his hands and turned to see his unconscious wife lying on the hospital bed, hooked to an IV drip, cannula placed under her nose. They’d just finished her blood transfusion not long ago. The deep, claw-like wounds had been healed, yet her complexion remained pale. Hannah would concur. She looked like death. Satoru bowed his head, the image of a man vanquished with no more fight left to give. He was waving his white flag.

“I love her, Shoko.”

Hannah’s heart ceased all proper function.

Perhaps it was his pride talking, or his gross stubbornness which repelled him from speaking his native tongue. Hannah wasn’t sure if Shoko knew English, but judging by the tender emotion reflected in her soft brown eyes, she seemed to understand the weight of those three words well enough. A magnitude which Hannah had yet to feel.

A thousand images rushed to the forefront of her mind; A bouquet of red roses, two initials carved on a tree, spooning swans, St. Valentine, and Cupid’s golden arrow drawn to its bow. How strange to find herself on its receiving end; that pesky, fickle dart.

The feeling was foreign to her. Not love it’s entirety, per say. Hannah had given and received love from many nuns and teachers over the years, though not the kind Satoru had professed.

Since the day she was born, Hannah was told she was spoiled goods. That her worth was predicated upon her half-sorcerer blood, tainted by the man her mother was foolish enough to bed. A girl like her was meant to stay hidden inside the convents. She was not to leave. She was not to marry, or have a penny to her name, yet fate had intervened and destined her in the arms of a man who bestowed her all three. The guilt churned like a mortar, it’s weight crushing her full force.

Every time she’d been powerless to defend herself, knowing no spells or martial arts; the folly of her own human frailty, Satoru had been there to do what she could not. Companionship. Loyalty. Protection. Whatever it was, he had given it to her without ask. Her own contributions came up short by comparison. It embarrassed her then and embarrassed her still. How conceited she’d been. How childish.

“Ignore half of what he says, lass...”

No, she wouldn’t ignore this. She couldn’t. They had reached the long awaited bridge. He had dutifully crossed it, throwing his heart out on the line, waiting, while she remained dithering on the other side like a coward.

Hannah’s wedding ring felt it was searing her finger, spurning the skin. Go on, then, go on. Only one thing left to do.

The hospital room slowly faded like the closing of a finished book, but no matter.

Her resolution was clear.

There was no turning back the pages.

Chapter Contents

[crungebunge]

Shossa, The Disconnected Lands

CITIES

Floritcher: A very cute and quaint farming town of halflings, kender, and satyrs. Farm plots hold huge pumpkins, squash, and apples - any fruit you want must be here. Tall grasses sway in the breeze and paint the land yellow as far as the mountains. The smell of baking apples and cinnamon fills the air, and the breeze is fresh as laundry. Tall trees break up yellow sunlight into fractured rays, and a babbling brook runs through the town from an old wheat mill. Donkeys and horses carry piles of hay back and forth, and it seems like everyone is outside today.

Indigo: Across the bridge from Catterwalk, lies Indigo. A grey and stony town ruled by a mad and cruel king of Kenku. Surrounded by a dense forest of fir trees. Houses are lifted and birdhouse-like, only birds may enter.

Indus and Revus: Twin-city towns of centaurs, who make beer, ale, and wine. Their strong backs carry flagons and transport grapes, their strong hooves mush grapes and plums and fruit, and their high reach grab fruit from tall trees. On very good standing and know pretty much everything. Surrounded by plains, these centaurs run for miles.

Kipper: A homeland of Leonins, though they are nomadic, this is where their religion takes root. They believe in the 7 Great Warriors, legends from long ago about 7 warriors who overthrew the ruler of Kipper long ago and made a homeland for Leonin kind. They bring offerings, ask to be blessed, get married, and have children inside the city, but live elsewhere. Ruled by Queen Liper, each nomadic tribe has its own leader who reports to her. She is very cruel and cold to outsiders.

Tortuga Bay: A pirate town on the coast full of thieves and robbers, vigilantes and hitmen, criminals and those in hiding. Its a seemingly perpetually-dark, dank city that smells like rotting seaweed and salt. Everywhere, men lay dead or drunk beyond saving. Fights break out in the worryingly swaying bars, people are thrown through windows with panes as thick as ale glasses. Every building represents a different fish - some have long decks with sharp railings like the underbite of an angler, some have fins to withstand the heavy sea winds, and some are outright built in the shape of a massive trout. Nobody rules this lawless land, and honestly, I don't think anyone could.

PLACES:

Purplehart Farm: Vineyard of green, red, and purple grapes that span miles. Inhabited by Halflings and dwarves low enough to pick the grapes.

Grommet Library: A library run by the massive Grommet family, a Harengone family of researchers. It goes several hundred feet into the earth on a cylinder, the center open and the books clinging to the walls as a spiral platform goes all the way down. The top is open in the center, and birds fly in and out.

Lisa's farm: A flower farm.

Forge of the Forefathers: Dwarven forge in the lower center, a huge workplace for the fire dwarves. Red hot and burning lava comes from deep underground and melts iron at molten temperatures. Many weapons are forged here.

Forest of Bones: Dense forest of fir trees and dead, skinny weir-wood trees. Thick with fog, graves, and loose trinkets of those who have gone missing or died suddenly. Huge, spiky rib bones of something massive hang thick moss trails and provide places for birds to nest.

The Sunwood: A sacred religious tree for those who Worship the Goddess of light. A massive tree full of fireflies.

Mountains of Aemog: Huge mountains. Pass of Theodore lets you through, one rickety, decommissioned bridge. Green mountains of dragons, lizardfolk, and moss monsters.

Openlands and Hillplace: Centaur territory, flatlands. Good for running

Forever Pits: pits straight into the earth.

[sumsebien]

by design pt. 3// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: friedrich and y/n’s arrival in prussia! ft. frederica ;))

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

a/n: apologies for the long wait darlings. here she is though. and she is a long one. also a side note for those who love symbolism as much as i do 💐 ;) also, my banabaer @milkbaer this one is for u baby. thank you for all of your help!!!

a german lesson: Gänschen means goose🦆 (that’s a duck but we can pretend) and schloss means palace/chateau/mansion

The massive railway station stood proudly as the gateway to Potsdam, located right where the forest met the city. Three archways made of worn bricks welcomed old friends and strangers alike. There was something in the slightly tinted mossy green that offered you an odd sense of home. Like you had been here before.

Friedrich stood next to you near the exit. You had had breakfast together, then got ready separately before meeting each other again here.

“I had a lot of memories with this train station,” Friedrich said as the train finally passed the great archway.

You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath the entire time, waiting for the wheels to come to full stop. You had been storing information from Lea and Ilse about Friedrich’s mother all morning. Anything that might help you strike up a decent conversation with her from her favorite flowers (gardenias) to her pets (a schnauzer named Fifi). Since then, you had been a little preoccupied by your own imaginations of her as a mother.

From the way Friedrich talked about her, your first guess was that they were extremely like-minded. Aside from that, there was the fact that she was a Queen to consider. She obviously must be extremely elegant and poised. Even her dog sounded posh-Fifi the Schnauzer...

You were still listening to Friedrich though, just not closely. “Really?” you asked, your eyes following the platform numbers as they passed by.

He nodded proudly. “I ran here from the Palace and caught the train to Berlin for a boxing match.”

You laughed, now entirely engaged in imagining little Friedrich fleeing from his guards. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. I skipped a dancing lesson.”

“Shame. You could have become a ballerina and outdone my stunts at your Christmas party.”

“Who’s to say that I did not? There are still many shocking things that you don’t know.” His plan to distract you from your own nerves had worked wonderfully well. You two continued to discuss his boxing match up until you were escorted out of the station.

There, you were greeted by a great spectacle of carriages and a horse parade. Everywhere you looked there were men in uniforms. They were on horses, in open top carriages, on the streets, all waiting for you and Friedrich.

Back in London, your family frequently had two to three carriages to accompany you to social functions. It was already considered excessive for the ton. You would have laughed at the idea of this. Or to be honest, wouldn’t have even been able to imagine having an entire parade to accompany you a couple of blocks down the street.

And of course, you could not forget the icing on the cake-the largest carriage you had ever seen. The one you saw in France could not compare and certainly not the one in England. This one was completely enveloped in gold from top to toe-or rather from roof to wheels. On the top of the roof, there were golden cherubs holding up an olive branch and flowers.

It was a harsh reminder that Friedrich, someone who you had grown to identify as your friend over the last several hours, was also the firstborn son of the King, heir apparent to the throne. And you were his wife. Whatever agreement you had made with each other in private was not valid in the public eye. Here, you were a Princess. The Princess.

As Friedrich watched you marvel in the magnificence of the royal parade, he turned to Heinrich with a last minute decision. Well last minute for his father and valet but not for him. Friedrich had wanted to visit his mother for ages.

“I’m heading to my mother’s. We’ll catch up with the staff afterwards and meet you at the Berlin Palace.”

All of this was not on the schedule his father had drawn out and Friedrich was well-aware. He had even cancelled the state train that Friedrich specifically ordered to Potsdam just to make sure he would not take you here first. But Friedrich was not one to lose.

At the same time, however, he knew that his valet was absolutely terrified of his father, as did most people. Soon enough, when his father found out that his son was not on the train to Berlin and was nowhere near the Royal Palace, he would definitely not be happy.

“But your Highness, we really must get going now or we won’t reach Berlin by noon.”

“If he asks, just blame it on me. I’ll be in and out in one hour.”

Heinrich didn’t say anything after that, just nodded. For that, Friedrich was thankful, he did not want to ruin this magical moment for you. It was not going to be this magical for long.

As Heinrich left with your staff, Friedrich turned back to you. “Y/N?”

“I-Is this for us?”

The look on your face made him laugh. Your jaws were grazing the floors, your eyes slowly sweeping across the scene then glanced at him and back to the carriages again.

“I believe it is,” he smiled, offering you his arm.

…

The entire ride back to the Palace was essentially just for you to fathom the welcome wagon.

You could barely string a sentence together, nodding along as Friedrich picked out places that he mentioned in his stories last night, especially enthusiastic about the candy shop he was never allowed to go in.

Potsdam was charming. You could certainly imagine a very fulfilling and peaceful existence here where it wasn't hectic like London but not entirely placid like the countryside.

Just when you thought you could not be more impressed, you arrived at Sanssouci Park.

When Ilse briefly mentioned it, you had expected a park. Like Hyde Park or Regent’s Park or the little garden behind your house that your parents insisted was a park. Whatever you had imagined, however, could not hold a candle to what it was in reality.

“Welcome to Sanssouci Park,” Friedrich said casually, casting a brief look out the windows while your eyes were completely glued to the towering gates opening up for your parade to pass through.

The name was not meant to refer to a park. It was definitely not a park. It was a bloody forest. As you entered the road lined with dense trees, the temperature dropped slightly with the shade, effectively cooling you both from the outside in.

“This is what you call a park? Whatever do you two think of Hyde Park then? A child’s sandbox?”

Before he could answer, your attention was quickly captured by a glimpse of something magnificent as the carriage passed a gap between the tree trunks. You pointed towards the dash of yellow you’d seen. “Is that where your mother lives?”

Friedrich followed your gaze and promptly nodded. “That’s Sanssouci Schloss. Here is the back of it.” Just on cue, the carriage rounded the corner and headed towards the back of the Palace.

Your jaws were officially off now as your eyes feasted on the very picture of splendor.

From personal observations, people usually spent a great deal of time and fortune on making the fronts of their homes as extravagant as possible. It was all in the face, as they said. But not here. Here, even the rear side was grand.

There was a huge water fountain in the middle of the yard, the blue sky printed on the surface. Naturally, your eyes followed straight ahead, past the window behind Friedrich’s head towards the most elaborate set of marble stairs you’d ever seen. On either side were tall walls of hedges and rose bushes that covered the hillside.

“Can we walk up those steps?”

Friedrich turned to look at the steps and then back at you again.

It was not a steep hill. More of a gentle slope but exactly because of that, the steps were long and the landings were wide. Anyone in breeches would find it challenging enough as it was. But you were in a gown, in the sweltering July heat and you were volunteering to walk. “You can. People usually go straight to the entrance though. Are you certain you’d want to walk? It is a long way.”

You nodded, brushing off his concerns. All you cared about was the sight.

Per your request, the carriage stopped right before the grand stairs to Sanssouci Palace. You and Friedrich got out of the carriage.

From where you stood, you had to crane your neck up slightly to be able to see the Palace up the top. The strip of yellow you’d seen from afar turned out to be much more intricate than you’d expected. Beautiful white windows lined the yellow walls, right in the center was an oval shaped room with a cyan dome on top, perfectly aligned with the stairs. Even though it only had one story, its width certainly made up for its height, stretching across the hill.

As you walked ahead, Friedrich decided to stall a little bit. Memories of endless summer days spent on these lawns came flooding back.

He had missed this.

The last time he was here was the summer before he left for England. It was actually here that his aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation to Cambridge-the day that changed his life.

And now he was here with you. Someone he had dreaded to marry a mere few days before. Now a dear friend to him.

Straight in front of him, you were marching up the steps with admirable determination, your hands holding onto your skirt, lifting it off the ground. With sun on your skin and wind in your hair, you laughed and told him to hurry up. For that split second, he wished he was not just your friend. Though he discarded that thought as quickly as it came, it stayed stuck in the back of his mind as he matched your pace.

“These are a lot of steps,” you remarked after the first flight of stairs was behind you. There were at least five more ahead. The excessively wide spaces between each step did not help with the general morale either.

“I did warn you,” he chuckled. “It was too exhausting a trip that Marie Antoinette rode a horse up these steps after her stroll in the garden.”

You paused for a moment.

Friedrich thought you were imagining the French queen trotting up the steps with her stallion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

“Did he invite her over during one of the military clashes between Prussia and France?”

To say that Friedrich did not expect that was an understatement. You had told him you read but he never asked for the specifics on what exactly you were interested in. At that moment, he simply thought you’d be interested in a made-up tale to forget about the stairs. He did not think for a moment you’d be interested in foreign conflicts enough to know the feud between Prussia and France. He knew he certainly wasn’t as a student.

“You can’t fool me. I know,” you said, laughing at the shock on his face.

Pleasantly impressed, he remarked, “Full of surprises I see.”

“You’ll see that in this friendship,” you motioned between yourselves, “you’re not the only one who can shock.”

He gave you a nod, lowering his eyes and watched his steps before he murmured to himself. “Friendship, yes.” He reminded himself of how grateful he was to be your friend. And that maybe pining over you for the rest of his life was better than having you hate him.

If there was one thing for certain, it was that you two would not repeat his parents’ mistakes.

“Darling!”

The voice caused Friedrich’s eyes to snap upwards, slightly alarmed as they weren’t expected on this side of the Palace. Everyone was supposed to be at the front.

The first thing he saw was that you had stopped as well, only standing two steps above him. And then, on the top flight, he saw his mother, waving at him. She wasn’t supposed to greet them outside. At the same time though, he wouldn’t expect her to wait that long for anything anyways.

He waved back with a laugh. She hadn’t changed one bit since the last time he saw her nearly a year ago. A straw sunhat on top of her head, a basket of flower and gardening tools in her hand.

“I-is that-“

Friedrich nodded. “Yes, that’s her. That’s my Mama.”

The nervous jitters came back to you. You knew how much his mother meant to him. She was the true hero of his childhood and you were just excited to meet her. However, you also knew that in no way was this arrangement made by her. And no matter how friendly you were with Friedrich, as his mother, she would not easily trust you.

You quickly masked your nervousness with a gentle smile. It was the safest route after all. Better look like a smiley fool than a grumpy idiot. You thought.

The Queen began to walk down the steps briskly, meeting you halfway up the last flight of stairs. Immediately, she threw her arms around Friedrich, pulling him into a bear hug. “There you are, you Gänschen! You’ve kept your mother waiting long enough!” She said, messing up his hair and only letting go of him once he was shaking with laughter.

When he and your maids said she was very carefree in private, you did not expect her to be this carefree. A lady was not supposed to be out in the sun like this, no less a queen. She was also much more beautiful than you could ever imagine, with her honey blonde curls tumbling down her back in waves and her big blue eyes which were now on you.

“Apologies, Mama,” he stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward. “This is Y/N, my wife. And Y/N, this is my Mama.”

“It is such an honor to meet you, your Majesty,” you said, bending your knees into a curtsy, praying you wouldn’t stumble backwards and ruin the first impression.

You had an overwhelming want for her to like you. And you felt like this first meeting was of paramount importance in deciding that. If it did not go well, she would never see you as anything more than a girl her son was forced to marry. And that was terrifying even in the case where Friedrich remained a good friend.

You were not wrong. Frederica did not expect much from a match made by Louis, a man who clearly did not know his own son or even cared to try. Assuming he did know his son, it would not even be of any matter at all. The only thing he had ever cared about was grooming an heir. This arrangement, no doubt, served that.

But Frederica could not ignore the large smile on her son’s face as he ascended the steps with this young lady.

That? That was not by design.

Frederica shook her head and offered you her hand to help you stand up straight. “I prefer Frederica. At least when we are not in court.”

She gave you a cheeky wink and plucked a gardenia from her basket, tucking it by your ear. “Come on now! I am sure it has been a long trip for the both of you. Let us have some tea before you go.”

...

Frederica led the both of you into the Palace through the doors into the oval room. Inside it was just as spectacular as its exterior. Tall columns held up the painted dome where a chandelier was hung. The three arched windows looking out to the gardens were pushed open by three footmen, allowing sunlight and fresh air to gush into the space, lightening up the entire room.

“Please have a seat, dears,” Frederica said, gesturing to the rounded table in the middle of the room.

You were still too in awe to be able to settle down calmly in your seat but obeyed her anyways. Beside you, Friedrich was glancing around the room, like he was in search of something.

“Is Fifi not here?” he asked as a butler approached the table with a cake stand.

Just on cue, Fifi-his mother’s Schnauzer, shot through the doors. You nearly gasped out of sheer excitement when you saw the ball of salt and pepper fur fly into the room like an arrow. You had always shared a fondness for dogs. Yet you never had one. The only dogs you had were your father’s hunting hounds and he made sure you remained far away from them.

“Speak of the devil...” Friedrich turned to you, “this is Fifi, hated by most but very loved by my mother. Mostly because she smells like fish.”

He kept his eyes on the dog as she strolled around, heading in your direction and getting alarmingly close. “Fifi!” he said, shooing her off. The dog didn’t care, just kept on going forward.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I love dogs,” you said, fighting the urge to pet Fifi who was quietly sniffing at the hem of your skirt.

Frederica was absolutely surprised when she saw her Schnauzer so quiet. Her dog was not friendly with strangers. By this time there should have been an accident.

The delayed accident happened right after that. Fifi bit down on your dress, tugging at it playfully.

More surprising, however, you didn’t seem scared of the feisty little old thing either. You just laughed.

“Fifi! Leave the poor girl alone!” Frederica said, tapping her shoes against the floor.

Friedrich quickly leaned forward and picked her up. Being lifted off the ground, she released your skirt and focused on wiggling out of Friedrich’s grasps instead. When she eventually succeeded, Fifi headed back to you, circling your feet, her tail wagging.

Friedrich clicked his tongue, about to bend over again to shoo Fifi off. Not that she would care. But the dog plopped down between your chair and his mother’s, out of Friedrich’s reach.

She looked up at you with big eyes, begging for a pet, which you were happy to provide. You reached down and scratched her ears. It was all rather brave, if he must admit.

“I know it is hard to believe but she seems fond of you,” Frederica mused, seeing Fifi transform into a whole other dog under your touch. She was not usually this sweet.

Friedrich scoffed. “The devil almost ripped her skirt off,” he gestured to the hem of your dress, and glared at Fifi.

“It’s fine, honestly. I think it was a compliment if anything,” you said with a smile.

He sighed. “Don’t defend the perpetrator! She has a terrible temperament. And you know it,” he turned to his mother.

“Fifi does. as much as I love her,” Frederica nodded. Fifi’s ears perked up at the mention of her name, blinking at her owner. “But you seem like a very experienced animal whisperer.”

“No, actually. I never had one.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You’re great with Fifi. And if you can handle her, you can handle any dog.”

“Any dog is better than Fifi,” Friedrich said under his breath. Nevertheless, he was glad to see the two of you bond. Even if it was over Fifi the Ferocious.

On the bright side, at least she wasn’t coming back with them to Berlin. It was the only thing Friedrich and his father had ever had in common-a dislike for the Schnauzer.

...

Heinrich was being escorted into the Palace towards the audience room. A place he would much prefer not to go to on his own. He had arrived for over an hour and still you two were nowhere to be found and it was only for so long he could hide the train of carriages. Eventually, one of the butlers alerted the King of his presence and he was immediately requested inside.

Heinrich had suspected that you would arrive slightly late. He just didn’t think it could be this late. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. One misstep and off with his head.

When the doors to the room were swung open, the King was throwing a fit. His deafening yell rang across the room and bounced against the tall walls. It certainly did not help with the nerves.

“WHERE IS MY HORSE?” he demanded, rising up from the throne. From where he stood, he towered over the poor footman. “I am late for hunting!”

“Your Majesty, you cancelled today’s hunt.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

Heinrich kept quiet, remaining invisible as he approached the throne behind the butler. He was not about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire during one of the King’s fits.

The footman blinked. Heinrich could see the man debating whether or not to answer, lest it was a rhetorical question.

“B-because the Prince is back from England, sir?”

“Oh,” the King said. His voice quieter than before and sat back down again. The crease between his Majesty’s eyebrows disappeared, his expressions softening slightly. Then he turned to the footman with a quizzical look. “And where is the Prince?”

The footman turned around and met Heinrich’s eyes. And then the King followed his gaze. So much for not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I-“ Heinrich began, his mind drawing a blank.

If he were to tell the truth, Friedrich and you would no doubt be in trouble. However, if he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be in trouble and so would you two. And if he just said he didn’t know, he’d be on the first ship to an island far far away.

“Well?” The King barked.

“I’ll go get them, your Majesty!”

“Don’t just stand there. Hurry along then! Before I chop all of your heads off.”

Heinrich had never walked so fast out of a room his entire life. His heart was pounding as it began to dawn on him that he had just lied to the King. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was going to get them. They just weren’t here yet. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. There was no reasoning with such a powerful man. All he could do was hope that he would still be alive to see another day.

Just when all of his luck appeared to have run out, he heard the distinct sound of hooves against cobble and rushed outside.

Friedrich helped you out of the carriage, still engaged in the never-ending tales of Fifi the Ferocious. You were laughing when you caught sight of the magnificent Royal Palace-Berliner Schloss. It was much boxier than Sanssouci Schloss with towering walls that casted a great shadow over the front lawn.

Household staff lined the steps on either side, straightening up as Heinrich dashed past them. Some had their heads turned, the younger ones especially, their curious eyes on you, trying to catch a glimpse of the new Princess. The more seasoned staff near the top stayed perfectly still, resisting the urge to look anywhere other than straight ahead.

“Your Highnesses!” He said, bowing so quickly you were worried his head might snap off. “Your presences are requested. Immediately!”

...

Through the doors you could faintly hear your titles being announced. Your palms were clammy so you hid it behind you, focusing on what you might say in a couple of moments.

Friedrich was not nervous, of course.

He was the one who planned the detour in the first place. And while you had enjoyed the time with Frederica very much, perhaps a little too much, it had delayed your schedule by well over a couple of hours. It meant that you made the King of Prussia, your father-in-law wait.

The only person more nervous than you was probably Heinrich. Every time you caught a glimpse of his face, he seemed more haggard than the last. You were not certain whether he was really sick or just worried.

"My father will say things. Things that are aimed to test you. Do not mind any of it," Friedrich said quietly.

"Something tells me I should take that as a suggestion. One look at Heinrich and I know what I am in for."

Friedrich sneaked a glance at his valet and gave you a small smile. "Heinrich has always been that way. Worries a little too much."

"Maybe that is for good reason-"

The trumpets sounded, prompting you to straighten up, smooth your dress and put on a smile. In the corner of your eyes, you could see Friedrich cracking up. Had it not been for the fact that you were being presented right then, you would have given him a slipper to the chest. He was still smiling up until you had to walk through the doors.

Then, his demeanor shifted completely. You did not dare to make eye contact with the King. All you saw was brief glimpses of a man, wearing a red cloak on the throne. But Friedrich, he was looking straight down the room, challenging his father.

From the stories he had told you, you knew that Friedrich had a rough relationship with his father. Once he got a chance to break away, he vowed he would allow his father to have full control of his life again. And from the suffocating tension in the air, you knew his father would not make it easy.

“The Prince and Princess of Prussia, your Majesty,” a footman announced.

"Your Majesty," you said, giving the King a curtsy.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope the journey was not too rough for you.”

You smiled and nodded. Not a bad start.

However, it was a completely different story when you saw Friedrich’s face. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced by his father’s concern. "You do, father? Wasn’t it on your orders that the state train never arrived?”

“Now, now, Friedrich. That was none of my doing.” The King turned to you with a small smile. “I must say, you are much prettier than I expected, my lady.”

He had made such an effort to emphasize the last two words that even if you weren’t listening, you still would have caught them. The King was smirking on his throne, his icy eyes sending chills down your back.

“I believe it’s your Highness, father.”

This row was your fault. You could tell.

“No, I don’t think it is. You didn’t get married.”

“We did.”

“That did not count.”

“How? Because you weren’t invited?”

“I see all of your manners have gone out the door since you stepped foot out of this country.”

Friedrich wanted to scoff. It was always going to be about England. If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to do it properly. But not in front of you.

He turned to Heinrich. “Take the Princess to see the chambers.”

You didn’t want to leave. You were responsible for this in one way or another. You should be here to take the blame. But Friedrich shook his head like he knew what you were about to say. “Come with Heinrich. I’ll meet you later.”

“No need for that. Lady Brandt, your chief lady-in-waiting, will take you for a tour. Bernadine?”

You remembered Lea and Ilse mentioning her as well. However, at that time, she didn’t have a name or a face for you to attach her to just yet. You just knew that she was going to be in charge of all of your affairs like Heinrich was doing for Friedrich. Now she had a name and a face.

At the mention of her name, she nodded and stepped forward from the line of staff on your right. She was dressed in a blood red dress, a strand of pearls wrapped around her long neck. She came towards you, giving you an impressive curtsy, tipping her head forward slowly yet keeping her hat perfectly still on her dark raven hair.

When she looked up, you were finally able to see her striking hollow eyes, tall cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned corner of her lips. She looked awfully familiar. Like a much younger version of your mother actually. And she was just as terrifying.

“Come with me, your Highness.”

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[avarkriss]

paradise; (with a nasty bite)

✭・.・✫ 

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Female Reader

Rated: E for Explicit, 18+ Only 

Word Count: 3.589k

Summary: Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, and one very ticked off Jedi Reader get pollened on what should be a very quick and simple mission 

Song/Title Inspo: Control by Unknown Brain ;; a huge thank you to Elisha (@beskars​) for encouraging/proofing these shenanigans

Warnings: Threesome - F/M/M; Sex Pollen and therefore automatic DubCon; Sass; Force Projection; Force Sensitivity and Mind Reading; I Know That’s Not How The Force Works Don’t At Me; Boys Kissing; Oral Sex (M/M, F/M); Masturbation and Mutual Masturbation; Kissing; Shameless Bisexuality and Smut; Vaginal Fingering; Spit as Lube; Spit Kink; Fucking on Obi’s Cloak Kink; Beach Sex; Double Penetration (Vaginal); Very Light D/S tones, Poor Ani

Image credits: unsplash  

Author’s Note: My first pollen fic!! I do apologize if I miss any grammar/spelling/formatting issues, this was primarily written on my phone in the middle of the woods lmao. I love a good threesome, I hope you to too! Plus we’re getting delivered early because I got home early :) Enjoy, share what you can, and be well ~

The heat on Borleias was oppressive.

It was sticky. 

Heavy. 

And you swore to the Force you were inhaling as much water as you were drinking. 

The worst part though? The very worst part was that the beach was so close you could kriffing smell it. 

Cool relief called to you from just a few meters away, the melodic crashing of the waves lulling you into a state of serenity you didn't think was possible in this hellscape - something else to focus on besides the salt crusting on your skin from where your sweat had evaporated.

Until you heard his blasted voice crackling in your comlink, cursing that crisp Coruscanti accent for pulling you out of the only moment of peace you've known since landing in this Force-forsaken jungle. 

The sound was slightly muffled, humidity having crept into the smallest of cracks in the watertight seals on the device. 

"I need you to stay focused," Obi-Wan reprimanded. 

“Of course,” you grumbled, tugging at the neck of your tunic while inwardly groaning at the way the coarseweave stuck to your skin. “Have you placed your beacon yet?” you grumbled, the hilt of your lightsaber slipping in your palm. 

No one saw you fumble it, certainly. No one except for apparently Cody, who you heard choke on a laugh from three meters away. If looks could kill he would have been wounded but he just couldn’t contain himself - you had to be the second clumsiest Jedi in the Order with that thing, the first of course being General Kenobi. 

You waited five more standard minutes before lifting your wrist to your mouth, hissing into your comm. “Well?” 

“You’re so testy in the heat,” Obi-Wan grunted from behind. You startled and nearly dropped your lightsaber again, glowering at him as mirth dared to dance in his eyes. 

“Great. You’re back. I’m going to the beach so I can soak the sweat off,” you snarked, making a concentrated effort to push through the foliage in front of you, desperate for the ocean to cleanse your spirits. 

“Seems that the heat is getting to her, sir,” Cody remarked, watching Obi-Wan gently shake his head before trudging after you. 

When the two men emerged from the forest they found your boots, belt, lightsaber, and pants strewn about the beach in a haphazard line straight to the water where they could see you floating on your back, dimly lit by the moon. 

“Must you leave a mess everywhere you go?" Obi-Wan shouted, bending down to gather your things in a neat pile. 

You rolled your eyes heavily, knowing he couldn't see you in the water. "I'm going to shake Anakin if I don't die here first," you grumbled to yourself, begrudging the day you were assigned to this mission because he had " urgent business on Naboo ." 

Obi-Wan thumped to the ground next to the pile, neatly folding your pants as Cody sat down next to him, removing his helmet. 

"I've read about this planet sir, there's a meteor shower every year," Cody mentioned, hugging his knees to his chest as he looked at the stars along the horizon. 

"I believe you're correct Cody," Obi-Wan mused, taking in the way Cody’s curls seemed to have tightened with the planet’s humidity, basking in his calm while he looked out across the ocean. 

"I can't believe it," Cody gasped, suddenly sitting straight before scrambling to lay on his back. Obi-Wan curiously followed his gaze, tilting his chin skyward to find the shimmering tails of a cluster of shooting stars. 

"It's nice to enjoy this," Cody mumbled, speaking to no one but himself.  

"It is," Obi-Wan agreed, smiling at Cody before calling out to you, beckoning you to the beach before pointing at the stars. 

You slowly removed yourself from the water, coming to stand next to Obi-Wan. You bit back a scoff when you saw the way he had neatly folded and arranged your belongings, crossing your arms as you looked to the sky. 

"As much as I can't stand this planet, being here for the annual meteor shower is pretty amazing," you thought aloud, sand sticking to your toes and ankles. 

Obi-Wan hummed in agreement as he moved to lay down, the top of his head brushing against Cody's. You shrugged and decided to join them, toes towards that cursed jungle as you laid down, your wet hair joining theirs. 

The three of you laid there for a while, relaxing against the warm sand while the planet slowly dropped in temperature, becoming only slightly more bearable. You had no idea how much time had passed when a breeze finally picked up, carrying glittering silver grains in its wake. 

You ran your finger up your arm, examining the sparkles when you realized it was pollen from the jungle. 

"Curious," Obi-Wan said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, slowly sitting up. 

"Obi-Wan," you warned, sitting up yourself as he began to walk up the beach. Cody scrambled and lightly jogged to catch up with him. 

You watched them at the forest line, Obi-Wan carefully studying a lightly colored flower - the source of the pollen, you were sure. He plucked one and returned with it and Cody, sitting down next to you.

"I've never seen such a thing before," you marveled, reaching out your hand to hold the flower. 

It was palm sized, the petals so thin that if there was just one you could have made out the shape of your finger behind it. The edges of the petals were nearly metallic in their argent color, gently rippled and curled. At the center of the flower was a milky white stamen that seemed to glow in the moonlight, studded with the last remnants of silver pollen that hadn't been taken by the wind. 

"We didn't see any of these on our way in," you mentioned, turning the flower in your hand. 

"No," Cody confirmed, extending his hand so he could study the plant. "But there are many flowers that only bloom at night." 

"I think it may be some type of aestus flower," Obi-Wan mentioned casually, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. 

"You can't be -" you started, stopping before you realized you were being ridiculous. The family of aphrodisiac flowers was so valuable they'd be well documented on this planet, known for being exceptionally poor in natural resources. 

“An aestus flower, sir?” Cody questioned, tilting his head as he lifted the flower to eye level. 

“They’re a… a flower known to produce various aphrodisiac effects,” Obi-Wan explained, quickly continuing when he caught sight of Cody’s furrowed brows. “But they’re known to work very quickly, so this may be a distant cousin of sorts.” 

“Regardless, I’m sitting over there,” you threw your thumb to the side, gesturing to a large smooth rock in the sand, “until we’re sure it’s not what you think it is. I could use a few hours of quiet.” 

Obi-Wan nodded his head as you stood, slowly moving himself closer to the tree line. “Just for precaution,” he smiled. 

Cody nodded too and moved a few meters away himself, your close circle turning into a giant awkward triangle on the beach. 

You settled on the stone, feeling the heat of the planet push against your chest once more. 

But as time started to slow and the weight increased, you began to fear that Obi-Wan was, once again, absolutely correct. 

“Just meditate through it,” you whispered to yourself, crossing your legs underneath you while you rested your wrists on your knees, palms facing the sky. "Just breathe." 

You slowly closed your eyes and took the deepest breath you could manage, reaching out to connect with your surroundings. You were searching, looking for something cool, something calming. 

You needed to ground yourself, build an unshakable foundation to ward off the storm you could feel brewing in the pit of your stomach. 

The stone beneath you was too warm and the ocean always took extra concentration, concentration you couldn't spare as you desperately tried to block out the growing heat between your thighs and the gentle groan you heard from somewhere down the beach. 

"Breathe," you spoke to yourself, reaching for the trees. You found them hot, burning from the aestus flowers and resistant to your touch. You sensed something alluring and cold nearby, creeping towards it until you realized it was Obi-Wan, pulling away before you made the mistake of making him your home. 

"Breathe," you spat from between gritted teeth, eyes scrunching with the involuntary flutter from between your legs. You reached into the sand, desperate, aching. But it fell from your grasp slowly, mocking you. Taunting. There was no stability to be found in sand.

There was another ragged moan from down the beach and you ground your teeth down, placing the tips of your fingers against the flat stone, clinging to the steady vibrations between every molecule. 

Heat grew between your thighs as something cool lapped at your back, calling to you like gentle water. 

Relax, little one. 

You couldn't help the growl growing in the back of your throat, letting it escape briefly before swallowing it back down. His voice was honey thick; sticky and warm and pulling you in. 

The groaning from down the beach intensified, joined by stumbling footsteps that climbed away from you, drawn in by Obi-Wan's cooling aura. 

Cody, you panicked, reaching out for him until you realized Obi-Wan had brought him to the safety of harbor first. 

You felt him pull away from you, keeping a connection at the small of your back. You felt like your skin was going to burn off of your bones, thighs slicking as your arousal began to pool. 

Groans turned to whimpers, threatening to break your concentration as you dove deeper and deeper, fighting the pull that threatened to drag you to the surface. 

It was when things finally turned quiet that you straightened your spine, breathing deeply until you felt a familiar flicker somewhere in the corner of your consciousness. 

The sound was different now - wet and messy and your throat felt like it was starting to close until a strangled moan erupted, pulling you out of the shelter you had forged. 

Your protective walls were down and you were exposed, every nerve ending combusting at once until the projection of pleasure slammed into your chest. 

You felt relief for the briefest of moments until it ebbed away, fleeting glimpses of bliss strangling your heart every few seconds until tears began to fall down your cheeks. It was going to make you lose your sanity, bouncing between the burning heat of desire and the sweet relief of satisfaction being sent through you. 

You pulled yourself up and started to walk towards the tree line, vision blurred and gait unsure. You were ready to scream, ripped open and raw and hurting and alone -

"I hate -" you sobbed, falling to your knees at the sight of Obi-Wan on his, Cody’s cock buried in his mouth while he choked on his own relieved cries. 

Your words died on your tongue and your mouth parted as you studied them, beautiful in the moonlight. Cody was bare and had his head thrown back, his hands tangled in Obi-Wan’s auburn hair as he thrust into his mouth. 

You reached between your thighs as you watched - Cody stuttering in his rhythm while Obi-Wan stroked himself, hand moving under his robes. 

Your fingers danced around your aching clit, craving relief that evaded you at every turn. Obi-Wan's projection was constant now, his pleasure mounting with Cody’s. When Cody came the projection pushed you onto your ass, hitting the sand with a gentle thud. You groaned and thrust your fingers into your aching pussy, watching Cody join Obi-Wan on his knees, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Their tongues danced together and your lips tingled with ache, mouth and throat dry while you panted. 

Please , you pleaded, reaching out to tangle yourself with Obi-Wan as Cody kissed him and took his cock in his hand. When Cody began to pump him up and down Obi-Wan pushed so hard against you that you fell onto your back breathless, rapidly thrusting in and out of your heat. 

You couldn't see it when he came but you heard him moan, feeling the pleasure ripple through your tummy and up your chest. You threw your head back into the sand, screaming out in frustration as hot tears simmered on your cheeks, begging for your own release. 

Someone knelt down next to you, their hand on your forehead sending a jolt down your back. You whimpered as you arched under the gentle touch, chasing the connection as the hand pulled away. 

"General," Cody murmured, slipping it under your neck to help you sit up. You pulled your fingers from within yourself and curled into Cody, crying against his shoulder. 

"I - I -," you stammered, struggling to find your words as you continued to clench around nothing, aching to be filled. 

"We know what you need darling," Obi-Wan rumbled, spreading his cloak onto the sand. "We're here now." He was attempting to send a calming rush towards you, finding you unresponsive to it as you kissed across Cody's shoulder. 

Cody’s lips fell to your neck, mouthing at your skin as you grew impossibly hotter in his arms. 

"She needs more Cody," Obi-Wan pointed out, helping to roll you onto his cloak as Cody settled between your legs. "Taste her," he suggested, shrugging off the rest of his robes. 

As soon as Cody's tongue made contact with your soaked folds you let out a wrecked moan, twisting against the cloak until Obi-Wan settled next to you, leaning down to pull your soaked tunic off of you before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

You succumbed to him immediately, letting his tongue push against yours as he licked into your mouth. He still tasted of Cody and you moaned below him, fisting one hand in Cody's hair as the other searched for Obi-Wan's cock, joining his own in stroking himself to relieve the fire slowly consuming you all from the inside out. 

Obi-Wan spread a hand over your breast, slowly tweaking one of your nipples while Cody lapped at your clit. He was groaning into you as his fingers searched out your entrance, index and middle slipping in with ease. 

Your hips arched off the cloak to meet his eager mouth, moans filling the air as Obi-Wan broke away from your mouth to take your nipple between his teeth, leaving a trail of stars blooming across your skin in his wake. 

Obi-Wan, please - 

Your walls were down and he was starting to crumble. 

"Cody," Obi-Wan whispered, running his hand through his hair. When he lifted his head from between your legs his eyes were shining as much as his mouth, slowing his fingers inside of you. "Sit back a moment my darling." 

Cody sat back on his knees and dragged his fingers slowly out of you. You keened at the loss until you saw Obi-Wan lean over to Cody, taking his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the way you tasted on his salty skin. 

Obi-Wan cast his eyes down to you as he palmed at your breasts, pulling off of Cody's fingers when he was sure that they were clean. He came back to your tips, tapping them open with a gentle finger before spitting into your mouth, tasting of you and Cody and something uniquely him. 

After leaving a parting bite on your lower lip he helped you roll onto your stomach, gesturing for Cody to resume his place between your legs as he stroked himself and came around to your mouth. 

Let him fuck me, please - 

Your thoughts were loud in your head as Obi-Wan moaned, giving voice to the desires you couldn't speak. 

As Cody lined himself up to your entrance Obi-Wan found your mouth, each man pushing into you, synchronous with the other. 

Your groans were muffled around Obi-Wan, eyes fluttering closed as relief settled into you, the fire shrinking with every thrust of their cocks. 

Cody had you stretched in the most delicious of ways, moaning and cursing as he thrust into you, one hand pressed against your pussy and the other resting on Obi-Wan's. 

They both started to say your name louder, your body shaking between them, threatening to break if you didn't find release soon. But as Cody timed his thrusts to oppose the press of his finger on your clit and Obi-Wan pulled your hair while hissing from the way you traced him with your tongue, your vision went white and the world finally stopped spinning. 

Your euphoria was short lived, quickly replaced by deep heat between your legs. Cody and Obi-Wan found their release shortly after, spilling inside of you as they each moaned out your name. 

They parted from you for a moment, pausing to kiss each other before coming to your sides, each man laying next to you. 

"It's not stopping soon is it," you panted, looking to Cody and then to Obi-Wan who both shook their heads. You let out a shaking exhale as the pain grew stronger. You couldn't fight it anymore, leaving yourself wide open, thoughts so obvious that even Cody could gather what was on your mind. 

Obi-Wan shared in your sensation and grabbed at your waist, urging you to straddle him. Once you were comfortably seated Obi-Wan set a punishing pace, snapping his hips up into your while he kneaded the flesh of your ass between his fingers. 

Cody watched for a few moments before taking himself in his palm, stroking in time to Obi-Wan's thrusts. His face began to contort with pain when a thought burst through your fog. 

Self-stimulation is ineffective, isn't it? 

You were interweaving yourself with Obi-Wan, clinging to the cool of his force signature as he slowed just a touch, breathing out a shudder confirmation. 

With that you turned towards Cody, gently calling his name as Obi-Wan slowly rocked into you, expression curious. 

"I'm so wet," you moaned, looking him up and down. 

"You are," he confirmed, putting his hand where your body met Obi-Wan's, the other still wrapped tightly around his cock. He teased you both for a few moments, running his fingers across both of you at once. 

"I can take you both together." 

The words rolled off your tongue before you realized you had said them, both men moaning as Cody began to work a finger and then two into your pussy without hesitation. 

"You’re sure?" he grunted, wrapping your hand around his cock as he pushed his fingers deeper, working in tandem with the subtle roll of Obi-Wan's hips. 

"Yes," you cried, voice strained as he pushed in a third. "Can't stand to see either of you in this pain." 

Cody hummed against your skin as he kissed you, helping you adjust to the stretch before pulling away, coming behind you. 

With a firm hand to your back Cody pushed you forward until your chest was nearly flush with Obi-Wan's. You heard him spit against you, rubbing at you with his thumbs before pressing his head against your entrance, easing himself inside. 

You and Obi-Wan moaned from the pressure, stilling as he worked his way in. You swallowed your cries as Obi-Wan bit into your shoulder, hands firm on your hips as he tried to hang onto the last bit of his mental wall. 

That, however, came crashing down as soon as Cody began to move, the force of his pleasure knocking the wind from your chest. When you opened your eyes you could see your tears mixed with his, leaning down to lick them away before he began to work in tandem with Cody - thrusting in as he pulled out. 

They worked against each other and you were seeing stars, becoming wetter and wetter with every orgasm that rushed through your body. At some point you realized that the wetness was their come leaking out of you, both men showing no signs of easing up anytime soon. 

You couldn't be certain how many times any of you came, riding out high after high, changing positions, coming in and on each other as you lost yourselves in the pleasure, desperate to keep the burning pain away. 

At some point though the effects of the pollen had worn off and the three of you collapsed together, sticky and sweet and warm. Time had returned though sense was still absent. 

You and Cody had each curled around Obi-Wan, legs tangled together and arms entwined. Eventually you each slipped into a heavy slumber, shared murmurs of thanks fading away as your eyelids drooped. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Slowly you began to rouse, feeling the heat of the sun beginning to sear your skin, quickly coming to your senses when a high pitched shriek jolted you all awake. 

You startled to find Captain Rex doubled over in laughter as Anakin threw his cloak over the pile of limbs you were wrapped in, head turned away and paler than you could ever recall seeing him. 

"Anakin, aren't you supposed to be on Naboo?" Obi-Wan questioned, slowly sitting up. He was blinking in the sun, memories slowly returning as you and Cody unwrapped yourselves from around him.

"I was until the Council told me they never heard your team check in. They sent me here and I find this," he gestured dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned away. 

"Like I needed another reason to hate sand." 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Full Masterlist // Star Wars Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tags - Tumble has a tag limit and we’ve exceeded it (which is so cool I can’t believe that many of you are interesting in reading my work!) so we’ll be switching to comment tags, this should also mean that everyone’s tags will work for once!! 

Tag lists are open: just CLICK HERE and tell me what you want to get tagged in, or send me an ask/DM!

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 4)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: What's Your Ideal Type?

Next Chapter: Special Grade

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj, @rizzo-nero, @whoreuc

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty. Double update this week since the story is moving along fast.

CHAPTER 4: Cherry Blossom Storm

You finally reached your classroom. It wasn’t large as there were only 4 1st year students who enrolled this year. A black board, some desks, and a huge view from outside.

“Wowww, the campus view from here is so pretty!” You quickly made your way to the open window. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. It is spring and the school year starts in April.

Noritoshi stood by your side and stared at you. “Yeah we have a pretty good view here. The view from the roof is much better if you would like me to show you?”

“Sure.” you replied absentmindedly. You reached out a hand towards the petals and flowers blowing in the wind and used your technique to pull them to you. You stared at the cherry blossom in the centre of your hand.

You turned to Noritoshi with a hint of mischief in your eyes. “Have you ever felt what it was like to be in the midst of a flower storm?” He stared affixed at the way you freely used your cursed energy.

He grew up understanding that cursed energy is limited. It has a slow recharge and should not be used meaninglessly. And here you were, using yours without a care in the world.

But then you must have a lot if you look as relaxed as you are now. Plus he can sense the huge amount of cursed energy swirling around you. It was one of the reasons why he immediately walked up to greet you when you both first met.

“I don’t, would you perhaps show me?” he asked. You grinned at him, “Please bring me to the rooftop.”

The rooftop was a marvelous view. At about 4 stories high, you could see the surrounding forest around the campus, as well as the more urbanised city from a distance. You beckoned Noritoshi to the center of the space and he stood in front of you.

Then you put both palms up, one diagonally on top of the other in kind of like a v shape before whispering, “Tornado: Soft Blossom Style”. Immediately a wind channel formed in your hands and attracted the flower petals and loose cherry blossoms that have fallen from trees. They spun around both of you faster and faster until you were both in the midst of a mini flower tornado.

“What a sight.” Noritoshi smiled up as he could smell the petals from up close. He reached up to pick a flower, but they were moving way too fast. So you caught a few full undamaged blossoms and placed it in his hands. “My mum has similar abilities with plants. She taught me how to control them like this.” You admitted.

You released your technique and the petals slowly drifted downwards like a gentle flower shower. “Clear skies with a hint of flower fall.” You said out of nowhere. Noritoshi couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that as he pocketed the flowers. “What a weather report.”

You smiled at him not noticing the figures by the door who were attracted to your mini flower storm. “Waaaa~ What’s all this for?”

You quickly turned to see two girls. One with blonde hair and one with short dark green hair that was almost black. “Nishimiya, Mai.” Noritoshi senpai called out.

Ah, so more school mates. The short blonde ran out and reached up for the petals, while the other followed from behind.

“Hello, I am an incoming first year here. Tsuchimikado Y/N, It is nice to meet you.” You greeted them with a bow.

“Ahhh, that Tsuchimikado huh?” to which you looked back up to the taller pretty woman with short hair. “The name’s Mai. Zenin Mai. Looks like we’ll be fellow classmates. Please take care of me.”

Zenin?! Whoa now there are two students here at Kyoto Jujutsu High who come from the Great 3 Jujutsu Families.

“Nishimiya Momo, 2nd year student. Just call me Momo senpai, Tsuchimikado chan. We saw the flowers from down below and just came to check what’s happening.”

“Is it okay if I address you as y/n chan?” Momo senpai asked. “Yes y/n is fine senpai, I don’t mind too much. I’ll be in both of your care!” You smiled at them.

“So what are you both doing up here Kamo-kun?” Momo turned to him. He calmly replied “I was bringing her around campus. She wanted to see the view from the rooftop.”

“Ahhh. So what Todo said about both of you being on a date wasn’t true then?”

You solemnly vowed to beat that man up the next time you see him. He knew what he was doing and he was provoking you very well. Still, it didn’t stop you and Noritoshi from both flushing hard, “It’s not a date!” You both exclaimed at the same time.

Mai was smirking. “Okay then. By the way, Y/n chan, our uniforms have arrived. I was just walking with Momo to the office to pick it up. Would you want to come along?”

You brightened up, “Of course I’ll go!” To which Noritoshi came up behind you and smiled as he leaned down to reach your height. “I have some other errands to do, you can go ahead with them.”

“Ah, th-thank you again for showing me around. I think I am more familiar with the place now.” You bowed again. He shook his head, “I’ve already got something better from you,” as he motioned to the flowers on the ground. “Now if you three would excuse me.”

After he left, you quickly blew all the flowers off the roof and towards the ground. “I made a mess without thinking.” You worriedly said. “Y/n, don’t worry about it. C’mon let’s go.” Momo pulled you along.

Mai just stared at the space where a bunch of petals were at a moment ago. ‘A natural born talent huh.’ She thought with a bit of jealousy as she turned to follow you guys.

◇◇◇

“Here you are!” The window handed you and Mai your uniforms. “Thank you so much!” You smiled at them. You looked over the custom made fits and everything seemed correct.

You had requested for pants and a short sleeved top along with a cape over it. You can also wear your favorite haori if not the cape. The top and the cape both have the Jujutsu High Buttons on them.

You had lunch with the girls and chatted with them, getting to know them a bit better. You discovered that Momo senpai was also admitted based on her family lineage. “Y/n chan, you also got in via your family?”

“Yes I did! My family is a bit small, but we are descendants of-”

“Abe no Seimei.” Mai finished for you, You turned to look at her in surprise before realizing that she was from the Zenin clan, of course they have a lot of information on the rest of the Jujutsu society.

You nodded at her. “You’re from the Zenin clan right Mai chan? Is that how you know Noritoshi senpai?”

“Yes, the big 3 Jujutsu clans have always been in touch with each other, so we know each other from a while back.” She replied.

You’re definitely not jealous that she knows Noritoshi. Definitely not.

“Noritoshi senpai? You don’t call him Kamo senpai?” Momo asked curiously.

“Ahh, he told me to call him that…?” You hesitantly asked. Momo’s eyes sparkled dangerously.

“Reaaally?? Mr. ‘I only care about studying and being the next Kamo clan head’ Noritoshi said that to you?”

What.

“Next clan head what?!” You were surprised. The whole time you were so casual with him, making him bring you around. Should you have been more formal?

“Ah, you didn’t know.” The two other girls stared at you in growing amusement, while you flapped around nervously.

“Oh my gosh and I was so casual with him?!” you panicked. “Should I be more formal with him from now on?”

Mai shrugged. “Dunno. I honestly don’t think he minds. He and Todo, they’re both a pain in the ass.”

“Have you also met Todo senpai? He asked me what my ideal type was earlier! So odd.” You said, to which Momo senpai just groaned out. “I’m classmates with both of them and they’re definitely a huge pain to deal with. Todo is just obsessed with his favorite idol Takada chan. Just ignore him, it will do you good. Trust me.” she added as an afterthought.

“If you say so.” You replied. The girls were nice, you were happy that there were some people you would get along with for sure.

◇◇◇

“Utahime sensei,” Noritoshi called out by the door to the staff room. “Coming! Just a moment!”

“Oh, it’s just you Kamo. What is it?” Utahime asked as she leaned against the door frame.

“There is this book I was reading, but I found some essential pages torn out. I borrowed it from the library.” He handed the volume over to Utahime, who checked it.

“Tsk, tsk. How could we have missed that? Must be a very old untouched volume. ‘The Tales and True Records of Soulmates’”. She looked up at him in curiosity. “What did you need it for?”

He cooly replied with the strongest poker face he had, “My father told me to be well versed in all forms and matters of Jujutsu. Some origins of special powers were known to originate from soulmate or fated pairs, and thus it piqued my interest.”

“Ah. I see,” Utahime hummed. “Well, we can’t do anything about it, but I can ask the library heads if they know of the origins of this book, so that we can locate the missing pages. But if you’d like I can help you locate more books on soulmates? If that helps? But I can’t go now. Maybe next week after class starts.”

“Yes, if you could please do so. Thank you sensei.”

Noritoshi returned to his dorm, and upon remembering the flowers that you had gifted him from the little flower show from earlier. He brought them out, smiling and touching the soft petals.

Then set to work on pressing and preserving the flowers in a thick book.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[highviewsmoved]

✽ overhaul x oc (NSFW) ✽ with the promise of a cure, a young woman uses the contents of her grandfather's will to her own advantage.

CAUTION WARNINGS: stockholm syndrome, references to illness, mental instability, emotional manipulation, unresolved sexual tension, voluntary imprisonment, voyeurism, obsession, dubious morality, masturbation. 

“A gentle hand upon a flower, causes it to bloom with love, you see. It takes a caress similar to that of a partner. It’s been a part of our family for generations, this ability.” He uses his hands to cup the sunken plant before him, slowly examining it as it blossoms upward to a renewed state.

The child blinks up at the older man, his eyes wrinkled with a faraway smile.

“But grandmother says I have a curse.”

The older man frowns, eyes downcast. “It may be, but to me, it is a gift.”

The child continues in a monotone that no one should possess at such an age. “All the flowers I touch, they come out of me, grandpa.”

The grandfather doesn’t know how else to respond, but goes and provides aid to the flowers dying from heat, the shade of brown passing over to a healthy green.

“It is a blessing, child,” he reaffirms. He is certain as the flowers that bloom from his hand that his granddaughter is special. “Always count them for yourself.”

Her grandmother lays bedridden. A restless thing that looks so close to the doors of death. Ume feels the tears spill from her eyes. It is a foreign thing to cry with meaning behind it, but it’s what she feels.

“Ume, my flower. Yuzuki left you something you must know. The Hassaikai, our business partner, can take you in. They can heal you.”

She sniffles, wiping her eyes. “Grandfather always told me it was a gift,” she coughs into her hand, an azealia appearing on her lap. Her grandmother coughs, but for a different reason.

“You’re ill, find them, show them this,” her hand is skeletal, like the gnarled twigs of a tree in winter. She nods, taking her hands. “I will, I’ll find them,” she promises.

Her grandmother heaves a shaky breath, passing quietly while the heart monitor keens a high sound, leaving her alone with the paper in hand.

Ume thinks of another time of when her grandparents were just with her moments before, still alive. Still there.

The hospital staff come bursting through, calling out to her and moving her away from the sight. She watches as they cover her grandmother’s face, they push her to the outside of the room.

Ume opens the letter, the will being precariously typed, the calligraphy neat and organized. Something her grandfather was always meticulous about.

It is written on this piece that she is property of the Boss from the Hassaikai. The newly appointed young lord of the organization.

When she returns home, doing a simple search through the calculated books her grandfather left behind. She sees the face of the older Shie Hassaikai and a photo of a young man she’s met and seen before.

A slow smile forms across her face.

Her finger tracing lines against the image of the younger man.

She finds them easily. Ume had to pull some strings. The company her family has owned had ties with the Hassaikai for many years. They developed pharmaceuticals together for people with quirks. They lobbied with one another.

It was all to keep themselves afloat.

And now she’s here. She feels an ebbing of excitement when she’s welcomed into their headquarters.

Ume sits across from the leader of the Shie Hassaikai. The young man was adorned with a plague mask. It’s a signature look for them. The massive paper is being read by the other henchman, a man by the name of Kurono.

“It reads here you are a part of the will that was granted by your grandfather, Yuzuki. The boss knew him for quite some time. And you’re fine with this?” Kurono is skeptical. He is clearly unsure of what sort of play is happening here.

She sits up a bit taller, attempting to seem much more presentable. She must play her part in this as best she can. “I am.”

The man, Chisaki Kai, one she has seen come across her family’s estate many times before. The one from the photo in her grandfather’s files. A young man who seemed quite lost when she saw him. Now looks much more hostile and methodical. He tilts his head curiously.

Mimic below makes a curious noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t think that’s a little off, miss?”

Ume smiles amiably, causing the men around him to shift uncomfortably. Her gaze was pinned on the leader. “I understand my duties entirely well, and I have been raised to meet them. Our families have had a partnership for decades. It’s to continue the union as we see it.”

Overhaul’s gloved hands she notices start rubbing against each other, she glances quickly at the motion but removes her gaze before he can notice. When she meets his eyes they’re locked on hers in a challenge. A heated fire in them, he surely must’ve seen.

“What do you gain from this, Miura? What's your endgame if you were to be kept by the Hassaikai? Is it a business alliance you wish to continue?”

Ume hearing his voice is all she wanted and she exhales shakily, heart giddily pounding. “I’m sick,” she says in a false, weepy tone. “I want to be cured and you have the capabilities to help me.”

Overhaul tenses considerably. Kurono passes a nervous glance towards his boss. Overhaul looks terse, Kurono can sense his hands twitching to rid this woman before him like an infection.

“What’re you ill with?”

Ume’s eyes glitter, the rumble coming from deep in her stomach, rising to unfurl out of her mouth. A flower upon the table. It was a shade of vibrant purple, shaped similar to that of a star with the center protruding yellow. Kurono makes a disgusted noise and Mimic reels back.

Overhaul feels his nostrils flaring at the flora before him. The belladonna, the nightshade resting against the wood of the coffee table. Ume in tears coughs into her mouth.

Disgusting, he thinks. A sickness waiting to flourish if he does not cut it out.

Ume is in a room of white. An area so pristine that she feels she will blacken it with her sight. She lays herself down on the bed as instructed and allows the men to enter with the needle. They say it’s supposed to be a prep, to see if this can really work to nullify the quirk enough to not be a bother for her any longer.

“We’ll remove the illness from you entirely, Miura,” the voice comes from the intercom belonging to Overhaul. She wants to laugh happily, she’s content with how simple it was to get herself here. They were so easily swayed. The tears leak from her eyes.

“Please," she begs. "I no longer wish to be this way.”

“Begin,” comes the buzz from the intercom and one of the men comes close towards her with the needle. The liquid is an odd shade and she forces herself to relax, the lower half of her body shaking.

When she can sense the press of the sharpened needle against her thigh she wants to pull away but she stares straight into the camera in the corner of the room, her eyes never leaving the tiny blinking dot. She knows he’s watching. He is alone and she is here with him.

“We’ll be recording you for updates on the serum we’ve injected. It’s still something roughly in the works, but there’s no reversal for it which you should already have known about—” The man before her continues to drone on about the nullifier and Ume frowns.

She feels disconnected, she’s been in this room for the last seventy-two hours and is beginning to feel restless, her mind drifting to someplace else. In her thoughts she sees Overhaul, with his face against her hand, her lips grazing his temples. She purses her lips and continues to nod as if she’s understanding. She hasn’t listened to a word.

The man coughs. “Well, we’ll leave you to yourself.”

Ume stands up quickly, reaching out. “Please, wait a moment,” her voice light and sweet.

The doctor of some sort seems rather nervous to be in her proximity, his body language on high alert. Ume notices this, thinking of how this room is on heightened surveillance.

She poses herself to be the perfect angel, a young woman in fear of the unknown. “I don’t want to be alone,” her gaze underneath the fluorescence like a sharpened jewel. The man’s entirely stumped, uncertain of what to do or say.

The blinking from the camera seems to analyze every inch of the interaction. She moves closer, her eyes watering with a pleading look. “I’m here alone and I don’t have anyone else, will you let them know that?”

The man swallows heavily, feeling the blood rush to his head, she has a mind-numbing effect on him. “Ah, yes,” he clears his throat rather loudly. “I’ll let the boss know, of course. Pardon me.”

He exits the room quickly, terrified Overhaul may have seen the odd display between them. Entirely unaware the young woman was smiling the moment he turned his back.

Overhaul sits up quickly, moving out of the observation room with a purpose. He feels overwhelmed by the sudden scene he witnessed. Ume was too vulnerable. No longer is the young woman with a horrific ailment, but now someone without it. It was gone and it could not harm her anymore.

She was as clean as that room she was in. She was a sight to behold and he watched her every waking moment bewitched by her. Seeing her with one of his men, alone and so close. It drove him to leave, it’s what’s making him go to her room to ensure the man did not linger or stay.

“Overhaul,” Kurono comes to his side, matching his quick strides. “What’s happening?” The boss doesn’t respond. Overhaul only waves him off dismissively.

Kurono stops, leaving through a different part of the headquarters, not wanting to bother him any longer. A part of him knowing full well where he’s going

Overhaul reaches her area of the base and stops outside the door. He could easily go in and see what’s happening. She’ll be there, in her room with her own personal belongings, and see her. He’s been watching her.

His first memory of Ume was back when she came to the old Hasaikai office, where the boss was in talks with Yuzuki. She was a dainty thing, with a twinkling gaze and an amicable aura about her. She seemed serene, something he was not during his early years. He remembers glancing at her, words not spoken between them, but her gaze held his. It never once left his, as if she could see right through him into the core of his head.

The memory dissipates immediately when he hears a gentle moan, he wavers. An odd feeling washes over him. Why is he here exactly? He is the one in charge and so he thrusts open the door, and he sees an image that will be seared into his memory.

Ume on her back, her hand in between her legs that are spread apart for him to see. He stands there, locked into place with the door closing with a puff of air and she looks up to see him, her hands hiding as she sits up, looking ashamed.

Her cheeks heated and a look of worry flashes across her. Overhaul hasn’t moved.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her eyes watering and he feels a rapid emotion overcome him.

“You—” he can’t seem to get the words out. It was like he completely lost his purpose for being there in the first place.

His mind was screaming in itself.

Ume lifts herself away from the bed, her skirt covering the legs he saw moments before. She drifts to him like a phantom.

“I’m still not well, my display must’ve concerned you,” she tells him. She is now only a few feet away. Overhaul attempts to rein in his muddled thoughts.

“Clearly,” he spits. He wants to flee, he wants to tear her apart and then rebuild her back again.

Ume was a striking beauty, the mole beneath her lips. Her eyes were a shade of pink, her hair the color of mulberries. She was such a captivating individual that he seems to understand why he feels such a magnetism towards her.

It must’ve been the number of times when she has held his gaze evenly. So at odds with what he expected her to be.

Ume snares him with a hook. “You’re just as twisted,” he feels an odd anger bubble up in him at her.

“What do you know? You’re here on account of your family selling you like a business offering.”

Ume’s eyes flash. “I am here on my own volition with what was provided.”

Overhaul doubts her, she can’t be serious.

She steps closer, her lips a beautiful shape. She reminds him of a spider creating a web. “You’re a sick man yourself. You come into the room of a woman who has no way to defend herself from someone like you.”

“You’re a witch,” he hisses. He feels an emptiness in his core with this talk. He can’t understand what this is.

Ume is unsettling, he realizes. She’s not what he thought she was. “I’m not a danger to you, Kai.” The way she says his name so tenderly, like a woman in love disturbs him more than anything.

She’s suffocating. She’s a boa constrictor wrapping herself around him ready to squeeze.

The effect she has on him is vexing. “I’ve always watched you,” she tells him like a shared secret between lovers. He shakes his head. “Just like you have been watching me.”

He turns on his heel and leaves, shutting the door. Overhaul feels his pulse rising with each step he takes. The way she looks at him, the way she has him in her hands.

Overhaul feels a genuine moment of horror.

What is she?

He returns with an ultimatum. She could finally be released, with the exception of constant surveillance on her. She could return to her old life of doing what she was before.

Overhaul does not want to push her away but his mind keeps thinking of seeing her in that specific position from that day. He wants to get rid of it. He needs her gone.

“I’m still unwell,” she tells him. She watches him warily, but something in her is telling him it's a ruse.

“You’re still sick?” He asks, his hand moving to hover across her face. Overhaul feigns his own concern for her. Ume’s eyes drift downwards. Her day-to-day was a cycle. An endless myriad of nothingness except her own thoughts to please herself with. She’s been in this room for days on end and after their last moment together, she was hoping she had finally gotten through to him. Finally, the object of her attention returned. She has him all to herself.

Ume shifts closer. Overhaul looking down at her, and he does not side step or moves away. “I’m here to get better, aren’t I?”

He tilts his head curiously to her advancing. “And you are? We’ve already given you the antidote.  Don’t you want to leave here?” Ume smiles, eyes bright. She looks similar to a specific painting he’s seen in a galleria. The piece being a ghostly woman standing across the moors in a European isle.

“But you’re here. You keep me company.” He came here on a whim hoping this offer would be one that she would comply with.

Overhaul may have underestimated her, she's like a siren calling him softly from the sea, coaxing him to shore. Her words simply hold that much power.  

His lips feel dry beneath his mask and he swallows. Her gown is loose, revealing her skin below and a part of him feels he could move to coast his hand across. To be able to hear her breathing hitch, close to his ears. To be able to see that display of her legs opening. He ceases the thoughts. She’s at his mercy. He has control.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, more to himself. His mind has become a frenzy. A demented voice in his brain begging him to lay his hand upon her. One touch won’t hurt, it won’t. It would be quick, a simple thing.

Ume drifts from side to side, her hand reaching above to move a piece of his hair. Her fingers dance across his forehead. He grits his teeth, his gloved hands twitching. His mind suddenly gearing up for a tirade. It’s filthy. It’s disgusting. It feels wonderful.

“Then leave here,” she whispers. “Don’t come back.”

“You’re a vixen. You’re sick,” Overhaul emphasizes. This time he means it, but he can’t help but let himself be entranced. She’s maddening. Enticing, his mind supplies.

Ume laughs, she’s infuriatingly beautiful. “And yet you come, again and again. For me.”

Overhaul retreats, her eyes twinkling with mirth. He leaves her there, walking quickly away, his steps echoing down the halls as he moves around the labyrinth. “Overhaul, where are you going?” Kurono asks in shock, he’s never seen his boss move in such a hurry.

“To my private quarters.”

He shuts the door to his room, locking it, hurriedly taking off his jacket stripping himself of the ailment. His thoughts cause images to be projected into his mind. Seeing himself close to Ume, pressing his lips close to her breasts, and his hands placed where hers was between her thighs.

He feels tight all over, collapsing onto the ground in a mess. His breathing is all over the place as he removes his mask from the heat of it all.

Ume was dangerous.

His hands moving on their own as if she was puppeteering them herself. He imagines her there with him. She could be, his mind adds. That filthy part of himself could go in there and take her. Keep her with him all the while. It’s what she would want. It’s what he wants.

Overhaul unzips his pants, his hands grabbing his cock, feeling the girth against his palm. He imagines her there, she’s so real against him. She is stunning as her mouth presses against his dick.

Fuck.

He begins moving, pumping to get to a fast release. The image of Ume licking his shaft, her fingers dancing across his body. Her touch is absolutely vile, but it causes his heart to pound.

He fondles himself more, beginning to feel his body clench around him. This is sickening, he thinks. It’s not right. Ume is still there, the image of her never left.

Overhaul could’ve taken her into his room. Having done everything his filthy mind was displaying out for him, his pleasure exceeded all logical thoughts.

The idea of her as his alone. “Come for me again and again.” He hears her voice so close to his ear, the way she said his name. Kai. Fuck.

He’s so close.

Her pussy would be pressing against his shaft, she would be so wet, so tight. Her moans would be sensual when she continues to take him how she wants. The way it would spasm against his dick. He grabs his balls roughly at the thought.

Overhaul comes with a grunt, a desperate sound freeing itself. He shivers at the sensation of his own cum warm against his body.

A harsh breath rakes through him and he stumbles his way into the bathroom. He starts the water, the steam rising above when he takes a step in. Overhaul hisses, the water scalding against his skin.

He thought with this he could exorcise the thoughts of her, but knowing that she could be doing this too. Ume’s own fingers deep inside of her, imagining himself was something he never experienced before.

A pleasure all their own.

Ume imagines what she would do if Kai would come and stay with her. If he would be willing to let her touch him, to touch her. His large, gloved hands caressing her thighs, reaching up to grab her breasts.

She begins trailing her own fingers down to her thighs, reaching the clit, the gentle motions budding into herself.

The thoughts of Overhaul down on his knees for her, what a simple touch could do. She moans, her fingers working with a quickened pace to reach her own orgasm. A fast one to rid herself of her desire. She needed to continue her control. She was the one above him. He couldn’t kill her even if he tried.

He kept her here offering whatever possible to release her, but her devotion to him and her own cause kept her to stay in this room so he could return.

Ume puts him through a hideous pattern and it pushes her to the edge. The tightening of her abdomen is ready for her to cum and she does. She arches her back, the sensation of her quivering pussy overwhelming.

The arousal of her knowing that he’s in his room, touching himself despite his abhorrence to it. She licks her juices off of her fingers, her breath heavy as she watches the familiar red dot of the camera.

Ume’s awakened by the opening of the door, and one of the many men announcing she’s allowed free reign to wander their base. That her status was cleared, that the nullifier accomplished its effect and healed her.

She was now free.

It was another offer she realizes, to really get her to leave this place. But she’s having so much fun here, in her own little space. She wishes to be a blight.

A stain that is so deep that it leaves Overhaul a crumbling, cumming mess every time he leaves her room.

He doesn’t touch her, there is no tenderness. Just her words and his own, and a continuous cycle of touching themselves at moments she hopes are timed at the same.

She smiles at the men, a coy thing that holds so much, but does not provide them with what exactly she’s thinking.

Ume’s not done here. She’ll see this through in its entirety.

“I won’t be going,” she sits against the wall, her hair so long that she toys with one of the strands. “I want to be here.”

They seem a bit nervous about her response. Not exactly sure what the procedure for a willing asset is.

“You can leave now,” Ume says. “I won’t be asked again.” They can hear the threat in her tone, her eyes narrowing as the men shuffle out in fear of incurring her terrifying attitude.

Overhaul returns with a quickened haste. Not even bothering to knock on her door and she grins.

“You’re a wretched thing, aren’t you,” he states. His finger pointed at her. She stares at the appendage; wishing to take it deep against her throat.

“I am, but aren’t you?” She’s challenging him. Miura Ume is a shogi piece on the board. The way she calculates his every mood, her eyes gauging him. She could eat him alive. It’s nauseating.

“I could kill you,” he’s trying to convince himself it’s the only rational thing to do. She sits up, the chemise sliding down her shoulder exposing her supple skin. He yearns, a sick part of him wants to see her exposed for him.

He wants to touch her just once.

No! His mind screams. She’s foul. She’s stunning.

Ume moves her hands to hold his, he begins to tremble. He wishes he could grapple with his failing control. To get back at her. She purses her mouth against the tip of his gloved finger, tongue brushing against the leather. When she bites down she never looks away from his sight.

He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. Ume releases her hold on him and licks her lips. The pink of her tongue swipes the redness of her mouth. Overhaul is a mess of a man. What kind of the leader of this organization is he, that he is seduced by a single woman.

Ume lowers herself onto her knees, a wicked gleam in her eyes. She’s close to the crotch of his pants and he wants to run. So he can rid himself of these thoughts she’s causing.

“You won’t break your favorite toy,” her silky voice slithers in his ears. Her fingers feather across his thighs.  Ume’s own hands wishing to dig into him.

The light sensation causes shockwaves across his flesh. Overhaul is enraptured. What else could she possibly attempt to do. He replays the image of her mouth around his finger. A dark rumbling in his gut jolts him away, and she smiles. It breaks him away from the reverie of this siren below him.

He stands above her, he could press all five fingers deep into her neck, ceasing her diabolical wishes. “You’re heinous,” he grits out. A realization blooming in his mind that he’s lost this power play. He was already in her clutches the moment he saw her.

She owns him. Every touch, every single way he jerks himself off, the orgasms he has. It’s all for her.

He’s mortified. He feels the room is like a cage. He’s the canary in the cat’s mouth.

Ume pouts. “I could make you feel so good,” she says this as if it’s the only thing he needs.

Overhaul wants to throttle her. He wants to hike up her gown and shove his cock so far deep into her that it makes her hold onto him.

This is dangerous, his mind says. You need to clean yourself.

“You’re a plague,” he spits. “You’re just a wretched thing who wants too much.”

She laughs as if he said the funniest thing in the world. “I am, but you enjoy this just as much as I do.” Ume sits up no longer on her knees. He still towers above her.

Overhaul could end it right now. He just has to touch her. Let her rot against the floor. He’s torn, he fears she’ll reanimate on her own. His own personal karma.

“You want me on my knees for you, telling you the dirtiest things imaginable.” Her eyes were that of a feline.

She backs him against one of the corners of the room. Overhaul slides down against the wall.

He wants this to end.

Ume lowers herself to his level, her lips grazing his ear. “You want me to fuck you senseless.”

Overhaul grunts. “I don’t—“ he can’t get the words out. He’s completely losing himself. He can touch her. He can. He can’t.

Ume’s tongue prods against his neck and he nearly groans. The way it slides up to his chin. He would let her take a bite out of him. It’s what he wants.

He feels his cock hardening against his trousers.

She leans a bit away, getting a good look at him in this state. That longing look in his eye. The lust in his crotch. He’s only wearing his medical mask and she wants to tear it off of him.

“You’re spineless,” she mocks. “You can’t even help yourself or your boss.”

He snarls. “What do you know,” he fires back. “You come here like a leech wanting a cure.”

“I know more than you do,” she tells him.

“Your teasing routine ends here,” he stands. The way she moves away from him pushes him to continue backing her against her own bed.

“Is this what you want? Do you want me to fuck you senseless? Or do you just want my finger in your cunt?” Overhaul feels a recharge in his power. He could finally see her resolve falter.

“I do,” Ume flushes, looking away from him. A gentle admittance. “I want all of it.”

The room is silent, save for the labored breaths from Overhaul and the quiet words from Ume echoing.

They look at each other for a long moment.

Overhaul makes the move first. He presses his lips harshly against her mouth.

She makes a noise but tries to remove the mask he’s kissing her through.

He rips it off and his hands lift her gown as she lays back against the bed.

Her legs wrapping themselves around his waist pulling him to her. Her touch causes him to groan. Overhaul feels his head swimming. She’s delicious. The way her lips form around his, her tongue gliding against his own.

He refuses to lay his hand on her, that part of him with his clear disdain for touch still scratching in his mind. It tells him to stop. To cease.

She’s a drug. Her moans are intoxicating. Her lips drag against his cheek and she suckles his neck.

“I want you,” she presses into him, reaching to unbuckle his pants. Ume grabs his cock through the fabric. No, she’s filthy.

“Fuck,” he exhales. She’s pliant against him.

“Touch me, Kai,” she moans, her legs tight around him. His hips are close to hers. His hands are still balled into tight fists.

“Just one finger,” she prods. “Make me cum.”

He snarls. Overhaul bites her shoulder and she yelps. “I’m not touching you.”

She laughs against his lips. “Your loss.”

They continue like this, lost in the sensation of each other's lips. His hips thrust into hers and she groans a needy sound.

She unbuckles his pants, freeing his cock. He feels dizzy. Ume guides him towards her wet entrance.

“Fuck me,” she moans. Overhaul gnashes his teeth together, his balled-up fists feeling like an anchor.

He’s imagined this so many times. This exact image, her voice right at his ear.

“Please, Kai,” her voice calls again.

Overhaul grunts, thrusting into her. Ume’s cries were delightful. “Oh, Kai.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, and she hugs him tightly to herself, caging him in her arms.

She looks elated, something he hasn’t seen in her expressions. Her controlled, manipulative faces have only been used against him. At this moment she looks genuinely content.

His fists begin to uncurl. Just one touch to wipe the way her tendrils are covering a bit of her face.

A loud knock stops them from going any further, startling them both.

“Overhaul!” A panicked voice comes. “There’s a plan of attack from the heroes.”

Overhaul and Ume look at each other for a long moment. “Put your clothes on.”

He pulls out of her. The feeling of it winding them both up. He would let his men take care of it. He could finish here, before going out there to fight. No. He stumbles away from her. He doesn’t have time to clean himself and he shudders.

Ume is unnervingly complacent through it. Once he readjusts himself, setting his mask on.

She’s back to being fully clothed, her eyes blankly staring ahead.

“I’ll be back,” he says. His head dips, to get her to look at him. Her bright eyes stare into his. “I’ll finish this.”

Ume releases a laugh. “You won’t.”

Overhaul stands at his full height, eyes narrowing. “I will,” he promises.

He shuts the door leaving her alone.

Ume's trademark grin returning.

She walks back to her bed, curling into herself as she waits.

It’s been hours and there’s a breach in her room.

A team of heroes enters and there's a multitude of voices.

“Someone’s in here!”

“It’s a woman! We need a medic!”

They come in a cluster, checking her, and Ume’s tears come falling forth. Her character this time is a hysterical woman who was wrongly experimented on.

“We’ll get you out of here, miss. What’s your name?”

She is inconsolable as she gives them a name, a fallacious one. “Yumi, my name is Yumi. Please, I want to go home.”

The heroes escort her out with a blanket over her shoulders. She looks around the base and it is destroyed. The walls are crumbling. Nothing looks the way it did when she first arrived.

Ume tries to hide her grin. A beautiful downfall that Kai went through, she thinks.

So pretty.

The trip to Tartarus was a vicious one. The seawater lapped against the tides of the boat. The young charge, in connection with the Hero Commission, shields himself from the onslaught of the rain.

“Fujita! We’re almost to the island.”

Agent Fujita, one of Ume’s many disguises only clad in a suit and raincoat, nods affirmatively. “Good.”

The man calls for the steering of the boat to the dock, the entire vessel moving onwards and the agent does not budge. She stays with the breeze against her face, whipping her face as the boat’s sound alerts the officers on Tartarus of an arrival.

The ship is stopped against the steel dock as they rein in the anchor, wrapping the sails against each other as the young escort jogs to her.

“We’ve arrived. Please go this way to the base.”

Ume follows down the ramps. The clanking of the steel-toed boots beneath her into a rhythm.

“Private Personnel coming through please.”

“Identification is needed for passing into Tartarus.”

“I have it,” Ume says, her fingers handing over the passes and a note from the Hero Commission granting the access.

“Agents Gentaro and Fujita?” The man in the dark outfit is splashed by the nearby tide. “Dammit, alright. That’s fine. If they know you’re here. We’ll send them word you’ve arrived.”

Gentaro steps forward. “We won’t be here long, it’s a quick interview with one of the prisoners.”

“It’ll be a fast one,” Ume adds.

One of the other guards snickers. “As long as you both don’t try to break these monsters out.”

Ume smiles a familiar grin that halts the guard's laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The massive gates open forward walking into the long corridors of Tartarus.

“This place is bright,” Gentaro hisses. Ume doesn’t react, only blinking in response.

“The criminal you’re about to meet is infamous, you know? He’s pretty vile, kept a woman and a child, using them for test subjects.”

Ume’s new voice has a low tone. “I’ve seen quite a bit in my heyday, Gentaro.”

He snorts. “Alright, alright. Gotcha, well, I’ll tell the guards you’re ready to see him.”

The room they entered was accessed only through a fingerprint scanner, which Gentaro uses. Ume walks in, standing across a reinforced glass, waiting for them to bring him in.

Ume feels her heart rate pick up. It’s been months on end since the disbandment of the Hassakai, since their separation.

Ume was taken in with the heroes, saved by them. Or so they think. But Ume returns as Agent Fujita now.

She hid her identity, easily enough with a modifying bullet she received from the underground which gave her a new quirk.

It was the ability to change the face, so one does not recognize her immediately as the woman who was captured. Ume had many ties, connections her grandfather left behind; she was able to put them to good use. She used them all to give her this gift before her.

To be able to see him again.

Chisaki Kai enters, completely wrapped in a straight jacket, pushed forth on some sort of mechanism that was strapping him in.

“Agent Fujita, Prisoner 23554 is here. Chisaki Kai, Overhaul, reporting in.” The bleeping over the intercom disperses and she is granted some privacy when the guards leave. They had nothing to worry about since Overhaul could not wield his quirk nor did they know that Ume didn’t even have one.

She smiles.

He looks pathetic, still facing downward, refusing to look up. His hair is overgrown. He has tired eyes, stubble coming in and she wishes to grab his face and rub her lips against the roughness of his chin.

“Kai,” she calls softly. Her voice is the sound of honey dripping from the corners; like it was seeping through the glass. He shifts, raising his head slowly. When he comes to, his eyes widen in shock. “You,” he swallows roughly. His throat feels dry.

She coos, walking closer to the glass, her hands resting on the counter. “Kai, my destroyed, beloved,” she grins all white teeth and red lips. Overhaul quakes, feeling overcome with the oddest emotion. Is he excited? Is he terrified? It’s a rush of cold pouring through his veins. He feels the familiar ache of the loss of his arms, wishing to thrash in his restraints, but the poisonous woman is here and she still speaks.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ume says in that deceptive tone of hers. It sounds as if she were in awe, but her eyes. Her gaze is so dark that he imagines himself devoured by her.

The reversal of the situation. The way he had her for months on end, trapped in his own area. He should’ve had the upper hand to take back his own control of her relying on him and the odd web of seduction they found themselves in.

Before he was free, he could’ve left her to her own devices. He should’ve killed her when he had the chance, but she stands before him on the other side of the glass. This time, she is where he once was. Now she could continue to see him, the vicious cycle continuing. He wants to yell, scream out to the guards. The rush of blood goes to two places, his head and to his dick.

“You’re here,” he says. She laughs lightly, nodding. Ume was a wretched woman for this. A parasite burrowing her way into his flesh, never coming out. He wants to heave. Her constant advances were intoxicating, they cursed his life. He loathes his own weakness for not denying her. He couldn’t have. He was so close. He aches for her.

She tsks, her fingernail scraping against the glass. The sound high pitched and torturous to his ears. He gasps, not knowing how to make her stop.

Ume presses her lips too close against the mirror, the shape of her lipstick leaves a mark there. He clenches his teeth tightly together so he doesn’t groan.

She leans back, admiring her handiwork. Him on the other side, just how she always wanted to see him. Overhaul, the methodical, locked away in a small room just as she was. He was her likeness.

Ume’s voice points out the obvious, but he can’t bear to think of it, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Kai,” she says, observing him as if she’s viewing a virus through the lens of a microscope. His head hits against the steel of the odd-standing chair that he’s restrained in. “You look ill.”

The contamination has already made its home in him. In her. He can’t escape it. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s wheeled away back to his cell. Once the resounding click of the door encloses him in. He can feel her still there with him, the moaning in his ear returning and the tears are hot against his face.

Your loss, her voice returning from that time. Replaying itself over and over.

[onceupona-chaos]

The Moon Goddess

Azriel helps Elain to find her place in the Night Court. One-shot.

NOTE: I suck at doing summaries, but I have fun writing this one-shot here. I used a beautiful legend from my country to write this and I hope you enjoy!!! And as usual, forgive me for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Be kind! 💙

"How far is this place?"

They have been walking for what felt like hours now, the only light illuminating the tricky path that snaked between huge trees came from the full moon above them.

Even with her Fae vision, Elain couldn't see five feet ahead and there was absolutely no indication of where they were going. Azriel didn't offer details either.

Elain had tried her best that night to appear her usual self in the family monthly dinner at the lake house.

She'd tried to push those words aside, tried to forget them. That was all she could do: try, try, try.

But they kept coming back as if someone out there were whispering them in her ear, branding them into her brain.

She'd been working on Arya's garden, when the elderly fairy came to talk. Elain didn't mind the company at all, but she couldn't help the blow when Arya had said as a matter of fact that Elain wasn't the type who usually fitted in the Night Court.

Elain didn't know what exactly those words were supposed to mean or why she kept thinking about them, but it wasn't the first time someone told her that. Yes, she had family, friends and yet… would that be the reason she felt so empty sometimes? So lost in her own head?

She had been able to act normal at dinner despite those miserable thoughts swirling in her head as if they were mist. Or so she thought.

A glance at the other side of the table had revealed worried hazel eyes filled with sorrow glued on her. Elain had looked away quickly, feeling her cheeks heat.

After dinner, Elain was checking on dessert, when Azriel had entered the kitchen. It didn't take long for her to confess what was in her heart.

Things were still unsure and volatile between them, as if they were flame a second away to turn into a fire. Elain tried not to think about what would take to set them alight.

She knew why he kept his distance, why he was staying up at the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian.

But she missed him. Their conversations until the latest hours in front of the fireplace, the sunny afternoons in comfortable silence, when she'd work on the garden whilst he sat close in one of the tables, going through some paperwork. Pure understanding would shone between them in those moments. Gods, she missed him. His calm, quiet presence always made her worries fade away as if they were nothing but a distant wind.

Azriel had listened to every word, his eyes opened, his expression soft. When she had finished, he merely said to meet him in the garden after the house went to sleep - and with that, he strode out back to the dinner room.

After all the lights has been out, Elain went to find him, subtle and unnoticed. Azriel was already wating for her in the garden.

He smiled at her before take her hand - and they were gone into shadow.

More than an hour after he had winnowed them in the middle of it seemed like a forest and began waking instead of flying, Elain was tempted to throw something at his head. Most likely her shoe.

It only got worse when he chuckled at her question. "Almost there."

"Where is there?"

At that, he turned to look at her, amusement sparkling in his eyes, shadows dancing over his shoulders. But he repeated, "Almost there."

Elain had a perfect plan in her head on how she would throw him in the Sidra when he stopped so abruptly that she almost bumped against his back. Azriel must have noticed if his smirk was any indication.

But he merely stepped aside, allowing her to see what she hadn't noticed before.

There, in the very heart of the forest, there was a serene lake, its water so clear and peaceful that Elain could see the bottom.

Floating on the water were hundreds of white flower buds. The full moon cascaded a silver glow, making them shine so bright as the stars.

A perfect mirror of the night sky above.

Azriel took a place by the shore and sat, his cobalt Shiphons gleaming on top of his hands.

For some reason, that place irradiated peace. Elain's heart was suddenly so light, her breathing so easy that she closed her eyes, letting that sereny in.

A moment later she sat beside him, his wings stretching behind her. He looked so… relax. Peaceful. Even his shadows were gone as if the calm magic of the lake had put them to sleep.

"Those are water flowers. There's a legend that explains their origin." It took a moment for Elain to process his words, too busy staring at him. She blushed a little, but couldn't take her eyes off of him. There, sitting at the shore of the lake by her side, with nothing but the moonlight allowing them to see each other, those hazel eyes shone, the hues of green as bright as the rarest emerald.

Elain only realized she didn't answer when he spoke again, his eyes never leaving hers. "There was this young female... Naia. She was known for her beauty and attracted the attention of males and females whatever she went, and after one look at her direction, some of them promised to make her the richest Fae alive. Others went to the deepest of Prythian to fight our most evil creatures and bring her their heads as proof of their worth.

"But she ignored them all.

"You see… Naia decided to devote all her love to the Moon. Back then, there were these legends - stories - where the Moon was the warrior-goddess Jaci, the Night Guardian."

As the words left his mouth, Elain felt a chill run down her spine as if somewhere Jaci's eyes were watching over them.

"Jaci had a… liking on young females and sometimes, when one of them captured her attention, she would turn them into a star. So they would dance for all eternity with the goddess in the skies.

"Naia had been in love with the Moon for all her life and dreamed of the day she would be chosen. Night after night, she waited for the Moon. When it appeared, she spent the whole night contemplating... and whispering her stories to the skies. She wanted the goddess to fall in love with who she was, and not for her beauty alone."

The way Azriel looked at her now, eyes soft… as if he could see her soul… Elain had to remind herself how to breathe.

He took a deep breath before went on, "But Naia was getting weaker. You see, she didn't want to eat or drink or sleep. All she wanted was to wait for Jaci's call.

"One night she was waiting for the Moon to emerge, sitting by a lake, when she noticed it appeared much closer. She thought it was finally her call, so Naia didn't think twice before throwing herself into Jaci's arms.

"But it wasn't Jaci. It was only the reflection of the Moon in the water. So Naia who was already weak due to her restless wait ended up drowning in the river."

He ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't the goddess call... but Jaci had noticed the female. Naia didn't know, but Jaci could only turn a female into a star once every thirty-three years."

Elain didn't know why, but her eyes burned. Azriel only reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Jaci had heard every whisper, every word from Naia. She had fallen in love with her, but the goddess' hands were tied. And since Jaci hadn't called for Naia, she couldn't turn her into a star in the skies.

"Unable to let Naia die in vain, to never have a dance with the female she loved… Jaci turned Naia into the most beautiful flower and shaped it as a star - a water flower. That way during the night, Naia could finally dance with the Moon in the waters when it was reflected - even if it was only once a month."

He smiled faintly. "That's how the legends say the goddess of the Moon created the Water Stars, whose full splendor can only be seen… " He trailed off as his hand cupped Elain's face, a scarred thumb brushing away her tears. Then, his hand dropped to her chin and he gently turned her head to the lake.

"... at night."

Elain sucked in a breath in pure awe. It was like watching time pass in full speed, as if spring had come in a blink of an eye. When the reflection of the Moon was perfectly upon the lake's center, Time itself couldn't reach them anymore: the delicate white flower buds floating on the water were still at first. Suddenly they all began to tremble as if they had been awoken. And then, they bursted open, revealing glowing petals that seemed to be made of the purest diamond under the moonlight, hundreds of star-shaped flowers covering the lake as they bloomed.

And one by one, they bloomed. One by one, they glowed.

Azriel kept silent as Elain admire the scene before her eyes. She had never seen anything more beautiful, had never felt her heart so full of wonder.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks once again, each one of them a drop of pure extasy and peace. She didn't know for how long they watched the flowers, breathing their sweet scent, but Azriel spoke first, "I'm not familiar with the different types of flowers, but... these are the most beautiful in Prythian." Azriel's voice was a whisper in the night. "And yet, their lovely, true beauty is in the inside. And you can only see it at night. Here."

Elain looked away from the flowers - to find Azriel's eyes already on her, shining brighter than the moon above them now. Her heart jumped in her chest at the raw intensity there.

"Only you can choose where you belong, Elain. Only you."

Right there, she knew. It wasn't just a legend or a story. It was a gift - for her and only her. She blinked away the tears and whispered, "Thank you, Azriel".

The smile that bloomed on his face was even lovelier than the flowers' spectacle she'd just seen.

They sit there for a while, watching each other, with only a calm understanding between them. It was always like that with him.

After seconds or minutes or hours, Elain reached to untied the laces on her shoes.

"What -" Azriel cleared his throat, his brows furrowing. "What are you doing?"

Elain stood barefoot, the cold grass tickled against her skin. She smiled down at him, "Dancing with a goddess." She extended a hand. "Come with me?"

Azriel studied her for a heartbeat, gaping a little at her as if he didn't quite believe what she was asking. Then, he threw back his head and laughed. Not in a sarcastic, mocking way. But out of pure joy like a child seeing the first snowflakes falling from the sky.

Azriel stood, took off his boots and, a second later, his shirt, his tattooed golden-brown skin entirely visible under the moonlight. Elain's heart raced and her cheeks and chest burned a bit.

But even with the hard, sculpted muscles, the powerful wings peeking over his shoulders… It was because of his eyes Elain could hardly breathe. They blazed like stars, fiercely and lovely, as he took her still extending hand.

Azriel remained close to her, so close Elain didn't even acknowledge the cold water soaking her dress, making the fabric hanging tight to her body. Not with the heat of his body next to hers.

They swimmed and swimmed, Elain observing the the water flowers. And Azriel watching her. She could have swear his eyes were darker than before.

Until she couldn't take it anymore. His eyes on her, her skin cold from the water, but on fire from his gaze. She looked at him. "Come closer." Her voice was sure, steady.

Azriel went still, but a heartbeat later he was facing her, close enough to share breath, his skin gleaming with drops of water running down his broad chest.

Without knowing what to do, Elain began tracing his tattoos, feeling him shiver under her fingerprints.

One of his hands found her arm, the other went to stroke her neck, sending a lightning of heat through her body.

She didn't say a word. Neither did he. They were beyond any words of any language.

So they just touched each other, his hands on her, her hands on him, until their mouths collided and light exploded behind her eyelids.

That night, they danced between and under the stars, with only their moans and whispers as music.

[sleepylixie]

Lost Boy

Swan Prince! Felix X Princess! reader 

Fantasy AU, Retelling of the Swan Lake. 

5k words, Romance(Fluff/Angst), Beware of mentions of death(Only mentions, with respect to curses and general dark magical behaviour)

A/N: @crscendoforsung​ hallo, Soro!! Tis me, your Secret Santa!!! You’ve been such a sweet soul (That Jisung anon of yours is so cool. btw-) and I hope you like this little offering to make the end of your year a little bit sweeter! This idea seemed to fit your vibe (and Felix) too well, so I just had to give it a spin~ This here marks the start of Christmas on Sleepylixie!! As always I will be incorporating high fantasy into the stories you will be seeing and I hope all of you enjoy reading them! Huge thank you to @aliceu @decembermoonskz and @seraplantery for helping me through moments of writers block hhhh- Do let me know what you think, my ask box is open!~

Drop me an ask! || Masterlist

I love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch everything wrong. -Lemony Snicket

The first time you met him was quite by chance. You’d broken away from your maids,  eyes glowing in the darkness as you strolled through the woods, humming an odd tune to yourself. It was a full moon night, so you’d headed out under disguise for a night time frolic in the nearby woods. You’d forgone the heavy skirts and tiaras of your royal wardrobe for the looser bodice and thinner skirts of a homespun dress your maid lent you, tendrils of breeze and grass grazing your ankles as you moved. 

All too suddenly, you stumbled  into a clearing by a lake- it was small but beautiful, almost ethereal with it’s still waters and edges disappearing into the shade of the trees. But what caught your eye was a slash of  of white against the darkness of the far shore- upon squinting, you realized it wasn’t a bird, but a boy. Evidently, he’d noticed you too, because he straightened up from his kneeling position, head cocking to the side as his eyes scanned yours.

You smiled at him uncertainly, unsure of whether you were invading a moment of privacy or worse, a moment of dark magic. Your own magic roiled inside you, careful of the possible threat this boy could pose to you. However, he only smiled back, and stepped onto the water- walking over the surface, almost gliding across the lake to your side of the shore. He didn’t leave a single ripple in his wake, almost like he was just an apparition floating right above the water. You watched in silence as he he stepped out of the lake, coming to a stop in front of you.

He was slight in build, almost birdlike- but his shoulders seemed strong under his white and gold outfit. His bright golden eyes curved softly above his cheekbones, burnished bronze hair falling elegantly over the planes of his forehead.

“Hello, mortal.” His voice was deep, instantly sending shivers of wonder down your spine. “Or should I say royal?” He smiled, rosebud lips parting slightly as he nodded at the signet ring on your finger, the only sign of your heritage. He had a sharp eye for detail, this strange boy who could walk on water. Perhaps he was Fae?

“You know of my heritage, but I know not of yours,” you hedged, not wanting to give him your name; names held power, after all. The boy grinned wider, poking his tongue into his cheek as he eyed you amusedly. “You may call me Felix, darling.”

He wasn’t Fae, after all. He was from a far off land, he said, beyond the bounds your kingdom knew of.  He was to stay in these very woods as an apprentice with a family of magic wielders and alchemists. He was an easy talker and an even easier listener; he enjoyed your accounts of the royal court and the parlour you presided over and your evenings of sneaking past the guards into the night markets.

It was a peaceful time with him, walking amongst the woods- you forgot that you were supposed to be with your maids, basking in the new companionship you’d found. You enjoyed Felix’s company, you realized as the night wound down, making way for a new dawn as Felix led you to the edge of the woods.

“You must come see me in the castle gardens,” You smiled, clasping his hands in yours. Felix eyed your intertwined hands before looking back up at your face. Your eyes were bright, your skin glowing against the soft morning sun. “It is a glorious place, you will love the magical herb-house, and oh, the fountain too-”

“I would be honoured, princess.” He bowed his head slightly, suddenly shy. “But I am a being of the night. Visiting after twilight isn’t the most becoming of a lady of your stature, I’m certain.”

Your brows furrowed; he was right, but you did not want to entertain the possibility of never meeting your new friend again. Stars knew when you’d get to sneak this far out of the castle again. “It matters not, dear friend.” you declared. “I shall slip past the guards into the garden, if it allows me to see you again. That is,” you fumbled, a wave of awkwardness invading your mind as you dropped his hands and stepped backwards.  “That is, if you would wish to meet me again, I do not mean to impose-”

“As I said, princess,” Felix smiles-no, smirks, backing up into the trees, almost melting into the shadows. “I would be honoured. Until next moon, then.”

//

True to his word, you saw him standing next to the fountain from your room balcony the next full moon. Slipping past your guards and into the garden, you found Felix gazing around in wonder, eyes bright as he took in the sight.

The wide fountain was set in the center of a large square hedge of rose bushes. At the center of the fountain was the sculpture of a long-haired mermaid with a trident in her twisted hands, face serene as water gushed around her stone-scaled tail. At night, the water shimmered in the moonlight and the soft glow of the moonflies that flitted around the area, making the scene all the more exquisite.

You loved the privacy and peace the fountain provided you, with the tall rose hedges and the flow of water. The moment you stepped into the hedge, Felix’s eyes shot towards you, widening in wonder. You were dressed in lilac gossamer, a silver cape akin to butterfly wings draped over your shoulders and a matching silver wreath woven into your hair... You looked less like the girl-next-door he met and more like the heiress of the kingdom he lived in. He averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. “You… You look breathtaking, Your Highness,” he murmured, bowing low.

You giggled as you walked towards him, your skirts dragging on the grass. “Felix, please. I’m no more than the girl you met at the lake during the last moon. I plead you to not see me otherwise when I am dressed in the garb of a royal.” He straightened up and smiled at you, his demeanor relaxing almost instantly after hearing your familiar voice. He looked almost angelic in the light of the moonflies, bouncing off the glitter on his eyelashes.

“As you wish, princess.” He turned back towards the fountain, letting his fingers trail in the shallow water of the pool as he sat on the edge. “You were correct, this garden is a work of art.”

“It is, isn’t it?” You responded, sitting next to Felix on the edge of the pool, uncaring of your pretty garments. “The gardens take up a good half of the castle grounds. I love spending my nights there. The herbhouse, in particular. We grow a lot of the kingdom’s alchemical herbs ourselves, so I’d suggested we supply them to those who need it for no cost.” Felix glanced at you in surprise, his fingers twirling together two streams of water from the pool. “That’s generous.”

“It’s our duty as royals to make our subjects’ lives as easy as we can,” you shrugged, leaning your head back to watch the stars. “While levying taxes is a necessity, it felt prudent to cut down costs for a normal man and make alchemy available to all. Knowing what herbs are used for what can save lives someday.”

“That’s very noble of you, princess.” He murmured, his lips quirking up as he stared into the night sky. “I’ve seen royals that are drunk off the crown’s power to the point of greed and gluttony. But here you are, giving everything you can for your subjects. It’s admirable, really.”

“As I said, it’s my duty.” You let your attention slip to the pretty shapes Felix was conjuring out of the pool’s water. “Now, tell me, how has your time in the woods been?”

//

As you grew into adulthood, your daily responsibilities became larger, but you welcomed it. You’d trained and studied for years so you could take on the mantle of crown royal for your kingdom, and you were only too willing to make your contribution to council meetings and parlour galas alike. However, your friendship with Felix was like a safe haven from the day’s happenings, a space where you could just be Felix’s companion and not a royal with responsibilities.

The both of you grew more and more comfortable with each other, letting yourself slip into familiarity when you were together. You showed him all your favourite corners of the garden, but your favourite place to spend time together was at the mermaid fountain. You’d always meet there at the last midnight chimes on full moon nights and sit at the stone edge, talking and flicking water at each other.

He would always bring you enchanted wreaths of flower crowns that wouldn’t wilt for weeks- it was for you to remember him by until the next full moon, he claimed. You would wear them everyday until the magic wore off, counting down the days until you got to see Felix again.

The first time you met him was quite by chance. It had been almost a year since you’d begun to meet Felix in your expansive garden. He was waiting for you by the fountain, just as he had a year ago- but something was different. He’d normally be trying to catch the moonflies or playing with the pool’s water, but today he was looking straight at the entrance of the hedge, almost like he was waiting for you.

“Good evening to you too, sunshine.” You smile, walking straight into his arms, as you always did. Hugs were your way of greeting your magical friend from the woods, once you’d caught on that Felix loved physical affection. He’d normally catch you and swing you around, the two of you trying to stifle your laughter as he set you down. This time however, he pulled you closer by the waist, pressing you to his body as he nuzzled his nose into your neck. A shiver of apprehension slithered down your spine. This wasn’t normal.

You pulled back, but his arms tightened around you, restricting your movement- and that was when you noticed it. His normally gold eyes were the darkest shade of obsidian black, his lips pulled back slightly in a smirk. Instead of his usual outfit of golds and whites, he was dressed in stark red and black, making you stumble back at the realization. In your haste to see him again, you hadn’t noticed his clothes, demeanor or eyes, none of which alluded to the boy you were used to meeting.

“You’re not Felix.” You said out loud, hoping against hope that you were wrong. But the boy that stood before you cocked his head, an action that you were so used to seeing from your friend but right now, looked like a foreign action of pure impertinence. “What makes you think so, princess?” His smirk grew wider. You stood your ground, hackles rising at the almost insulting tone he was using. “Was it the clothes? Or maybe the fact that I’m making it obvious how much I enjoy touching you?”

Your teeth gritted as you let out a snarl of your own. “ Watch your mouth, Felix.”

To your surprise, Felix let out a laugh, sticking his tongue in his cheek- another familiar action that seemed disrespectful on this.. This impostor. “Are you scared of me, sweetheart?” He cooed, taking another step towards you. Your magic stuttered to life as adrenaline rushed through your body, an invisible protective forcefield molding itself around your body. “Oh, that’s adorable.” He laughed again, loud and derisive. “That forcefield doesn’t hold a candle to my kind of power, princess.”

“If you’re Felix, prove it.” You demanded, the fear sharpening your senses to cold awareness.  He rolled the cricks out of his neck, training his jarringly black eyes on you again. “We met at a lake a year ago this day. Or rather, you met my twin. He’s the one you’ve been meeting all this while, although I’m loath to admit it. I guarantee you, I’m much looser with my tongue than my damned twin is.”

“If Felix is your twin, what’s your name?” Your voice was cold, devoid of the fear that was rippling through your veins at the moment. “I’m Ellix. Pleased to make your acquaintance, princess,” he spit the endearment out like a curse, dropping into a mocking bow. When he rose, his lips quirked up in the same arrogant smirk, his hands running through his hair. “And who said anything about different bodies?”

//

A quiet knocking awoke you from your slumber the next night, prompting you to sit up and pull the bedcovers over your body. Were you hallucinating? You hadn’t slept at all the previous night, still reeling from the oddity that was Felix. You ordered him to leave the premises immediately after his strange declarations of having a twin… in the same body? He’d held his arms out, pouting for another hug, but you snarled at him until he left. 

Another knock brought you out of your reverie; you were definitely not imagining it. Pulling a robe around your body, you stepped out into the balcony, to be faced with an unfamiliar boy standing next to the railing, his hands twisting together nervously. He had jet-black hair that engulfed his forehead and high cheekbones that made his round eyes look bigger. Your heart dropped slightly; you were hoping it was Felix, here to explain himself. You needed explanations, and your midnight companion was the only one who could give them to you.

“Your Highness, Many apologies for the late hour.” the boy bowed, his voice high for a male, yet smooth- you shook yourself. You were comparing his voice to Felix’s infinitely deeper one. “Who might you be?” You questioned, your voice even.

“I.. well, I’m Han Jisung, your Highness. I’m from the Twilight Woods. You’re Felix’s companion?” The mention of  Felix’s name had you jolting to attention, but you kept your face schooled to polite indifference. “What is it to you?”

“I heard that he.. He wasn’t himself when he came to you the previous night. I felt it prudent to come to you with the information you must be seeking, because Felix won’t tell you himself.”

“On whose authority do you hold this information, Jisung?” you demanded- you were not going to be duped by dark magic. You magic probed him shamelessly for traces of dark magic, turning up with nothing but an airy silence. “On my own, your Highness,” Jisung smiled sadly. “I’m one of the people who know the truth. I’m His Highness Prince Felix’s elder brother, second in line to the Twilight Throne.”

//

“The Twilight Woods outside your kingdom has had its own royalty, ever since it’s inception. We preside over the woods and the surrounding lands and make sure our subjects don’t wreak too much havoc in your lands. Our folk are wilder, they live much longer than your subjects outside the woods and reside further into the woods than any of your folk would dare to wander. The lake you met my brother at is one of the entrances to our kingdom. For the past 200 years, our uncle has ruled the Twilight Woods. His 3 daughters were in line for the throne- but Mina abdicated and Chaeyoung ran away, leaving only… Sana.

“Everybody knew that she was courting the darkness, with her obscene interest in blood magic. When the King our uncle found her in the middle of a pentagram with her hands wreathed in shadows and her lips red as blood, he knew Sana was beyond help. He had her banished immediately, leaving only my little brother and I as choices for ascension to the throne.

“My brother is blessed with an almost endless bank of magic, but he was a creator first, a royal next. His dream was to become an alchemist, providing treatment and protection to the kingdom with his potions. The kingdom loved him, as did our uncle. He saw greatness in my little brother- in his golden heart, infinite power and unflinching moral compass so he chose Felix as his heir apparent.

“The kingdom rejoiced the new era of their to-be king. The coronation was to be the most special day of all our lives. But that Christmas Eve, days before the coronation… Sana broke through the kingdom’s defenses and ravaged her way to the castle. She trapped Felix in a wall of fire in the throne room, rendering any of us unable to help.

“Even his endless power was no match for the abomination she’d become. When she subdued Felix, she.. she placed a curse on him, condemning him to the life of a wordless bird- a swan by day and only reverting to himself by night. She… She gave him no ultimatum. Just that… that she’d give him 50 years to try and find a loophole, just for her sick amusement. If he failed, he would spend the rest of his existence as a swan, completely losing his humanity.

“What we didn’t anticipate was his magic taking a hit from the curse. The internal war his endless magic had with Sana’s curse had created a.. Well, a dark alter ego. We… We called him Ellix. One that was consumed by his base desires and lacked the grace that my brother normally held himself with. Between the curse and the possibility of meeting Ellix at sundown...there was no way he could possibly take the throne. We are not many months short of the 50 year mark, and the stress and fear he’s feeling just means that Ellix is awoken more often than not.

“Yesterday was one such day when Ellix came out to play, and I must apologize on his behalf. You have been a dear friend to Felix ever since you met him. It would shatter him to realize that his own alter ego had damaged a companionship he holds so close to his heart. Ellix is Felix’s darkest, most depraved impulses put into a persona. It is not the Felix you know, the way no mortal is defined by their darkness.

“When he does meet you again, I implore you to not push my little brother away. He is a lost boy, his power and sense of duty beyond that of beings wizened and old. He needs a friend that doesn’t see him for his curse but for the individual that he is. All I ask of you is to be that person for him, for these last few months of his life.”

//

You waited impatiently for the next full moon, barely focusing on your daily royal duties as you counted down the days. As the full moon night got closer, you steeled your nerves, prepared for the possibility of meeting Ellix- a persona that you were woefully unfamiliar with despite the familiar face he carried. This was just another facet of the Felix you knew. How was this any different from the different faces of a mortal’s personality? You would not be bowed by his drastic change in behavior, you decided.

You hurried your steps as you made your way to the mermaid fountain,  the delicate iron chains around your shoulders clicking softly against the midnight blue fabric of your dress. Rounding the edge of the hedge, your eyes instantly caught Felix’s- no, this was Ellix. His eyes were the same obsidian black as before, standing out starkly against his honey skin and the gold circlet that rested on his forehead. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves. His lips dragged up in a smirk akin to the ones he’d flashed at you the previous moon. “If you’re done taking in my appearance, darling, I must say you look absolutely ravishing yourself. ” You rolled your eyes, pursing your lips against the smile that bubbled to your lips unbidden. “If you’re going to behave like a creepy elder with me, Ellix, I guarantee you I will not be hugging you, or walking with you anytime soon.”

A surprised laugh spilled from Felix, his dark eyes lighting up with amusement. This was banter the two of you were used to, indulging in the easy back-and-forth for hours on end. “No hugging or walking for us then, darling.” The endearment spoken in Ellix’s voice struck a chord, sending a familiar shiver of wonder down your spine. “What do you think about talking?”

You grin back at him, taking his hand and leading him to the edge of the fountain. “That is most definitely my cup of tea.”

//

That full moon night cemented your companionship with Felix’s dark alter ego- who wasn’t as dark as he made himself out to be. Ellix was much more easy with his magic than Felix, using his powers to do even the smallest of things. He was also more confident, almost confrontational with his opinions and his sentiments- even if they weren’t in line with yours. You enjoyed the new dimension to your banter, although a small part of you missed the softness that came with Felix himself.

Despite his openness, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask about the curse, or the story Jisung had entrusted you with. It seemed too big of a topic to breach- one that Ellix or Felix would have to address by themselves. So you let the conversation flow in the way they wished it to- quick witted banter and almost flirtatious comments.

The next moon had you encountering Felix again, and you were quick to jump into his arms and he swung you around, the two of you laughing brightly as his eyes crinkled, the jewels under his eyes twinkling softly. He left behind a bracelet of rose-petals and a matching rose wreath. The moon after brought back Ellix, this time with his ornery smirk and a kiss on your cheek before he melted into thin air. 

The fluttering in your stomach every time he said something mildly flirtatious, brought out those presents, or let his touch linger for a second too long wasn’t lost to you. You’d felt floaty and obscenely happy with Felix ever since the first time you met him, the quiet nervousness melting into heady peace and teasing banter every time you met after that. When Jisung told you about the curse, the first thing you felt was a wave of concern that you knew instantly was far beyond the bounds of friendship. You wanted to find him and engulf him in your arms, hold him close and tell him he was brave, strong, more special than he allowed himself to believe. You wanted him to stay close by your side, not for one full moon night but for the rest of your lives so you could tell him every day how much he’d come to mean to you, no matter whether it was Ellix or Felix.

It was a soft, simple feeling that had taken root in your heart in the beginning of your companionship with him and had only grown larger since, pushing the limits of your heart in your affection for Felix. It wasn’t just friendship you felt for the lost boy in your garden- it was love. 

//

“You’re lying. Tell me you’re lying.” Your hands pressed against Ellix’s chest, pushing him away from you. Your magic sparked against your fists as you advanced, Ellix’s only reaction an evil grin. “Why would I be lying, darling?” He purred, his own fingers sparking with the beginnings of a flame. You skirted the edge of the mermaid fountain, your eyes trained on him. The anger and betrayal coursing through your system had you seeing red, but you kept your voice even. “How dare you stand before me and tell me that our companionship was a fraud?”

“Oh no no, darling, I didn’t say it was a fraud,” Ellix bit back, looking like a demon set loose from the Netherworld. “I said that this friendship was a game. You let slip so many royal secrets to me, all of which will go towards the siege that the Twilight army is planning upon your kingdom.”

A snarl of outrage ripped from your throat, sparking your eyes as you stepped closer to Felix, eyes ablaze with fury. “You traitor.”

“I’m the Crown prince of Twilight Woods, Princess,” He used the same mocking tone that drove you up the wall. “I’m a royal before your little companion. Did you really think I agreed to your acquaintanceship because I appreciated your COMPANY?” Ellix spit back, his entire body betraying his disgust.

You reeled back at his words, each one of them pricking your heart with a savage sharpness. “You don’t mean that.” you breathed out, but Ellix was on a roll.

“This entire companionship was built for your desires, with none of mine taken into consideration. You’re too absorbed in yourself, with your hair and your clothes and your little kingdom that you forgot that I was a part of this friendship too. You didn’t give a single damn about me, did you?”He shouted, close enough that the two of you were almost nose to nose. You stood your ground, not wanting to seem weak. Not to him. Never to him- “ You just wanted a sweet submissive little boy from the woods to listen to you, and let me make it clear to you, princess. I am NOT IT.”

A beat of silence passed between the both of you- and then you straightened up, looking down your nose at the boy in front of you. “This companionship is terminated as of this second. I owe you nothing, as don’t you. Does that please you?” Tell me it doesn’t please you, don’t do this to my heart, Felix, please-

“Absolutely, princess-” He pressed a kiss against your cheek, a mockery of an action you’d gotten used to from Ellix. But it only served to set you off, a scream ripping from your throat. “No. You don’t get the last word on this sham of a friendship, you dirty liar. I trusted you with my life and my dreams, and this is what I get in return? You should be ashamed of yourself, Ellix.” Your voice cracked from the rage, but Ellix didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Jisung was right. You’re a monster. Begone, Ellix. Take Felix with you and never return. If you do, I will make sure the guards find a dungeon for you with your names on it.”

All you could see was the glint of his black eyes disappearing into the darkness, likely for the last time- and the only emotion you could recognize from the maelstrom in your mind was that of a broken heart.

The walk to your chambers was a demonstration in self control, eyes silvery with tears cast low and your fists clenched to prevent the scream from leaving your throat. It wasn’t until you reached your chambers that you allowed yourself to fall apart, crumbling to the ground behind your door as you hid your face in your hands- and the soft rustle of paper with the movement of your skirts catching your attention. By some sleight of hand, Ellix had slipped a letter into your pocket.  While you had half a mind to feed it to the flames, the sad, sentimental side of you ripped open the thick paper, scanning the elegant scrawl dancing across the paper.

Greetings, princess.

I’m sorry I never told you the full truth.

Sana did leave one loophole. When she cursed me, she left me 50 years to find a mortal that would love and accept me for my cursed self, a mortal that would look me in the eye and admit to it. But when the complications began to happen with Ellix…There was no point hoping. I bided away 48 years, lost in self-pity and the darkness that the curse festered within me. Until I met you.

You were so beautiful in the moonlight, darling. Over time however, I came to know that it was your goodness that gave you that celestial glow- You were noble and selfless, strong yet soft, relentless in your pursuit for all the good you could bring to your loved ones.

I was smitten by you, but I couldn’t stand to taint you with the horrible scars I bring with me, darling. So I kept my secret and met you every full moon, only falling further and further with every meeting. The first time I held you in my arms, it was like a missing key had finally clicked into my locked heart and princess, I didn’t want to let go of you again. You gave me the sweetest memories in the final year of my life,  and for that, princess, I will be eternally grateful.

I am but a smidgen in the glorious story that will be yours one day, even though it pains me that I will never get to be a part of it- so don’t remember me, princess. Don’t worry about me. Don’t try to save me, because I am likely already beyond the point of saving. There’s no way out for me.

The fact shall remain, as it always will in this letter, even after I’ve passed into the darkness- I love you.

I love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch everything wrong. Justice has done exactly that with me, darling. It has cursed me to live my last moments away from you, lost in my own mind, my magic fighting against the curse to keep the darkness from claiming me. It is my misfortune that I met you so late into my life, but my life’s greatest honour to have known one who shines as brightly as you.

Beyond Forever,

Felix.

You scrambled to your feet and broke into a run, your skirts whipping around your ankles as you let your memory guide you, eyes blurred by the tears that streaked down your face. Ellix was trying to protect you from the pain of losing him, he loved you, he loved you, he loved you- 

Slipping past the guards and into the stables, you were on a horse, riding bareback in the fastest speed you could coax from it, towards the Twilight Woods. You had time, you had to try, you couldn’t just let him die, not  like this-

Before you knew it, you had reached the lake where you’d met Felix for the first time, the memory of his quicksilver smile and his golden eyes- no, one pair of golden eyes and another pair of obsidian orbs flashing across your mind before another fit of tears claimed you. If you remembered right, Jisung had mentioned you’d brushed by an entrance to the Twilight woods somewhere close by this very place-

“FELIX!!” You screamed aloud, dropping to your knees at the shore. “I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, Please come back to me, I can’t bear the thought of losing you Felix, please-” You caught a view of your tear-streaked face in the reflection of the water, rippling softly, uncaring of your screaming.

The first rays of the morning sun began to hit the edges of the lake as you sobbed aloud, the despair setting in and burrowing deep into your chest as the moments ticked by. You scanned the horizon, desperately looking for a sign, any sign of the kingdom Jisung and Felix belonged to- and then you saw it. 

In the far shore, two figures stepped into the soft morning light- both small and slight in build, dressed in whites and golds. One had hair the colour of ebony, the other hair the colour of burnished gold. You straightened up, your eyes widening as you hurriedly brushed the tears off your face.. It couldn’t be..

Both of them stepped onto the water, walking- no, running across the surface of the lake without leaving a ripple in their wake. You got to your feet, backing away from the shore as Jisung and Felix stepped off the water, their smiles brighter than the sun itself. Felix stepped towards you, his arms held out wide and you let out a quiet sob, running right into his warm embrace.

“I love you, I love you so much, thank the stars-”

“You’re here, you’re real, I love you, I adore you, princess-” Your murmurs mingled together, muffled in each other’s bodies as you clung together, scared to move away. You pulled away, your arms still looked around Felix’s shoulders and his neck, only to be met with the brightest grin you’d ever seen lighting up his face. His eyes- one gold and one black, crinkled with happy tears as his lips stretched into an ethereal smile, his hair a dishevelled mess around his ears.  

Felix was the crown prince to a kingdom bathed in betrayal and grief, while you were the heiress of a kingdom that prospered from the nobility that ruled it. Felix’s cousin was likely on the way, pulling her hair out in the frustration of being ousted. You would likely face the music for screaming at a boy in the gardens and then disappearing for hours on end- but in each other’s arms, the two of you were nothing more than each other’s special little forevers.

In that moment, it was truly all that mattered. 

////

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Do let me know what you think! - Elliana.​​

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2021: Blending Cultures

Day 2 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Blending Cultures!

Definitely one of my better oneshots this week, mildly inspired by that one tumblr post talking about how the cloudbabies' mixed heritage should've been more highlighted in LoK. Hope I did it justice!

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 2: Blending Cultures. Aang and Katara were from two very different cultures, but they made their family work anyways.

Word Count: 2.6K

The Air Nation and the Water Tribes.

Two extremely versatile societies, with rich cultures and very diverse people.

From these two societies came two very special people, who against all odds managed to create a beautiful life together: Avatar Aang from the Southern Air Temple and Master Katara from the Southern Water Tribe.

From the very start, Aang and Katara intertwined their traditions in ways not many believed were possible in the fresh post-war era.

Their wedding, the beginning of their family, had been the grandest event in over a century for both nations given that the war had prevented such festivities during its reign of terror. That day was to be a sign of healing, of peace, and of celebration as their friends and family from all four nations came together at Air Temple Island in honor of love.

Aang had been standing at the marble altar in long flowing robes of the brightest yellows, reds, and oranges. The warm smile on his face complimented the warm hues of his clothing, and a string of engraved wooden beads and thread tassels adorned his neck.

Katara, on the other hand, looked like the night to his day, wearing a deep, dark blue dress passed down from her mother. It had golden thread embroidered on the bodice and skirt to mimic the constellations sailors used to navigate the icy waters surrounding her home, and, in Aang’s opinion, it gave her an absolutely ethereal presence.

Bouquets of ice lilies, pink flowers that grew near the Southern Spirit Oasis, intermingled with the flowers of moon peaches grown at the Air Temples lined the halls of the temple as the bride and groom’s loved ones watched them perform each nation’s respective wedding customs.

As per Air Nomad tradition, the week before the wedding, Aang and Katara had visited the four air temples and meditated in front of each of the eternal tornadoes in hopes that the cardinal wind spirits would guide them in the right direction no matter where life led.

The pair had also gotten complimentary tattoos on their backs, right over their hearts (slightly above in Aang’s case due to his scar): yin for Aang and yang for Katara, to symbolize how they balanced each other and created harmony.

When they stood on the altar, their officiator, Hakoda, had tied three sacred red strings around their ring fingers. They were woven from plants growing around Aang’s original home, the Southern Air Temple, and symbolized the red thread of fate binding them to each other, their soulmates. The strings also stood for the three tenets of a successful marriage: trust, communication, and love, all of which they had plenty of.

The second part of the ceremony incorporated the Southern Water Tribe traditions. Around Katara’s neck rested her mother’s necklace, the symbol for water on one side and the symbol for air on the other, an addition by Aang (with her permission of course) so that she would never have to choose between wearing one pendant or the other.

After their hands had been binded by the threads, their two chosen tribal elders, Pakku and Kanna, stepped up with wooden bowls of navy paint in hand and gave them their marks from ice dodging all those years ago. Katara, once again, received a crescent moon in the center of her forehead, the Mark of the Brave, while Aang was given the Mark of the Trusted, a slightly curved arch that barely touched the tip of his arrow.

“Aang and Katara,” Hakoda began, “Your two marks show that you are the embodiment of bravery and honesty, and these traits will do you well in the years to come. You will always have courage and trust in one another, as those are your natural inclinations, but you must take care to incorporate logic and wisdom into your interactions and decisions with one another to remain as steadfast and stable as the undulations of the great ocean.”

He turned to the enraptured airbender, who was unable to tear his gaze away from his soon-to-be wife.

“Do you, Avatar Aang of the Air Nomads, vow to trust Katara, to accept, learn from, and return her courage and bravery, to love her through wind and hail, through blizzards and storms, in times of plenty and of scarcity, for as long as the moon guides the sea’s waves to shore?”

“I do.”

Hakoda smiled and turned to his daughter.

“And do you, Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, vow to have courage for Aang, to accept, learn from, and return his trust and honesty, to love him through wind and hail, through blizzards and storms, in times of plenty and of scarcity, for as long as moon guides the sea’s waves to shore?”

“I do.”

“Then let the spirits of our ancestors, the great Tui and La, and the cardinal wind spirits bear witness to this union and bless it as they have with all those before.”

Hakoda, Pakku, and Kanna all dipped their fingers into a small bowl of water from the Spirit Oasis and sprinkled it over the couple.

“You are now husband and wife. Welcome to the family, son.”

Aang and Katara both smiled widely and pulled each other into a tight embrace.

“We’re married,” the airbender whispered incredulously.

“I know,” she said back. “I was there.”

He laughed and swept her up in a kiss, taking care not to mess up her ornate braids as he closed the distance between them.

“I love you,” he murmured when they finally parted.

“I should hope so, you did just vow to love me no matter what.”

Aang rolled his eyes and pouted. “I’m trying to be sweet here, the least you could do is return the favor.”

Katara gave him an exaggerated sigh and rested her head on his chest, her arms draped around his neck and she closed her eyes in contentment.

“I love you too, Aang. Forever and always.”

“See now that’s more like it!” he grinned, making the waterbender chuckle.

“All that planning, all the months of stress and doing overtime to get the next two weeks off and planning and the wedding invitations and did I mention the planning?” The two shared a short laugh. “All of that and we’re finally here. We’re married. What do we do now? Where do we go from here?”

“Slow down there, Tara. We have the rest of our lives together to figure all that out. Let’s stay in the moment.”

“Rest of our lives. I like the sound of that,” she smiled.

“I did promise you that we would grow old together, did I not? I intend on seeing that through. For now though, the buffet will be starting and I’m famished. Let’s go eat!”

“You sound like Sokka,” she deadpanned, an amused glint in her eyes nevertheless. “Lead the way, my dear husband.”

The airbender gallantly gestured to where the rest of the crowd had already started heading. “But of course, my lovely wife.”

The banquet, like their wedding, was an exquisite culmination of food from all over. There were countless Air Nomad and Water Tribe dishes present, in addition to a few from the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation like bean curd puffs, mochi, and, of course, Aang’s personal favorite, egg custard tarts.

Though Aang had reassured his bride during the wedding planning that she could arrange for as many meat dishes as she liked for her Water Tribe family, Katara had declined, saying that they could go without it for one day.

Instead, the feast had traditional southern foods like kale cookies, five flavor soup, sea prune stew (which Aang took extra care to avoid), and a new dessert that Sokka had been working on: spun sugar in the shape of a ball that he liked to call “cotton candy”.

The guests attending were especially excited for the Air Nomad cuisine present, as such a variety of foods from their culture hadn’t been seen in over a century. Vegetable-filled dumplings and bowls of savory mung bean curry sat on round platforms that rotated in the center of the tables. Golden platters held coconut macaroons, warm steamed buns, and a large variety of fruit pies made from the trees that grew on the mountainside next to the temples. There was also a special syrup made from maple trees that went over a fluffy Earth Kingdom delicacy called “pancakes.”

Everyone had an absolutely grand time, and the event was one talked about for quite some time to come, both with its political significance (the Avatar’s wedding wasn’t something that happened every day) and the symbolism it had for how the nations themselves could work together if they tried to create something beautiful.

The way Aang and Katara’s traditions mixed that very first day of their family was reflected throughout the rest of their life as they blended their cultures for their children.

Aang often took Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin to meditate by the lagoon for some tranquility and peace of mind. He reminded them of the importance of being open to new ideas and to look at things clearly and calmly. He helped them take on life as it came and have faith that they would always be led in the right direction by fate like a leaf being carried by the wind.

Katara also took the three to the lagoon on the southwest tip of the island, not so much to meditate but rather to observe the motion of ripples and the subtle movement of the water. She taught them to always have hope and to not be detached from their emotions. She wanted them to remain present in the moment, making sure they were aware of what they were feeling without being consumed by it- a delicate balance like the ebb and flow of the tides.

Once Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin each turned 14, their parents took them down to the South Pole for ice dodging, a Southern Water Tribe coming-of-age ceremony and rite of passage. As was tradition, their dad, Aang, was to take the three out on a wooden sailboat to navigate the treacherous and iceberg-filled waters of the Antarctic.

Though he wasn’t born in the Water Tribes, the airbender made sure to ask and learn all he could from Hakoda, Sokka, and Pakku so that he could pass on and perform those special father-child rituals.

No one was grinning wider than Aang when he awarded Bumi the Mark of the Brave for preventing the boat from capsizing, his heart had overflowed with joy giving Kya the Mark of the Trusted after she guided them through a narrow glacial pass, and he felt nothing but pure pride painting the Mark of the Wise on Tenzin’s freshly-tattooed arrow after his creative airbending solution to evade an ice blockade.

Despite his young age, Tenzin was an incredibly skilled airbender. Alongside Aang, he was one of the youngest masters in Air Nomad history, having earned his arrows in an extremely tear-filled ceremony a mere month before going ice dodging.

In fact, all of the kids were quite naturally talented at their respective disciplines. Bumi, a nonbender, took up many martial arts forms and combat styles, specifically “aikido” and “anipak.”

Aikido was an Air Nomad self defense technique. Though Aang taught all his children to use any form of fighting only as a last resort, he wanted to make sure they could protect themselves in a precarious situation. Aikido aligned with the Air Nomad beliefs of pacifism by relying on the principle of using your opponent's energy against them rather than being the aggressor.

Anipak, on the other hand, was the name given to the Southern Water Tribe style of combat. Bumi learned the ways of the boomerang and scimitar, a type of sword with a long curved blade, from his uncle Sokka and grandfather, who were delighted to teach him such a vital part of his heritage.

Both fighting techniques served Bumi well during his time in the United Forces and made him known as a great general, soldier, and leader, not just the child of two of the most powerful benders in the world.

As the only girl and spitting image of Katara, Kya learned healing and the Southern Water Tribe style of waterbending from her mother. Despite being a waterbender, she had the heart and spirit of an airbender like her father. She had a natural aptitude towards healing, much like Katara, but didn’t want to learn to fight. It wasn’t until Aang showed her how to incorporate airbending-like movements into her waterbending that she ever opened up to the idea.

Over the years, both parents taught her well, and, true to her nomadic roots, she went on to travel the globe and became a world-renowned healer who could most definitely hold her own in a fight.

Finally, the youngest of the three was Tenzin. With the weight of a whole nation on his shoulders, it was no secret that he held more of a connection to his Air Nomad side, but there was still significant Water Tribe influence.

Tenzin learned airbending from his father, Aang, but after years of watching his mother and sister waterbend, his movements became quite similar. He incorporated more redirection and punchier motions with his acrobatics to create a unique style of airbending that came from both cultures. These gave him an advantage while fighting and led to the thing that would earn him his mastery tattoos: the air wheel, inspired by a similar spinning water move Tenzin had seen Katara do.

The three cloudbabies had truly gotten the best of both worlds, and carried on their parents’ legacies by ushering the world into new eras of unity, peace, and prosperity.

Of course, despite all Aang and Katara’s efforts, there were still moments when Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin felt detached from their heritage. After all, they weren’t fully immersed in either society, having lived at Air Temple Island all their lives. Whether they were visiting their grandpa in the South or sitting in on an Air Acolyte lesson, there would often be a feeling of not quite belonging.

They were from the two rarest cultures in the world, and their combination had never been seen before. No one completely understood what it was like for them, not even each other. All three of them each had different relationships to each part of their culture, whether it was feeling closer to one or not feeling connected to either.

Katara and Aang did their best to assuage any fears or concerns they had, teaching them everything they wanted to know while also telling them that there was no pressure to learn, that they could go on to forge their own path and leave old traditions behind in the past, if that was what they wanted. And sometimes that reassurance helped, but sometimes it didn’t.

No family was perfect, and that held true for them. They had their fair share of problems, but at the end of the day, both Aang and Katara, as well as their children, were proud to be who they were. They were proud of their heritage, of where they came from, and of their unique set of traditions, and they wouldn’t give it up for the world.

So in spite of all the hardships, all the challenges, and all the struggles, with an abundance of love in their hearts for both each other and their children, Aang and Katara, two very different people from two very different nations, managed to create their own culture, a unique mix of Air Nomad and Southern Water Tribe traditions, just as beautiful and blended as their family.

[gloves94]

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 1

Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: "You have everything you've ever wanted." "No." He said softly. "Not everything..." His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. "I guess not." She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes. 

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

"Uncle!" The young prince roared exasperated.

For once his uncle stood on the deck of the ship being quiet and distant. His eyes gazed out into the vast blueness that expanded so far you couldn't tell where the ocean ended and where the sky began. He wore a solemn expression on his face, both of his hands tucked inside of his sleeves. His eyes clouded with a rare sadness.

"I'm so close to capturing the Avatar! I'm going to lose his trail and we are losing precious time! I haveto regain my honor!" Prince Zuko barked. The dishonored banished Prince of the Fire Nation barked.

Iroh also known as the Dragon of the West, the retired general who had been disgraced at walls of Ba Sing Se remained pensive and let out a deep breath he had been holding.

"Why do we even have to go to the colonies?!" The frustrated prince threw his hands over his head.

"I already told you my dear nephew. I've received somber news. The sun has set on a dear friend Sencha's life. And so we must attend the service and show our respects to his spirit and his family."

"This is pointless!" Prince Zuko breathed out a cloud of fire, his exasperation boiling in the pits of his stomach. How he sometimes wished he could just shove his uncle into a sailboat and send him to out so that he could move on with his life and actually have a shot at regaining his honor. Why couldn't his uncle just go by himself?

Zuko was too blinded to see the pain in his uncle's amber eyes.

"Patience," Iroh sighed wisely and stroked his gray beard. "If you allow it, the howling wind shall carry you to your destiny. Who knows? You might encounter something interesting in the colonies."

The prince remained silent.

"Perhaps even the Avatar?" Iroh baited glancing at his nephew from the corner of his eyes.

Zuko gripped the railing tightly, his body tense. His uncle turned to look at him and flashed him a weak smile before squeezing his nephew's shoulder.

xxx

The prince's military vessel docked at the port of Yu Doa.

The city of Yu Dow was one of the first Fire Nation Colonies. It was known for it's unique architecture and surprising co-existence of Fire and Earth bending cultures as near equals. Because of this Yu Dao was the Fire Nation's most powerful asset and wealthiest colony. It was also famously known for having the finest weapon craftsmen in the world.

"This place is... odd," Zuko observed as they made away across the city.

No royal had set foot in the colonies since the war began one hundred years ago and it was safe to say that people from the mainland thought less of those from the colonies. Sneering at them, calling them colonials, and laughing at stereotypes.

The city was quiet, its citizens wore funerary colors and expressions of mourning. All windows were closed and shops were closing early.

"Of course, they are mourning their governor."

The Prince also noted how the people in the streets did not shy away from them like others would've back in the mainland. They neither bowed nor cowered with disrespect. The prince and his uncle entered the gates of the golden palace and were received by an escort who lead them inside the building. The architecture was a mixture of emerald green and square shapes typical of Earth Kingdom architecture with contrasting bold golden pikes, maroon carvings, and large figures and carvings of crimson and golden dragons on the walls which were typical of Fire Nation architecture and culture.

"General Sencha was appointed as the Vice Royal Governor of Yu Dao sometime after your grandfather Azulon rose to the throne. He was a brilliant general, brave, courageous, a good friend and also a worthy Pai Sho adversary," Iroh said with a smile as they were lead through a massive pair of intricately carved golden doors.

"His people, they mourn him. It's almost as if they care-" Zuko was interrupted. "They do," Iroh nodded. "Fire Lords don't often concern themselves with the Fire Colonies once they are tamed. Sencha took it upon himself to provide a life of equal opportunities to both Fire and Earth Kingdom citizens. Together they worked to build and grow the city making it the most powerful asset of the Fire Nation abroad. Because of that Yu Dao paved the way for its own culture and traditions to blossom. That's why this place seems so different to you."

For a moment Zuko thought about his grandfather, Azulon. Besides other aristocrats and the military it had been just another day when he passed. His people hadn't mourned him, he hadn't been missed by many. He certainly didn't miss him. The citizens of the Fire Nation didn't seem to care much for him, then again, he had been a cruel man. It was a drastic contrast to the ambiance in Yu Dao and the respect its people had for their passed leader.

It was then that they entered the heart of the governing room where the service was being held. It was dark and the room was barely illuminated by numerous candles which were burning at different heights. At the center hoisted above a bed of white arranged wild flowers and lilies lay a fine wooden coffin. There were few government officials and family in the private service. The disgraced prince and the retired general approached the front to pay their respects. Iroh knelt before the bed and meditated for a moment on his dear friend's memory. Zuko nodded his head in respect and he patiently waited for his uncle to stand. His eyes scanned the crowd as he attempted to distract himself, not wanting to linger his gaze on the coffin before him. It was then that a spot of red in the darkness captured his attention.

His eyes froze on a person with a hair color he had never seen before. He had never seen an individual with hair the color of fire. Auburn, red, maroon, he couldn't place his finger on the shade. The dim light made it even harder. She appeared to be around his age. Her blazing hair was wavy and reached down past midback, half of it up in the matter that was considered fashionable in the Fire Nation. Her expression was one of pure desolation as a woman whom he assumed to be her mother held her close while holding her hand.

"Prince Zuko!" Iroh whispered harshly elbowing him snapping him out of his train of thought. As he did the girl looked up and their eyes met. His lingered on her face for a second.

Her mother turned as did the man Zuko assumed to be her father. He turned his head sharply ready to walk away, but instead Iroh turned the opposite way and began walking in the way of of the Vice Royal family.

Xxx

"I-I think I need some air," gasped the girl as she took in a deep breath suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Her soul felt numb with the absence of her dear grandfather. She felt dizzy and partly nauseous. She had shed her tears and her eyes were dry from crying so much, over the past couple of days. Her nostrils felt irritated from blowing so many tissues. Her mom gave her hand a gentle squeeze and a sad smile before letting her go. She noted the two strangers that were approaching to pay their condolences.

Distraught she didn't bother in engaging with them or even checking out their improper attire. From the looks of it they were probably military from the Fire Nation mainland. She stepped out quickly suddenly feeling like she couldn't breath due to the stench of flowers, incense and burning candles. She in took a large gulp of fresh air when she reached the small garden outside the governing room. She sat on a stone bench that was placed before a small koi pond fountain and under a blossoming plum tree. Just a few days ago she had been sitting in this same bench with her grandfather. She had been holding onto his arm tightly, he had given her one of the plum blossom flowers, tucked it into her hair and was telling her stories about her late grandmother.

And now- he was gone.

She felt fat tears begin to swell in her eyes as her lungs felt heavy with woe. She had done enough crying. Death was part of life.

"Loss is part of life,"her grandfather had said to her sagely. "But nothing worth keeping is every truly lost."

Her tears certainly wouldn't bring him back. She sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight as an arrow, just as she had been taught her entire young life. Holding her head up with pride.

She didn't know how long she had been out here. Holding her breath, trying to hold it all together.

"The flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful and rare of all," a wise voice interrupted. Her ears had to be playing tricks on her.

It was her grandfather.

"W-What?" She turned bewildered.

Automatically a cascade of tears streamed down her unblinking amber eyes.

It wasn't.

She almost felt as if she had heard her grandfather. She wished it had been him. She sternly believed that those had been his words through a different voice. One that was unfamiliar to her. The man standing beside her was older. His hair was aged and gray and he was large. He seemed like a pleasant person carrying an air of peace and gentleness around him. The kind that his grandfather might've kept around for counsel or as a part of the governing cabinet. He was the one that had walked in late, with the boy with the scar on his face that had been glaring at her during the service.

"Blooming season can be powerful, glorious and intoxicating, but tragically short-lived," the man said wisely. "It is a visual reminder that our lives, too, are fleeting."

Who was this man that spoke in riddles with his wise tongue? Where had he come from?

"They also signify most important above all love." He reached down and with care picked up a lost flower. Lifting it up he offered it to her with kindness. Ceasing her crying the girl took the flower from the wise man.

"Thank you," she said quietly keeping her head lowered in respect.

"You must be Tsai, Sencha's granddaughter," it wasn't a question. He knew who she was. She nodded. The man lowered his head bowing before her. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was a good man, he was also one of my closest friends. Strange that he would pass on such a pleasant day," he commented raising up to view the clear sky above.

"My name is Iroh," he introduced himself. "I have come here with my nephew to pay my respects."

Tsai rose to her feet and bowed her head in equal respect. Of course she had heard of the famous General Iroh, the Dragon of the West. Afterall he had been first in line for the throne of Fire Lord just a couple of years ago.

"General," she acknowledged respectfully.

"There you are!" A woman of similar features to the girl approached the two. She wore a matching dark tunic and her hair was light brown and her eyes were a minty green.

"How embarrassing," she breathed. "I certainly hope Tsai wasn't bothering you with any nonsense General," her mother said as she wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders holding her close.

Being of Earth Kingdom decent Sanyu, her mother, had always been hyper conscious of her and her children's behavior. She couldn't afford for them to be shunned because of their Earth Kingdom heritage.

"Not at all," He smiled kindly. "And just Iroh, please."

"Has it-" Tsai turned asking her mother. She simply nodded. The body had been ignited in flames as it was customary in Fire Nation funerary tradition. Her expression twisted into a tormented one. "I really do apologize that you've come to visit us on such a somber occasion," her father stepped forward. It was the new Vice Royal Governor of Yu Dao. He had introduced himself as Azah. "It would truly be an honor if you could join us for lunch. It is not often that we receive such as esteemed guests. Specially royalty from the mainland."

"Uncle, send for the ship to undock. We don't have any more time to waste," a voice rudely spat into the conversation.

It was that rude boy who had been glaring at Tsai during the service. She eyed him warily as she approached her and her family in the plum-blossom garden. The governor's eyes narrowed at the royal's rude behaviors. Sanju seemed oblivious to this.

"Please excuse my nephew. We'd love to join you," Iroh nodded. "Tsai, have you introduced yourself to Prince Zuko?" Her mother spoke tensely slightly grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her towards the prince.

"Uncle-" The other protested.

"Zuko you're always talking about honor. We are going to stay and join our host the Vice Royal Governor and his lovely family for some tea and dinner." Iroh grinned cheekily as he grabbed his nephew's arms tightly and slightly shoved him forward towards the other teen.

Both were awkwardly pushed to face each other as their families observed the impromptu match-making meeting all with knowing eyes and discrete growing grins. Tsai's older brother Mecha snickered from the back, she wanted to turn and glare at him but was instead once again nudged forward by her mother who was glaring daggers at her and poking an invisible knife at her back.

Her grandfather had just died, could they cut the match-making and courtship some slack?

The prince stood half a head taller than her. Maybe he appeared to be taller because of the way he wore his dark hair, in a tall ponytail, most of his head was cleanly shaved off and Tsai realized that he hadn't been glaring at her. That's just the way his face was, it was stuck in a mean scowling mug with suspiciously narrowed eyes. However the most striking feature was half of his face, which was scarred by fire in an ugly branding on his skin. Of course she had heard stories and rumors about the banished prince. Most girls her age would giggle and say he was extremely handsome, other rumors said that he got his scar in a training accident. However, it seemed that his temper and infamous bad character were no myth.

"Tsai of Yu Dao," She bowed down her head lightly bangs slightly falling forward as she did. "It is an honor your highness."

xxxx

AN: Woooooooooo, this Avatar Netflix revival is doing things to me. I think I LOVE Zuko more than I did when I was watching the series as a child. I'm super excited to see where this story goes. I'm almost done writing it at chapter 30 and I've grown super attached to these two characters.

Let me know what you guys think and send me some love!

Best,

xxx

First: [Here] Next:  https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621143206633046017/sunburn-prince-zuko-2

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

[pro-fangirls-unsocial-life]

The Dark Side of the Full Moon (4/9) Were!Rex x Reader

A/N: Hey Everybody! Hope you enjoy this chapter! I know its a day early from my schedule but I have two finals tomorrow and wanted to focus on those while still giving you guys content. As always, let me know if you want to be tagged whenever I post a new chapter of this fic!

Length: ~2400 words

Warnings: angst. Ill also throw in canon typical violence just to be safe.

Previous - Next

It was quiet as the three of you walked through the woods. The only sound being made when the snow crunched under the feet walking through it.

 You kept your eyes on the miniature crossbow that Wolffe had strapped to his back. He held his other in his left hand while he led the way with a burning torch in his right. You would glance back at Cody every now and again to make sure he was still alright. He kept his large crossbow up and ready, constantly checking behind him.

 They had given you a short sword while you were all stopped at the armory before you left. When you and Rex had started dating, he had insisted that you get one so that he knew you were safe while he was not there. General Kenobi had been giving you lessons on how to use it whenever he was back from the front. You had become rather skilled with it. General Kenobi even went so far as to say that you nearly matched him when it came to mastery of form three.

You kept one hand on the hilt while the other was stuffed in your pocket, clenched out of fear and because of the freezing wind that blew through the trees.

 In the silence, your mind raced with thoughts about Rex. How terrified he must be and how nervous you were that he was out there somewhere, all alone. Your mind kept flashing back to the eyes that you had looked into earlier that night. So beautiful and warm until they were harsh and murderous. Staring you down like you were its prey. The image of a gigantic paw raised, about to strike sent a shiver through your body. You shook your head, trying to wipe it from your mind.

 No.

 Rex would never hurt you. He would never hurt Cody. Whatever happened was not his fault. He couldn’t control it.

 “Stop,” Wolffe said harshly pulling you from your thoughts. You froze and followed his gaze toward the trees in front of him. His hand tightened on his weapon as he raised it to point in front of him.

 “What is it,” Cody said, his voice low.

 Wolffe takes a step back, framing your body between his and Cody’s. “We’re being watched,” he said.

 You quieted your breathing and listened, still only hearing the deafening silence of the forest around you.

 You saw Cody scan the trees, his shoulders tensing as he readied himself for a fight. “Are we far?” His voice had an edge to it as he shifted back into his battlefield mindset.

 You had your hand wrapped around the swords grip, readying yourself in case you had to draw it.

 “No,” he said, his eye still scanning the darkness. “It’s just around that bend.”

 You looked around and saw a faint glow of light through the trees in front of you to the left.

 “Y/N, can you see well in the dark?”

 You watched Wolffe’s face as he went over his plan in his head. “Well enough,” you said, understanding what he was going to do.

 He gave a curt nod. “Good. When I put out my torch, we run to the house. Got it?”

 You gave him a small hum and shifted your weight as you heard Cody softly grunt in response.

 “Ready?” Wolffe raised his arm and you took a sharp breath in. “Now!” He plunged the light into the snow, extinguishing it. You began bolting toward where you had seen the light, Cody and Wolffe on either side of you. You could not hear anything other than the footsteps and heavy breathing of yourself and the two commanders, but you didn’t dare look behind you to see if anything was there.

 The light began to get brighter and brighter before you could make out the shape of a small house, the windows glowing with green light that spilled out onto the snow. You reached the small wooden door and yanked it open. You rushed in and fell to the floor with Wolffe on your tail. Cody tearing in and pulling the door shut once he saw that you had both made it inside.

 You took a deep breath as you got up, brushing the dust and snow off of your dress.

 “You okay,” Wolffe asked as he put his hand on your shoulder.

 You nodded your head and began to examine the interior of the house.

 The walls were made of dark red stone and the wood that made up the frame was dark black. There was a lightless hallway on the other end of the room that you had no desire to explore. A table made out of the same stone that surrounded you was in the center of the room, small items outlining its perimeter. The fire in the fireplace glowed a bright green as it curled around the pot that hung over it. Two swords with curved handles and red blades sat in the corner along with a dark robe. The room smelled like an awful combination of rotting flesh and blooming flowers.

 “Why are you here,” a voice hissed out from the shadows of the hallway. “Come back so I can give you a matching set, Commander Wolffe?”

 Wolffe pulled the other crossbow off of his back and squared his feet, his mouth morphing into a snarl. Cody stepped in front of both of you and put his hand up in front of Wolffe’s chest, holding him back.

 “We’ve come to ask for your help,” Cody said, his voice level. He stood straight and bowed his head lightly to show the mysterious figure good will.

 The voice stepped out of the shadows to reveal a bald and pale woman. Her face was covered in tattoos and she wore black robes that covered her from the floor up to her neck. She sneered in disgust as she gazed at Cody. “I see that you have finally learned negotiation skills from that coward Kenobi.”

 You looked at Cody, and saw his jaw tighten slightly as his face remained neutral. “We are not here to fight you, Ventress. We’re here on business.”

 Ventress scoffed. “What kind of business?” Her eyes turned to you and she looked you up and down. She gave an evil and knowing smile before she laughed. “Oh, I see. You’ve finally discovered the little experiment on your brother. I guess that would explain the state of your face Commander.” She chuckled as she walked over to the table in the center of the room. “Although, I guess anything is an improvement for you.”

 Wolffe pushed forward, Cody’s arm still holding him back from Ventress. “What did you do to Rex,” he shouted.

 Ventress laughed again and waved her hand, a chair appearing below her as she sat down at the table. “Me,” she said feigning innocence as she evilly smirked at Wolffe. “I didn’t do anything to him. I just know of what did happen to him.”

 Cody took a small step forward his voice still level and calm. “Then you know how to fix it?”

 “Of course I know how to fix it,” Ventress replied with a scowl. “But why would I help half-breed Fett’s like you?”

 Wolffe growled and tried to lunge forward at Ventress. Cody turned and held Wolffe back as he screamed at her. “Cody let go of me! What did you do to Rex you witch! I ought to kill you where you stand!”

 “Wolffe!” Cody grunted as he held his rage filled brother back. “Calm yourself!”

 Ventress held her hands out, summoning her swords to them. She vaulted over the table and raised them to strike at the two brothers that were struggling against each other. Before she brought her blades down, you threw yourself in her path.

 “Please,” you screamed your hands coming up in front of you. Her blades halted in her path as she stared down at you in fury. “Please! I’ll do anything! Just help me save him!”

 The room turned quiet as the three of them stared at you. Ventress lowered her blades as she contemplated what you had said. Cody had let go of Wolffe and they looked at you in shock.

 You stared at Ventress as she turned back toward the table. She set her blades on the cold stone and faced you. “What do you have that I could possibly want?”

 You took a step toward her. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

 “Y/N,” Cody said as he grabbed your arm. You looked back at him and saw the questioning look on his face, wordlessly asking if you knew what you were doing.

 Ventress gazed at you with misunderstanding. “Why?” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Why would you be willing to do anything for that half-breed of a captain?”

 You heard Wolffe snarl and felt Cody’s hand tighten around your arm. You looked down at the floor and then back up to meet Ventress’s eyes. “Because I love him. He’s my family.” You looked back at Cody and Wolffe, both of their faces softening slightly when you met their eyes. “And so are they.” You turned your face back toward Ventress with confidence. “I would do anything for them.”

 Ventress stared back at you in confusion, the room silent. She gazed down at the trinkets adorning the table and ran her hand over one of the curled up purple bow strings. After what felt like ages of silence, she looked back at you, her face unreadable. “You wear a kyber crystal around your neck. Why?”

 You reached up to touch the small, color changing crystal that was hidden beneath your dress. Rex had brought it back for you from one of his missions. He said that it reminded him of the way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight. You had no idea that it was the kind of crystal that the Jedi used to forge their glowing swords.

 “How did you—”

 “I’ll help you if you give it to me.”

 “Why do you want it,” Wolffe snarled out. “Those things are magical. Why would you need it?”

 Ventress glared at him and walked up to his ridged form. His hands were curled so tightly around his weapons that his arms started to shake. He growled at her as she got up into his face and pulled off the cloth covering his eye, revealing his scarred face. Her taunts making him vibrate with rage as he tried to restrain himself. “You Fett’s are all so close. Willing to die for one another.” She pointed into his chest and his face contorted in pure anger at her touch. “Well my sisters did die for me. That crystal will let me resurrect one of them. Pull the living force back into her body.”

 Wolffe scowled down at her. “There are one too many witches in the world if you ask me.”

 Ventress scowled and reached her hand out for her sword again. You put your hands on the hilts and put all of your weight on them, keeping them anchored to the table. “You can take it!” Ventress turned to look at you. “Just tell me how to save Rex.”

  She put her hand down and walked over to the other side of the table. She sat down and held her hand out for the crystal.

 You opened your coat, grabbed the crystal, and yanked it off of your neck, breaking the string that held it there. “I will not place this in your hand until you tell me.” You stared at Ventress defiantly as she sneered at you.

 She waved her hand and two items appeared on the table in a green mist.  A bundle of silver tipped arrows with some rope and a small vine covered in thorns.

 “There are three ways to make a werewolf turn back into a human. The first is to kill the wolf that infected them. I’m assuming that you are not yet privy to that information?” You shook your head. “I thought as much.” She pointed toward the arrows in front of her. “The second way is to shoot them directly in the heart with a silver arrow. This will make whoever is afflicted turn back into their human form instantly.”

 “We want to keep him alive! We are trying to save him, not kill him,” Cody shouted from behind you, his calm demeanor beginning to crack.

 “Quiet, half-breed!”

 You turned to Cody and held up your hand, keeping him from stepping forward. “And the third,” you asked as you turned back to Ventress.

 “The third, is to draw their blood using the thorn of the Wolfsbane flower. Once you have done this, he will turn back into a human at sunrise and the infection will have left his body.”

 You look down at the items on the table. “Will that keep him alive,” you ask hesitantly.

 “Yes. Although I suggest that you take both of these things with you.” She smiled unnervingly. “You never know who, or what, you’ll encounter in these woods. You may find that there is more than one enemy that awaits you in the darkness.”

 You looked at her cautiously and picked up the vine. You looked back at Cody, silently asking if you should take the arrows. He nodded warily and you hesitantly reached out to grab them. As you closed your hand around them, Ventress’s hand forcefully pinned yours to the table.

 “Ah, ah, ah,” she crooned. “My payment first,” she said holding her other hand out.

 You slowly placed the crystal in her outstretched hand, and she released you.

 “Thank you,” she said standing up. “Now,” she said with a dark scowl, “Get out.”

 You turned and walked toward the door, Wolffe and Cody following behind you. You placed you hand on the knob and looked at them. Cody took the arrows from your hand and split them with Wolffe. They both looked at each other and hesitantly back down at the arrows. They slowly put them into their quivers and looked back up at you, each giving you a reassuring nod.

 “Ready?”

 They both nodded, determined looks on their faces. Both of them grabbed the torches that hung on the wall next to the door.

 “Let’s go find Rex.” You turned the knob and opened the door, marching out into the cold, dark night.

[write-a-bad-romance]

Holy Woman (Ikevamp Angst Week 2020)

Ao3 link: Here

Prompt: “Character Death” and “Loss”

Words: 2761

Made for Ikevamp Angst Week Day 8 and 9. Tagging @ikevampangstweek​.

This work features mild spoilers for Jean’s route and a genderbent (female) version of Jean d’Arc.

dulce et decorum est pro patria mori 

In the dark of the night, she ran amidst the clamor of gunshots and shouts far behind her. The blizzard became her cover —she was deaf to the entire world save for the ominous howling of the wind right beside her ears.

Her long silken hair, free from its bindings, trailed like spun silk as she bounded across the snow. With nothing to guide her, not even the hand of God Himself, she escaped into the wasteland.

Like a specter she vanished, abandoning her crown and a condemned history behind her.

"Drat!" Charles cursed, shaking his head as the horse finally breathed its last.

And when I'm so close to the town too! This can't be happening! Last night's blizzard was horrendous; he had to take shelter at the dilapidated empty house, horse and cart, and all. Delivering every crate containing vials of serum in tip-top shape had been his objective.

But there was little he could hope for, not when he had a horse with a broken leg.

"No, no, no." Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes. Years carrying corpses and dying men back and forth on the battlefield made him immune to the sight of mortality. But the combination of fatigue after days on the road and lack of sleep was more than enough to break his already dwindling spirits.

"No," he repeated, slapping himself on both cheeks. "This won't do. Think of the townspeople. They're waiting."

With heavy steps and an even heavier heart, Charles sat by the side of the road. It would take at least five hours to reach his destination on foot. Gears turned inside his exhausted head as he devised a plan: hide the crates inside the house, walk along the road, and see if there are any houses nearby. Walk up to their door, knock, smile and ask them if you can borrow their cart —

And risk leaving the crates unsupervised. Right. No one would have the mind to somehow spirit away crates full of vials of dubious substance, but Charles dreaded losing his precious cargo if that meant another three days' ride to the Medical Center.

What a conundrum! Charles's idle hand grabbed fistfuls of snow, feeling the raw chill bite into his skin. The sensation helped alleviate his fidgety nerves.  

Besides, there's no guarantee I'm not going to get caught in another blizzard when running around seeking help. The rose-haired man sighed, scratching at the memento wound around his neck. What should I do now? Stay put and pray for a miracle to come my way?

Back at the battlefield, in the flapping tents where prayers die on the mouth of soldiers reaching to grasp at specters of their beloved, Charles lost his faith in the Almighty. H is more cynical colleagues joked that God had been replaced by the emperor, his enemy monarchs, and whatever whims they impose on us poor, downtrodden common folk.

It wasn't until his mother pestered him that Charles once again re-adopted a habit of praying. Ironic, considering his mother's pragmatism towards their soiled family business. War was capable of moving the smallest of things, it seemed.  

Charles realized he had been dozing when he felt something approach. The tremor he felt underneath his feet signaled that it was another cart, most likely heavy duty. The young doctor jumped to his feet, regretting it immediately as he felt himself swoon and nearly losing his balance.

"Excuse me!" He waved at the cart, a figure clad in a dark blue cloak from head to toe at the reins. "Are you in any way passing through the next town?" Charles yelled.

The stranger stopped his cart right in front of Charles, silent. Worried he didn't hear him the first time, Charles composed himself and cleared his throat.

"Will you, by any chance, be passing through the town? The one with a mountain abbey?" He pronounced his words carefully, his heart beating in trepidation as the veiled stranger didn't seem to respond. He could wait for another cart to pass by but damn if he let this chance slip.

The figure nodded, and a deep-toned, feminine voice reverberated through the crisp, winter air.

"I am heading to that town." The woman answered severely. "How may I be of service?"

Charles was perplexed by her manner of speech but approached her nonetheless. "My apologies. I was transporting some cargo on my own cart when the blizzard came, and I had to take shelter in that empty house over there."

The cloaked woman regarded him in silence as Charles struggled to resume his explanation. Did she find him suspicious? Was she to be suspected, herself? Countless scenarios rushed through Charles' restless mind as he motioned vaguely at the dilapidated building.

"And then my horse broke one of its ankles—"

“Your horse?”

Charles was ready to receive whatever tirade the woman was prepared to discharge, judging from her pressing tone. But to his surprise, the woman was already jumping off her cart, the wind knocking back her veil.

Revealing a burn scar mark in the shape of a spark over her right eye, concealed in part by her thick, lavender bangs. It extended across the side of her face and neck, disappearing underneath her collar. Her left eye was hidden under a black eyepatch, revealing a scarce expanse of alabaster skin.

Charles' face grew red as he realized that he was staring. Her dark, empty orb seemed to suggest that she too had noticed. Quickly, Charles apologized.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to stare—" but the woman had already turned towards the house.

"Show me the horse," she commanded.

Swallowing his guilt away, Charles brushed invisible snow off his pants and followed suit. "Right," he coughed. "This way, Madame."

"So, you've met Sister Joanna." Monsieur Faust concluded. He was the town's only doctor, a strapping young man in his late twenties. He had on him shapely, robust shoulders and intelligent eyes behind a pair of square, thin-framed glasses.

The only aspect Charles found disconcerting about his temporary senior was his penchant for sardonic, offhand remarks that seemed to serve as a barrier between him and the vernacular crowd.

"Sister?" Charles exclaimed, having signed the last of the transport papers. "Is she part of the convent?"

"No, not at all." Faust chuckled. "In fact, I believe it's been years since anybody's ever seen her inside the church or taking part in any religious gathering."

Charles recalled how the lean woman helped him move the dead horse out of the barn and buried the horse by a nearby tree. He was still amazed by the woman's astounding demonstration of strength as she loaded the bulky crates onto her own cart.

"It was the nuns who called her that during her stay at the abbey. The nickname carried long after she left," The older man continued. "I was the doctor who treated her when she first arrived a year ago."

Those burn scars, Charles gulped, amethyst eyes still boring into his own long after their parting. "What does she do now?"

"She's the town's handywoman, for lack of a better word." Faust's nimble hands arranged the vials into neat rows inside a cabinet. "She accepts odd jobs every now and then, though you're more likely to see her at the weapons shop by the square. She seemed to have lived quite close to the military at some point."

The man's curious pause before rolling the word military didn't escape Charles. Whether it was said out of genuine disdain for their country's warmongering exploits or twisted sympathy for his own history, he didn't know.

"Other times, especially outside winter, you can find her attending to flower beds just outside of town," Faust muttered. "She would bring back different-colored flowers in vases and deliver them to the flower shop. You'll see what I mean quite soon."

"Flowers? The military?" Charles was at a loss for words as the man slew exposition after exposition in rapid succession. And he had pegged him to be the quiet sort! "I take it she must have been living quite illustriously before she came to town."

"That she is," The other man nodded. "Quite the character, isn't she? Sister Joanna does what she likes, regardless of what others see."

Charles decided to take a stroll after lunch. Now that he's done resting and arranging his belongings at the inn, it was time to explore the rustic town.

The innkeeper was an amiable man with ivory hair and crimson eyes, not much older than Faust. The flower shop the doctor mentioned was adjacent to the inn's lobby, and the owner of both establishments introduced himself as Vlad. Not Vladimir, not Vladislav, just Vlad.

Charles detected something beyond mere eccentricity beneath the man's lighthearted disposition. There was a noble air to him that made Charles suspect Vlad was related to one of the hussar princes the Continental army overthrew seven years ago.

The man responded to Charles' prodding joke with a subtly accented, good-humored reply. "I hail from Targoviste! But now that you mention it, my family is descended from a long line of voivodes from the Middle Ages . "

Charles decided not to pry further lest he be turned to fertilizer for the pansies at the inn's backyard.

His feet took him to the town square, where Sister Joanna's weapons shop supposedly was if he remembered correctly.

In the center was a sizable statue of a peasant woman, her arm cradling a bundle of wheat to her bosom. The other arm was reaching towards the sky, a long strip of sash winding around the limb like a vine. Charles found it so lifelike it could've been fluttering along with the icy wind.

Sister Joanna was standing by the base. Her slacks visible below her dark robes and sinewy stature made it easy to confuse her with a man. Charles walked towards the lone woman, intending to thank her.

“Sister Joanna!” He called excitedly. “Sister Joann—”

Charles fell quiet as he observed the woman pressing her hands firmly pressed together in front of her breast, long fingers pointing towards the statue in silent prayer.

It took a moment before she finally turned to look at Charles. The young man noticed a bundle of freshly picked snowdrops and hellebore resting at the statue's foot.

Charles found himself speechless as he was once again met with Sister Joanna's hollow gaze.

"Yes?" Her dry voice penetrated the once-welcome stillness. "Do you need anything?"

It wasn't that Charles was unaccustomed to make small talk with women. It was Sister Joanna's mannerism that had put the younger man at unease. He collected himself and knelt down, paying heed to spare her some distance.

"I think I should pray, too." He smiled, hoping to reduce the tension. "But I don't have any flowers on me. Too bad."

"Do as you see fit." The woman replied impassively.

Charles' heart regained its composed pace after he offered hushed words of prayer for the souls of his fallen comrades. He rose and beamed at the indomitable woman, whom he caught staring.

Sister Joanna wasn't the least bit unfazed when Charles's youthful face broke into a grin. "Do you know who you're even praying for?"

His eyes returned to inspect the statue, the granite matron towering over the strange couple. "This statue was built in honor of the fallen soldiers and their widows, was it not?"

Sister Joanna didn't respond, seemingly absorbed in the statue's presence as well.

"The Emperor marched through these passes on the way to claim his first victory. Thousands of the men died in the expedition, and they were laid to rest by the abbey."

Charles stepped forward to run his palm over the statue's nameplate.

"The Weeping Widow," He read. "The woman's statue was meant to stand for the widows and lovers of the fallen men, waiting somewhere at the other side of the country. I can't imagine what it feels like to have someone come knocking on your door and tell you that the man you love is dead."

Ignoring Sister Joanna's lack of commentary, Charles continued. "This statue was built with the hopes that no more widows would have to share that fate. That's a beautiful thought."

"How did you come to know all this?" she finally interrupted.

"My uncle took part in the expedition. He lost an arm after the battle and was recuperating in this town when they built the statue." Charles recounted heartily. "It is sweet and proper to die for one's own country, he’d say to his nephews and grandchildren. He kept boasting about wanting to follow his friends to heaven. Or hell."

"It is sweet and fitting to die for the homeland is a more precise translation," The elder corrected. "They keep omitting the following lines:

sed dulcius pro patria vivere,

et dulcissimum pro patria bibere.

Ergo, bibamus pro salute patriae.

'A reasonable translation would be but sweeter still to live for the homeland, and sweetest yet to drink for the homeland. So, let us drink to the health of the homeland." She recited, her sonorous voice unwavering. "Why choose to die at the behest of unconcerned rulers when you can return to a loving home and family?"

Charles was taken aback by the mistress's sudden erudite lecture, almost sharp in its delivery.

"Forgive me," Charles blushed in embarrassment. He'd been correct —Sister Joanna was as enigmatic as her appearance, if not more.

 “To die for one's own country. The Emperor's beloved quote." Sister Joanna murmured. "A flowery epigram befitting an equally deranged man."

"I beg your pardon?"

Two years after the Emperor's death, all of the Continent remained in discord after his abdication and subsequent death. There were demands of his generals' execution after they failed to have the ruler beheaded himself.

In some parts of the country, statues in his image were toppled, and his estates were raided. Angry mobs and disillusioned former soldiers banded together to hunt down possible adherents to the old, 'warmongering' regime.

The recalcitrant woman stood tall against the backdrop of a secluded, provincial town hidden among mountains. Maybe there was a truth to Faust's words about her past dealings with the military.

Speak no ill of the dead doesn't apply to warlords and rulers, it seemed. Joanna sighed. "I can't imagine anyone deigning to pray for his poor soul."

His family, Charles dreaded to say. Whatever was left of the royal family were chased to the shores, some immediately captured as they attempted to land in the Isles.

Their encounter had taken quite the morbid turn. Yet it didn't deter Charles from wanting to know more about the woman standing by his side. The young doctor felt small, figuratively and literally, considering his shoulder didn't quite reach hers.

"I should return." Sister Joanna announced. "The sun is setting."

She was heading to the weapons shop, no doubt. Charles nearly forgot his reason for wanting to approach her in the first place.

"Wait!" He called, "I forgot to thank you for your help!"

"What?"

Charles panted as he struggled to match Sister Joanna's pace. Not only does she act like a soldier, she even walks like one!

"I haven't thanked you enough for this morning." He considered extending his hand but refrained, remembering that in proper circumstances, she would be the one extending her hand.

"I don't think I've introduced myself properly, have I? My name is Charles. Charles Henri-Sanson." He flashed her what he thought was his most bedazzling smile. "I might be staying here for the next four months or so,"

Sister Joanna regarded him with mild interest. "I see." She nodded. "Nice to have your acquaintance. I presume the doctor has told you plenty about me, considering you called me by name."

"He did!" Charles answered, not missing a beat. "He told me many things about you."

"Did he, now?"

The pair continued to make their way towards the edge of the square, Charles continuing to engage her with a barrage of questions, and Sister Joanna placating his curiosity with lukewarm zeal.

It didn't take long before they arrived at the entrance to the shop.

Sister Joanna uncovered her cowl and faced Charles. The entirety of her charred visage was now visible, unobscured by the midnight-colored fabric.

"You're a strange man," she observed. "Are you not revolted by the sight of my face?"

"Madame, I used to serve as a doctor until the last days of the war," He chuckled in earnest. "Before I was captured by the Coalition and became a prisoner.”

To be continued in Part 2.’

Special thanks to @batteryrose​ for her doodles of Jean with burn scars all over his body.

[rhiannoneithne]

Chapter 1

I was running, faster than I knew I was capable, down a slight incline.  I was wearing a heavy blue cloak, and I could feel it flutter behind me and catch occasionally on the trees as I moved.  The woods were pines and oak, with thick underbrush of leaves that crunched under my bare feet as I ran.  I didn’t know why I was running, just that I needed to; as though it were in my blood, and my very soul was screaming to continue.  

I began to laugh as the sunlight streamed through the cracks in the foliage, casting light in red and gold.  The air was crisp, and I could smell salt water blowing in from nearby, even though I had no idea where I was headed, or what else was around.

I abruptly stopped, nearly tripping over a fallen log a few inches from my feet.  I could see it, I felt drawn to it - a massive, ancient, oak tree.   I put my hands out in front of me and could feel an almost magnetic draw, I needed to touch it, to wrap my arms around it, to become part of it.  

I stepped forward, as the sky suddenly grew very dim.  Thunder began to crash above my head, and the wind began to swirl the leaves around my feet.  I touched the tree, both palms pressed against it at chest-level, and watched as the bark began to develop a blue glow.  The glow grew and began to take shape, quickly forming writing across its’ width.  “AWAKEN!” it read.

“Child, Awaken!  The sun has been up for at least two hours!”  I could feel myself being shaken back to consciousness, and opening my eyes, met the kind eyes of my grandmother.  Her face was softly wrinkled, and her hand cool on my shoulder.  

"I'm awake now, Amima." I put my hand over hers.  "I'm sorry I overslept. I'll hurry, and finish the chores."  I sat up quickly, untangling myself from the mass of auburn hair that had wrapped around my waist in my sleep.

"No need, dear girl!  What, you don't think an old woman such as myself can keep up with you?  Come down when you're dressed, and we can discuss what kept you to your pillow whilst you eat."  She made her way down the narrow, rickety steps with ease, and I was left to myself to wake up.  

I could see the sun streaming through the large window next to the stairs.   I stretched, sat up, and smiled at the warm midsummer morning.  Breathing inward, I could smell the morning bread, fresh from the oven.  There may even be strawberry preserves.  I wanted to just fall back to my pillow and imprint this moment to my memory, but my stomach had other plans.  Growling loudly, it reminded me that there was a reason Amima was considered one of the best cooks around.  

I eased out of bed and padded over to the chest next to my bed.  There was a pale green skirt with tiny red pinstripes, and a pretty cream blouse next to my fresh shift and petticoats, all laying nearly on top - a special outfit for the Spring Festival.

I quickly dressed, grabbed my brush, and ran down the small steps.  I could see my grandmother sitting at the large table, laden with bread, jam, and fruits.   The windows were open at the far end of the long table, and I could smell the sweet scent of warm grasses blowing in and mingling with the bread and the herbs my Amima kept dried hanging from the rafters.  

“Come, child, eat, and let me brush out your hair.”  I handed her my brush, reached out and ripped-off a hunk of fresh bread, and could hear Amima chuckle softly.  I could almost hear her thinking, “There’s a knife right beside you, my child.”  I rolled my eyes “Yes, Amima” I said aloud, forgetting that I was imagining her response.  She chuckled louder.  As I slathered it with fresh butter and strawberry jam, I held it in my teeth briefly as I had almost forgotten to don the red apron hanging upon the wall behind me. I tied it quickly, took a bite of my breakfast, and sat down on the stool at her feet.  

Feeling around in my apron-pocket, I came across the pale green ribbons she had given to me the night before.  “For the festival”, she had said with a wink as I kissed her cheek and stuffed them in the pocket.  

My hair was long - nearly to my knees, and this process would take quite a lot of time, bread, and tea before the tangles would be gently smoothed away, and braided into whatever Amima fancied that day.  We had a system.  I would sit, eat, drink, and talk.  She wanted to know everything on my mind, especially my dreams from the night before.  She knew how I took my tea and had it waiting as I settled in.  Every once in a while she would stop to refill my cup, or cut another slice of bread, or even just turn my face toward hers and kiss my cheek.  I loved the feeling of her cool hands upon my face.  I loved her, she was my family, all I had in the world, and I dreaded the idea of losing her.  

“Impossible!” She would always laugh.  “Stuff and nonsense!  I’ll outlive you at this rate, with your tending to the wounded animals, running about the valley with Baiel, and your sleeping in trees when you’re supposed to be minding the goats!”

So taking the first slurp of my hot, sweet, mint-tea, I asked: “Will you do something special to my hair for the Festival?”
 “Mmmhmm…” Was her reply.  She had to know how much I hated surprises!  As the brush ran through my hair, I took another bite of bread and around it began to tell her of my dream from the night before.  Of the trees, and the energy I felt in my hands, and the blue words written upon them.  

“Oh my child, my Analei.  What remarkable dreams you have.  I wish my sleep were so vibrant, but at my old age it’s best that I not get too excited.”  I could hear her smile in her voice and I giggled.  Amima was a restless sleeper, who talked in her sleep of numerous, unintelligible things.  She thrashed, she laughed, and would sometimes even roll right out of bed, cursing as she went.  When she finally woke herself, she would begin her day.  

Sometimes, our days began before dawn, with a frantic knock on the door, and another woman of the village needing assistance with her labor.  Amima was the local midwife, and I was waiting impatiently for the days that she would begin my training, as well.  There was never a death, neither mother nor child when she was around.  I only hope I could live up to that sort of reputation.  

The light was streaming into our kitchen quite fully when she finally finished.  I could feel two heavy braids down my back and turned to look at my grandmother, a bit confused.  “Amima, I thought it was to be something special and elaborate.  This is how my hair is done every day.”

“Analei, it's just right."  She took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead.  "Besides, I think Baiel must be on his way.  Go, have fun.  This old woman needs to sweep. I'll be at the festivities later."  We both smiled, and I took off my apron, grabbed the last piece of bread, and ran to meet my very best friend.

Baiel had just opened our cottage gate when I came bounding out the front door.  He smiled and pushed his dark, curly hair out from his eyes.  

“Let’s go!  I want to see the fire-eaters before the ceremony begins!”  Baiel blurted out as he grabbed my hand and we bolted through the gate.   It wasn’t too far of a run, either.  Down the winding path that led to our house, through the birch grove, and left at the smith’s would lead us to the green at the center of the village.  

It was a magnificent sight, as it was every year.  There were people everywhere; children darting around, chasing each other down. There must be at least four villages worth of people, as ours is the main village for this particular festival.  

The smaller bonfires were already lit, and I could see newly-joined couples of every sort leaping over the flames as their families cheered.  There were fire-eaters, food stalls, and people selling all manner of goods.  The green was completely packed.  The larger bonfire was being built at the center, from stacks upon stacks of broken bits of furniture, wood leftover from this winter’s hearths, and large tree branches from the end of the spring’s storms.

“Analei, Analei!”  I heard my name being called and turned around.  Baiel’s elder sister, Nora was running toward us, carrying two flower crowns.  She caught up to us, and breathlessly handed me the yellow one in her hand, donning her own in blue.  I put it on, looked at Baiel, and shrugged.  “Thank you, Nora.  I don’t really think Amima would want me getting married anytime soon, though.” I giggled, as I thought of her stomping her foot and telling me that I was still just a baby.  

The wreaths are part of a tradition here.  Each girl once she’s of-age gets the opportunity to give one to whichever person she fancies, and if they accept, they have a year until the next festival.  If they’re in love, they will marry at the festival.  If not, they can part without either family claiming a broken engagement.  

A couple is also chosen to represent The Stag and The Doe, it’s open to any unjoined young people in the village and surrounding villages of the area.  They’re chosen by the elders of our village, are dressed up into gorgeous costumes, and The Stag is given a giant antler headdress.  Then they’re treated like a king and queen until the late afternoon when they’re led into the forest at the edge of the green.  It’s supposed to be the return of the Stag God, which the elders believe brings the warmth of summer, and continues the change of the seasons.  

I don’t think of it as much other than a fairy tale; it’s not like I’ve ever seen the Stag God or any other sort of magic before.  The real magic is watching the lambs being born, or the flowers blooming after the long winter.  The majority of us seem to leave the old beliefs to the elders and enjoy the fun and games.

There was a band of drums and whistles that had begun over near the main bonfire, and Nora grabbed our hands and pulled us over.  The crowd was growing bigger, and I saw Baiel let go of his sister’s hand and weave his way through to watch someone as they stood on a platform and spat out a giant burst of flame.  I stood there and listened as Nora was chatting with other girls from the surrounding villages.  They were currently discussing fabric for new skirts.  I looked down at mine and was thankful it was at least clean.  I had a bad habit of tearing them while climbing trees.

The festival goers were becoming more excited, as the bonfire neared its lighting.  I wandered through the crowds and came out at the edge of a joining.  The couple was supposed to jump over the flames of a small bonfire three times.  The first time it was one person who jumped first, then offered their hand and helped their betrothed over.  It was repeated a second time, only reversed.  The third time, the held hands and jumped together.

Everyone does their joining differently.  Some couples choose to be somber as they jump, walk back around, step onto the small platform in front of the flames, and jump again.  Others are jovial, dancing around the flames as they go.  This was definitely an enthusiastic couple - both of them men, leaping to the cheers of their families and friends.  They looked so happy in each other’s arms as they completed their last jump, and kissed to end the ceremony.  

I’ve always imagined my own joining since I was a little girl.  I wanted to do mine at twilight.  Just enough light to see my beloved’s face, but dark enough that the fire would be bright and gorgeous.  I could just see myself, my hair braided with flowing ribbons, and adorned with flowers; in a pale blue dress.  Twirling, spinning, and dancing with Amima and all our friends in procession as we make our way to the bonfire and my new family.  

My heart was pounding as we reached the short platform where he was waiting so silently.  I could hear it in my ears, it was so quiet.  I looked over at Amima and saw the faintest shadow pass over her beautiful wrinkled face as she smiled, and wrapped me in her arms.  She pulled back and led me to the platform.  I looked up and realized the face of my fiancé was shielded by a heavy cloak and hood.  I couldn’t see even the tiniest bit of his face.  I looked back at Amima, who smiled sadly and began scanning the crowd.  Everyone was suddenly somber.  I felt panicked and began to search for Baiel in the crowd.  He wasn’t there.  My faceless partner began to pull me upward onto the platform, and I reached up to touch his cheek, hoping earlier was a trick of the light.  Pulling back his hood, there was nothing.  The cloak fell empty, onto the platform. 

I shook myself out of my daydream and felt myself gasping for breath.  I looked up to see a new couple beginning their ceremony, quickly turned around, and ran smack into my grandmother’s friend, Rittka - one of the village elders.

“My dear Analei, are you quite well?”, she took my shoulders to steady me so I wouldn’t fall backward, and looked into my eyes with concern.  

“Yes, I’m fine, Elder Rittka, thank you.  I just feel a bit tired, probably just all the fun and excitement.  I’m so sorry!”  I said, hurriedly, and forced a smile.  

“If you’re quite sure, my dear.  Why don’t you go over to the main bonfire?  I believe they’re about to begin.”  She smiled softly like she knew a great secret. “Of course, but I need to go find Baiel first!”  I began to pull away, and I turned and rushed off to find my friend.  

I found him at a stall, at the edge of the main crowd.  He had a meat pie in one hand, and a slab of cake in the other.   As I walked up to him, he noticed me and looked a little sheepish.  

“Want some cake?”  He offered a small plate for me.  My stomach growled, but I didn’t really feel hungry, as much as I just felt anxious.  I shook my head.  Letting my mind wander shouldn't make me feel so unsettled.

“It looks like you need it more than I do.  Why don’t we go to watch the ceremony? I think it's about to start.”  I tugged on his shirt sleeve, and we weaved a bit through the crowd.  As we walked, I kept thinking back to the daydream I had, and that I kept expecting to see Baiel waiting for me at my joining.  Is that what I really wanted?  I mean, I would have no issue being joined with him; we were friends and had been since the cradle.  He's kind, he loves to laugh, he's good with children and animals, he's a steady, hard worker.  I would never go without, and I know there have been times I've caught him looking at me when he thinks I don't notice.  Is being comfortable enough?  Is a good provider enough?  There are so many love-matches in our community, but is friendship love?  I could easily imagine a home with laughing children, all clambering to be the first in Pappa's arms, but the face has always been hazy.  Is it Baiel?  

Amima once spoke of her own grandmother, who was arranged in her joining before the elders long ago decided to do away with marriages of convenience and property.  She spoke quietly of a woman with a steely spine and gaze, who was simply brought to her own joining at fifteen and had never met the man beforehand.  Amima hadn't known him.  She said her own mother hadn't known him either.  He just left for the fields one day, twelve years and eight babies after his joining, and hadn't been seen again.  

I took the circlet from my head and looked to my right where Baiel stood.  He was cheering madly as The Stag was chosen.  I looked up and recognized the blonde-haired boy a little older than me.  We had met a couple times before, but never more than a passing hello.  He was from the next village over, and sometimes his mother sent him by to fetch Amima when one of his sisters were in labor.  He was always a bit quiet.  

Something in the corner of my eye caught my gaze, and I swiveled around to catch the movement at the edge of the field.  There I found just barely at the tree there was a little red fox, dragging a large haunch of roasted meat with him one of the festival-goers must have neglected.  I stared him for a long moment and felt the warm air grow cool around my neck and shoulders as the wind shifted directions.  The fox must have felt it too, as he dropped his prize and went up on his haunches, sniffing the air.  Our eyes locked for a moment before he resumed dragging his dinner into the woods.  I could have sworn his eyes were smiling.

I was shaken back to reality by Baiel and the realization that the crowd had grown deathly silent.  Baiel was elbowing me in the arm, and I quickly looked up and stuffed my circlet back onto my head.  He leaned over and whispered, "It's you! The elders called your name! Get up there, you're the Doe!"

Me?  My mind was reeling as he turned me square to meet the center bonfire and gave me a gentle shove.  As I started to move, the stares and whispers slowly dissolved into clapping and cheers.  Elder Tommassen helped me up to the platform, where Elder Rittka and the boy were waiting.  Everyone seemed to be smiling and so happy, but deep inside I felt so much dread.

"STOP!  I SAID STOP!"  I turned around quickly to find my Amima pushing her way through the crowd, and forcing her way up the platform stairs, panting.  "You cannot do this, Elders!  It's her first year!"

"My dear woman, this is what we have foreseen, she has been chosen!" Elder Tommassen boomed, his voice seeming to fill the sky.  The crowd around us resumed cheering, which he quieted with a gentle wave of his hand.  

"You cannot!  How is this any different from the ways we've left behind?"  As Amima spoke, the breeze picked up, fluttering flags, and even pulling circlets from some of the heads in the crowds.  I could feel her anger building.  

"Now Sine, really!"  Elder Rittka began.  I shuddered, I had only heard Amima's name in passing, everyone we knew and loved called her Amima - grandmother, as I did.  I braced myself for the oncoming storm, but it never came.  

"Sine, she's of age, and we've been waiting a very long time for her." Elder Rittka continued.  "You know our ways as well, if not better, than any of us.  You know what it means to be chosen,  and you know we cannot change that.  Is it better than our ways now?  Perhaps, perhaps no, but they are our ways.  I think young Analei will benefit greatly unless she is already spoken for?"  

Elder Rittka turned to me with a pointed look, gesturing to my head, crowned in flowers. I shook my head slowly.  

Amima looked as though she had been kicked.  She opened her mouth as if to retort, but instead squared her shoulders and turned to me.  "My child..." she began, as I watched her swallow hard.  My Amima never cries, what is happening?  She shook her head and reached in to kiss my forehead before slowly descending the platform and taking her place at the very front.  The same sad smile on her face as I had imagined earlier.

"Now, if there are no further interruptions, let the ceremony begin!" Proclaimed Elder Tommasson.  I looked once more at Amima and felt right there as though I were leading my own funeral, instead of joining in the fun of the biggest celebration we held each year.  The crowd cheered more loudly than before.

Elder Rittka took my hand and began leading me down the stairs at the back of the platform, where my partner in the ceremony was waiting, already decked in the green cape and antlers of The Stag.

[heartofsnark]

This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy. 

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source.  A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

 Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say.  Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

 “Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

 The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head,  her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck  no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it.  He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her.  They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio.  Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area.  Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress.  There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it. 

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag. 

“And I was hunting him.” 

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand. 

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.” 

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry. 

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her. 

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.” 

“Wow, that’s not comforting.” 

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.  

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else. 

“You got somewhere to be?” 

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

 “Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.” 

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.  

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them. 

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it. 

 “You the conservationists?” 

 “Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?” 

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.” 

“Friendly advice?” 

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.” 

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-” 

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.” 

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.” 

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.” 

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves,  the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.  

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner,  asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.