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rainbowvamp · 3 years

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Alone Too Young

The first installment in my Princess Bride AU. Today we meet our first protagonists, Gwen and Elyan (playing the parts of Valerie and Inigo respectively). Wednesday, we get the rest of their origin story, and Friday we start with the Princess Bride Retelling Proper (Morgana/Lancelot for the main pairing).

Warnings for semi-graphic depictions of murder (Thomas's) and blood. Also semi graphic depiction of injury (Broken ankle), and mentions of death and burial rituals. Implied threat of sexual assault.

Teen and Up Audiences Advised.

Summary: It was supposed to be a day like any other day. Except the king came early for his commissioned sword, and slayed their father before left, leaving Gwen and Elyan orphans.

Word Count: 3,859

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32975395

For Protagonists: Albion Party 2021 (❤️Red Team Rulez💋)

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It’s just like any other day, really. Father is in his smithy, creating a sword. Elyan is there, helping him, and Gwen is in the kitchen, preserving the ripe spring fruit for winter and fall. Her mother had taught her to do this, when she was still very young, and when mother had died, the kind woman down the road had helped her perfect the craft. Most of the household chores had fallen to Gwen in her mother’s absence, while Elyan had tried to apprentice under his father and her father had to work even harder at the forge to buy pre-made clothes, since Gwen couldn’t sew nearly as fast as her mother and she and Elyan were both at the age where they outgrew clothes quickly

Gwen had heard father telling Elyan that this sword will be his master work. That it is the most beautiful thing he has ever created, and it will fetch a good price, keep them fed through the winter when firewood is harder to find, and buy them both nice warm clothes that they won’t have time to grow out of.

The King himself has commissioned the sword, he hears them whisper in the quietest tones late at night, while Gwen attends to her sewing, trying desperately to make enough clothes, and patch and resize what she can salvage. King Uther will be there at the end of the week to pick it up, coming himself to inspect the craftsmanship. It’s a high honor. Tomorrow Gwen is meant to begin preparing the house for royalty.

Only… a very fancy looking party is coming down the road, past her house, towards her father’s smithy. The clatter of chainmail and swords, the clop of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels passes her by, and she is worried, because there was no word that anyone noble would be passing through their little village. And the knights are all dressed in an unmistakable Pendragon Red.

Gwen leaves her jam, covers the fruit with a towel so the flies and bugs can’t get to it, and she dresses hurriedly, not even putting her hair in a nice braid before donning her cap and making for her father’s forge, taking the shortcut that she knows by heart after years of being sent to give her father, and now Elyan lunch, dinner, and water.

“It’s not ready.” She mutters to herself as she goes as quickly as she dares in her nicest dress. “It’s not ready. Father will be so embarrassed.”

She slips into the forge through the back door, and can already hear the King’s party coming.

“Gwen,” her father says, voice high and mouth smiling. “What a lovely surprise. Is the jam-making going well?”

“No.” She shakes her head and tries to pull herself together, heart racing and breath weak from having come as fast as she had to try and outrun their horses. “No, father. The King! I saw his party coming this way. He passed by the house not long ago. Where is his sword?” She is quick, frantic as she speaks. Her heart is racing, her head turning side to side, looking for any sign of the sword her father has spent weeks and weeks making.

“The King? He’s not due till next week.” Father’s voice mirrors her now, as he looks toward Elyan. “Give my that sword, son. It’s not ready, but I can polish it up before he gets here.”

“Hurry, please.” Gwen says, frantic, as Tom is looking for his polishing materials. Maybe it’s the clopping of hooves she hears, or maybe it’s the racing of her own heart, getting louder and louder. King Uther is not known to be patient or forgiving. She is terrified of what might happen if he is displeased in any way. Could he take the forge? Kill her father?

No. No, she couldn’t think like that. She just couldn’t. It would only make things worse, to think like that.

“Elyan, take your sister home. I don’t want either of you here for this.”

“Father, no!” Elyan begins to protest, and Gwen goes to do the same, but Tom’s gaze becomes hard, his mouth set in a firm line that quiets them both.

“I said, take your sister home. I’ll see you both for dinner.”

No you won’t. Gwen’s terrible thought replies, but she pushes it down, pushes it back. Because she won’t believe it. She won’t. Her father will be fine. He crafts the finest swords in all of Camelot, and even if the sword isn’t finished, it is still beautiful, and sharp, and the king will not be disappointed in it. Of course he won’t be.

So then why does the thought feel so much like a lie.

Her brother takes her arm and leads her out with much more authority than he had any right to. He is smaller than her by an inch, though he will catch up to her soon. Guinevere is only fourteen, he only fifteen, sixteen come winter, but mother had predicted that she would grow faster than he would, leaving Elyan to catch up when he was older. Soon he would, she is sure of it.

They dash through the trees, but Elyan stops when he catches a glimpse of the King’s riding party. Gwen stops too, forboding and dread weighing her down to the spot.

“You go ahead. I’m going back with father.” Elyan tells her, and she glares.

“No, we both go home or we both go to the forge.” Gwen hardens her features, standing her ground like Mother always taught her to, and Elyan glared back at her, a battle of wits ensuing.

Eventually, Elyan sighs, defeated. “We’re wasting time. Come on. But you’re to stay outside and out of sight, and if you think they might start looking around, you run back home, do you understand? Men like that, they aren’t kind to women below their station.”

She swallows hard. She knows what he means, and what she is risking, but she will not leave her father alone, and neither will Elyan.

They race back, just barely making it to the forge as the King himself bursts through the door, loud and rude. They watch through the window, obscured by bushes and the curtain father uses to keep bugs out.

“Tom, smith, it is good to see you! I hope I am not too early.”

“Of course he’s too early.” Elyan muttered from their perch at the window, glaring at the king in a way that would be treasonous if he saw. Gwen doesn’t blame him. She’s sure her own gaze is not particularly favorable to the king just now.

“Of course not, your Majesty. I’m just finishing polishing it up, if you don’t mind waiting a moment.” Gwen can hear the tenseness in her father’s usually easy-going voice. The fear in it that the King is probably used to, maybe even delights in by the way his eyes light up.

“Excellent. I’ve heard nothing but good things this about your work. I expect the result to be excellent.”

“I endeavor to please, Sire.” Tom continues polishing the sword as the king looks around the smithy, walks casually, hands behind his back, and examines the walls lined with tools and swords and horse shoes.

“This is beautiful.” King Uther said, picking something up off a table that Gwen can’t see. “I should like it as well.”

“Thank you sire. I was actually making it for my daughter. Her coming of age is soon, but I would be happy to make another just like it, better even.” Tom is smiling, but Gwen can see the insincerity in it, the sweat beads forming at his temple are not just from the heat of the forge.

“No, I won’t be back this way for some time. I’d like this one. Make your daughter another.”

Elyan starts to stand and Gwen grabs his arm, clawing her nails into it and leveling her hardest glare at him. Their father was a competent man, and they would leave him to do what needed doing.

“The metal is from my late wife’s wedding ring, Sire. I would prefer not to part with it, if I could.” His voice is soft, pleading, begging the King to understand, but King Uther is heartless and the whole kingdom knows it.

“Hmm.” Uther carelessly drops whatever it is he is holding onto the table, the clatter making Gwen flinch even as Elyan grips the window seal like he would like to jump through it and give the King a piece of his mind. “Enough of that then. The sword.”

“Here, Sire.” Tom’s voice is soft with relief that Gwen can feel in her chest, a knot unwinding ever so slightly, that will not be fully undone until the whole thing is over and the King is gone.

“Excellent.” The King takes the sword an examines it, head and hand turning this way and that to admire the work her father had done. “That’s 100, isn’t it?”

Tom is quiet for a moment, eyes widening. “Um, Sire, I believe we agreed to 1000.”

“He can’t be serious. Father worked for months on that sword.” Elyan seethes beside her and Gwen finds her own anger is rising, even above the anxiety. She can’t see this ending well.

“1000?” The King scoffs, “What does a peasant need 1000 for all at once? 100. Take the money or you shall get nothing at all.”

“Sire, with all due respect, I can’t take less than 1000. The materials alone are worth more than 100. That handle is inlaid with real gold, precious stones. I have a family to feed, Your Majesty.” Tom’s tone is raising, higher pitched, pleading, not yet angry like Elyan so obviously is beside her. She keeps hold of his arm, not to keep him in line, but to keep herself grounded. This cannot end well for them. It will not.

“I don’t believe I asked about your family, smith.” King Uther adjusts his grip on the sword and places the tip at their father’s breast both, just beside his heart. “Be lucky I offer you 100.”

“Sire, please.” Tom is looking around frantically for anything he can use to defend himself, and his eyes catch on something just beside Gwen. When Gwen follows their path she realizes that he is looking at Elyan. Whether he has always known they were there or just discovered them is unclear, but Gwen read the words on Tom’s lips clear as words straight from a book. “Don’t.” Her father tells Elyan, and Gwen grips her brother’s arm, but it is too late. He is racing around the building, toward the door, and Gwen can’t stop him. She’s wary for her own safety, and her father had begged him not to.

Elyan doesn’t see their father’s death, because he is running around to the door, but Gwen sees it. She has to hold her hands to her mouth to keep a scream from escaping. She has never seen a sword pierce a human before. She’s never seen anything killed before today, so to have the first death she witnesses be her father’s is more than she can bear. She collapses into the bush outside the smithy window, the gurgling sound of her father’s final breaths creeping out the window, but soon covered by Elyan’s roaring yells of “father!”

Their father won’t survive. Elyan won’t survive. What will they do? What will she do? Her limbs are stiff and her lungs are empty, refusing to fill themselves. She hears the clashing of sword, and her brother’s grunts of pain. She is still crying, sobbing, even, but she holds her hands so hard to her face that she thinks maybe she’ll have bruises across her lips afterward. It hurts. Everything hurts.

She hates King Uther. Hates him with a fiery passion, but that is nothing compared to the sorrow welling inside her. Her father is dead. Her brother is dead.

She hears hooves on hard dirty road, the king giving orders to leave, and only then can she gather enough sense to crawl out of the bushes and around the smith to see what damage has been done.

Her eyes are so wet with tears that she can’t see anything but red. Red that turns deep black where there is too much blood pooled of the smithy’s dirt floor. She can hear her father’s choking, gurgling breaths and she collapses again, sobbing. She doesn’t know how to save a stabbed man. The nearest doctor is two villages away. She can’t help him. She can’t save.

“Guinevere.” Elyan’s croaking voice calls to her and she sobs harder, curling in on herself and holding her knees.

“Elyan!” She wails, “Father!” She hates King Uther. She hates him. She hopes he gets caught in a hideous fire, burns alive and has hot metal searing his flesh in his final moments. She hopes he suffers. She hopes he dies.

“Guinevere!” Elyan yells louder, though nowhere near his full strength. “Help me.”

She forces her shoulders to still and her sobs to quiet, wipes at her eyes with her sleeves. Her hand is wet, wetter and stickier than tears would leave it, and when she has cleared the tears from her eyes she sees that she has put her hand in blood. Elyan’s blood most likely. She’s enthralled by it, can’t move anymore, knowing that the king has spilt both her father’s and brother’s blood. She’s only able to move again when Elyan calls her name.

She crawls to him, ignoring the blood staining the worn blue fabric of her mother’s handed down dress, still the finest dress she owned. It was too big for her, and the fabric would have dragged through the blood even if she’d bad the strength to stand, which she didn’t.

She dropped again beside her brother, who laid in the dirt, too weak even to move his head. His foot lays at an odd angle, and his face is bleeding. There is so much blood Gwen thinks he might die too.

“I will-“ Elyan starts to say, but he winces with the pain of his injuries, “I will avenge our father, Guinevere. I will keep you safe.” He reaches up and touches the blood streak on Gwen’s face, brushes it away with the sleeve of his own shirt. She brings her hand up to hold his, tears still tracking down her cheeks and making both their sleeves wet. There father is silent beside them.

“You have to live.” She pleads. Looking over at their father, whose eyes are glassy, wide open, chest unmoving.

“I will. He laid no killing blows. He thought me younger than I am.” Elyan swallowed hard and Gwen squeezes his hand, walking on her knees to take the pitcher of water from the counter and bring it down to the ground with them. She has to help him sit up, and move him to rest against father’s work table before he can drink. He tries not to show how much he’s hurt, but Gwen can see it in the way he tries so hard not to move his left leg, and grits his teeth harder with every motion.

“Elyan, what are we to do?” She whispered once he’d drunk what little water was in the pitcher.

He doesn’t speak for a long while, and Gwen starts to cry silently again, her eyes settling on the wall farthest from where her father lay dead, unwilling to look upon his body again.

“You have to go fetch the doctor, or my foot won’t heal right. I’ll be of no use to you if I can’t walk.” Elyan grit his teeth as he adjusted himself against the table, trying to get more comfortable. “Once he’s finished with me, I doubt we’ll have much money left. I’ll find some odd jobs in the villages, see if there’s a widow needs firewood or something of the like. I’ll keep the forge going at night, prove to people that I’m as competent as father.”

Gwen nods and swallows hard. “The fruit will be bad by the time I get back with the doctor.” It’s the only thing she can think.

“Damn the jam, Guinevere. We’ll make due without.” Elyan’s voice is dismissive, angry, but she knows it’s not aimed at her. Even so she feels herself shrink, frightened by him.

“I’m sorry.” Is all she can think to say. She is sorry that their father is dead. Sorry she can’t think of anything but the jam. Sorry that she didn’t… what, stab the King? If Elyan couldn’t lay a hand on him, what hope did she have? Guinevere was never trained with a sword. She would make Elyan train her now.

That thought centered her as she stumbled to her feet. “I’m going to get the Doctor. I’ll see if The Henricks will let me borrow their horse.”

“Don’t ask them. Their son has eyes for you. Ask the Tailors, down the way. The mother has a soft spot for you.”

Gwen nods, pulling her scarf closer around herself. “She’s always been good to us.” She had taught Gwen to make jam. And to sew, and all the best household remedies and cleaning tricks. Surely they’d spare her a horse.

“She has.” Elyan nods and his eyes focus once again on their father’s dead body. She knows that’s where he is looking, but she doesn’t dare look herself. She’s only just stopped crying and she can’t afford to lose it again. She has to bring a physician back, for Elyan.

“Hurry back,” Elyan says to her on her way out the door and she nods at him, eyes steely and determined. When she passes people and they see the blood on her knees and the tears still glistening her eyes, they put two and two together. None of them stop her or ask her questions, but they leave a trail of gossip in her wake.

She ignores them.

—

The physician sees to Elyan quickly, who’s been moved to their house by a neighbor with a cart and kindness in their heart. Elyan is laid up on their father’s bed, rather than the cot they usually shared, to try and keep some of the pressure off his ankle.

The physician had given her something to help his pain, and showed her how to change the dressings on his wounds. She had taken all the instructions in stride, committing them to memory and never once glancing towards the fruit still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting to be cooked and jellied.

“You’re a very lucky young man.” The physician says as he’s packing up his things. Gwen can’t fathom how anyone could apply the word “lucky” to their situation. “The King has killed boys younger than you for smaller slights. If he had, your sister might be left all alone, and where would she be then?”

Elyan bites his tongue, and Gwen does too. They both know how lucky they are Elyan isn’t dead, but their father is, and they are still too young to be alone like this. It’s cruel of him to torment Elyan so.

Gwen sees the physician out the door, and gives him most of their money as he goes. She doesn’t know what they’ll do when the few coins they have run out, but she will just have to think of something until Elyan is on his feet again.

“Father still needs to be buried.” Elyan said as the sun begins to set. Today had seemed so ordinary only hours ago, but now it feels upside down and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Gwen nods as she tries her best to save the fruit that was left. It would cost too much to waste it now. “The Tailor’s son has offered to come first thing in the morning and help me dig.”

Elyan nods as well, but doesn’t look at her. It must be weighing on him that he can’t dig the grave himself. Guinevere remembers how at just ten years old, Elyan had insisted on helping father dig mother’s grave. Guinevere had braided flowers into a crown for her. Father had told her not to touch mother, but Gwen had always been a stubborn child, and she had snuck over to her mother’s shrouded body, moved the shroud from her face, and placed the crown on her head.

Her mother was cold, stiff, like a doll made of corn husks, but more solid. It felt strange to touch the body and find it completely stiff. The neck wouldn’t give even an inch so she could put the crown all the way around her head, so Gwen had just rested the crown askew, and replaced the shroud. Her father had caught her, yelled at her to step back. Mother had been very sick for a long time. It wouldn’t do for Gwen die as well, now that all of Mother’s duties were hers.

Mother had told her once, that she’d run a home one day. This was probably not how she meant it.

After placing the crown, Gwen had gone inside to finish the day’s chores. It was all she could do. Playing didn’t feel right, and people kept coming to the door, saying how sorry they were and asking when they would bury mother. Gwen fielded these questions as best she could, and finds herself fielding the same ones late into the evening as word of Tom’s slaughter at the hands of the king, and Elyan’s injury, spread through the village. A few of the village men bring Tom’s body to the main house, to keep it safe for the night. Gwen tells them thank you, and when they offer to help during the burial tomorrow, Gwen gladly accepts it.

“You’re too young for this.” Elyan said, with a single candle burning down on the kitchen table and Gwen laid out on the cot by her brother’s side, unwilling to go more than a few feet from him.

In the dark of the night, Gwen feels another set of tears start, and she leaves them, lets them soak the hard pillow beneath her head. “We’re both too young for this. But we’ll make it.”

“Yes, we will.”

When Gwen looks up at Elyan, his eyes are focused over her, probably on the shrouded body of their father. There will be a stink in the house by morning. There was with mother. They will have to take they father outside as soon as someone comes by in the morning, and someone will have to guard his body from wild animals while they dig. Gwen thinks Elyan should do this. It would make him feel useful. Even when mother died, Elyan had tried to be jovial, but he is nothing by sad and serious now. She can’t say she expects him to smile, but they’ve barely spoken all day except to make plans. Gwen lets the tears keep flowing late into the night, and she barely sleeps for the grief.

#albionparty21 #redteamrulez #Elyan #sir elyan #gwen #gwen pendragon #lysa's pbau #pbau #pbau proper #<<<the tag I'll use for just the story #Tell me what you think I'm so excited to finally get to post this #pbau au proper

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fandomsonrequests · 4 years

Text

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 12]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 4.5k+

summary: It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: part 12! that’s a lot more than i usually write lmao sjsks but we have more seonghwa interactions! i hope you enjoy! this is unedited, so i apologize for spelling errors!

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself @minihongjoong @i-purrple-u @taetae123094 @jeonartemis @barcelona-sergei @theoinkypiglet @sparklychangbin @krystal-cole @mangotexts @tooweirdforyou @park-simphwa @seonghwaskitten

↞previous ♛ next↠

It’s been two weeks since the first round of elimination. Out of the fifty delegates that arrived, only half remained— ten females and the rest males.

The dining hall then was filled with goodbyes and some sobs as a guard came to collect the eliminated delegates. Fortunately, they were allowed to keep the uniforms provided for them to serve as a memoir for their time spent here. It seems like a form of mockery to others, a reminder of their failure, but it was better than heading home with nothing.

Seonghwa remembers watching from his spot in his room as the remaining delegates rush to bid their friends a farewell. They remained by the palace gates, waving and jumping goodbye. He felt a slight tug in his chest, a pang of pity if you will, at the sight. From his time spent observing the delegates, he noticed how some had developed seemingly tight knit friendships. It was heartbreaking to see them end there.

Now it was a new day. More lessons from the duke and the captain of the guards, this time being more rigorous than the last.

With a sigh, Seonghwa pulls away from looking out the window and goes about his morning routine: wash up, dress for the day, and have breakfast with his parents. By the time he was finished the delegates were already holed away in the library for their new set of lessons. The young prince on the other hand had some free time to spare before his lessons in diplomacy and kingdom relations.

He makes his way to the royal garden with another book in hand. He was probably on the fourth one of the series he was reading. The garden was situated at the back of the palace, stretching far and wide and housing the most elegant and colorful flowers one could ever see. He bows his head humbly whenever he passes by the gardeners, greeting them a good morning.

“Good morning, my prince,” Says one of the old gardeners. She was a rather frail looking and small framed woman. But anyone who knew her would say that she could walk and work for hours. And that one smile from her can brighten anyone’s day.

“Good morning, Auntie Florence.” Seonghwa greets, stopping in his tracks to kiss her cheek. He wasn’t related to her in any way but he frequented the garden so much, ever since he was child, that the old woman practically helped raise him. “The garden looks blooming today.”

“That’s because the rains have blessed them last week,” Florence croaks, flashing him one of her gummy smiles. “Ah, by the way Prince Seonghwa. Lady Ayeong is waiting for you in the gazebo, I believe she wants to talk to you.”

The young prince quirked a brow at this but thanked the gardener nonetheless. He makes his way over to the gazebo in the middle of the garden. It was built in the middle of a makeshift pond, its pointed roof painted white while columns of marble held it up. True to Florence’s word, there among the plush benches of the gazebo, awaited the young woman, her back to him. Her head was lowered, seemingly staring at something on her lap, as if she were deep in thought.

“Ayeong,” Seonghwa calls out to her gently. The duke’s daughter turned to him, a soft smile on her painted lips.

“Seonghwa, come sit.” She coaxes and pats the space towards her. “You don’t mind if we talk for a while do you?”

“Oh no, not at all.” He promptly heads over to the bench and sits beside her. Although, he maintained a rather respectable distance from her.

They were well past the first stages of awkwardness but a sliver of tension remains. Maybe it was the pressure of knowing that they’d one day be married to each other, maybe it was having to keep up a good impression. It felt kind of fake that they’d have to put up with this kind of demeanor around each other. Maybe they weren’t all that comfortable with each other just yet.

“Oh, I had no idea you were into romance novels, Seonghwa.” Ayeong speaks up when she notices the book in his hand.

The young man looked down at the novel and chuckled quite bashfully, a little embarrassed of being found out. “It’s probably ‘wimpy’ of me to be interested in such things, isn't it?”

“Not at all,” she responds genuinely with a shake of her head. “I think people are entitled to like whatever genre of novel without being ridiculed for it. It honestly doesn’t make sense to me as to why men can’t like romance... or that women can’t like philosophy.

“I find it very unnecessary times.. when they impose these standards on us because ‘it’s only fitting for people of our stature,’” She scoffs, tucking a strand of hair away from her cheek when a breeze flies by. “Hopefully that changes soon.”

Seonghwa knew, since they were young, that Ayeong was a strong willed young woman. She always stood up for what’s right and spoke up on behalf of the people that couldn’t. Most of the time, it garnered disappointed shakes of the head or disapproving whispers but it never deterred her. She was willing to make a point and fight to get it across.

“You’ve really never changed, have you?” Seonghwa asks with a small chuckle and a shake of his head.

The young woman lifts brow as she playfully hits the young prince’s shoulder. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

The two share a short but mirthful laugh before lapsing into silence once again. Only this time, it didn’t feel as awkward. Ayeong opened her mouth as if to say something but was interrupted as Hongjoong came jogging towards them. She pursued her lips together and quieted down. Hongjoong bows towards the pair before straightening up.

“I’m sorry Lady Ayeong but I’m going to have to take Prince Seonghwa away. Madame Olga is here for his lessons.” The shorter man said.

Seonghwa sighed but complied; his tutor always favored punctuality. “Thank you for the company, Ayeong.” He says and nodded his head at her.

“No, thank you. I’ll see around then.” She waved goodbye to him returning to her own thoughts again, deciding to refrain from telling him what she wanted to earlier.

As the young prince looked back at the duke’s daughter, he couldn’t help but wonder what she had wanted to say. It nagged at the back of his head during his lessons, making Madame Olga snap her fingers at him when she noticed that he wasn’t paying attention.

“Focus, Prince Seonghwa. You’re quite distracted today— is anything wrong?" The old tutor asks with folded arms.

“It’s nothing, Madame Olga.” The prince answers and returns his focus to the woman before him.

The day goes on as usual lessons in the morning, training in the afternoon. By the time lunch was over the delegates were back in the courtyard under the heat of the sun. The only difference this time is that you were dealing with actual swords.

You could feel your sweat drip down your cheek as you practically baked within the light chainmail you wore to protect yourself. You’d grimace whenever the sun’s rays reflected off of the swords, it’s glinting lights blinding you whenever it hit your eyes.

“Same rules apply but be cautious this time,” Byron instructs and stares pointedly at the troublemakers among you. “These swords may actually harm you. No simple bruises will come out of this but wounds and blood. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Now begin!”

You face Raviv, your usual partner in training, and point your sword at him. You didn’t worry too much about your grip and technique with the weapon but it was still nerve racking to finally use it against an actual person. The only time you’ve ever tried something like this was when your father let you hold a blade he was making and let you rain down hell on the poor tree behind your home.

You circle around your friend for a moment before lunging at him. The sound of metal against metal rang through the air and you struck again. Raviv has certainly improved on his technique and grew stronger. He could practically take you down in a few moves but you were quick enough on your feet.

“I see you’ve improved your joust, good sir!” You exclaim haughtily, swiping across him.

“Why thank you Madame,” Raviv replied just as mockingly. He grunts as he brings down two consecutive strikes against you. “And you’ve improved your speed. Why not run away from this battle instead?”

“And let you reclaim all the glory?” You let out an obnoxious, pompous laugh that caused your friend to snort in amusement. “Oh hohohoho, you’re quite ambitious. But I shall never relinquish my blade against yours!”

“Then prepare to taste the bitterness of loss, Madame! Hiyaah—“

Raviv lunged at you, thrusting his sword right at you. You exclaim in surprise and jump to the side, almost stumbling on your footing at that. You manage to miss the blade by a margin and glare playfully at him. You knew he was challenging you. He wouldn’t really put your life at risk like this unless he knew what you were capable of.

But before you could retaliate, Hae-seong walked in with a maid pitifully scrambling after him with a parasol to protect him from the sun. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen..!” He squawks, effectively halting your movements.

“I have an important announcement to make,” He continues. “I’m afraid training will be cut short today. You’re all required to freshen up and look presentable before the prince as he will be talking to each of you individually.”

This sparks conversation amongst all of you. The delegates all whispered to each other excitedly at the prospect of being able to personally meet the crown prince. You, on the other hand, we’re excited to finally get another chance to meet up with him again. Only this time, you didn’t have to sneak around the palace.

“Oh, _____, can you imagine? We’re gonna meet the prince.” Raviv says as he shakes your shoulders lightly.

Guilt gnawed at the back of your head; you haven’t exactly come clean to your friends that you’ve had a chance to meet him already. Twice in fact. Nevertheless, you were still happy. At least Seonghwa got a chance to personally meet your friends, even if you weren’t really the one to introduce them.

“I wonder what he’s gonna be like…” Raviv muses as he leans against you, putting most of his weight on you. He chuckles while you struggle to hold him up.

You push him off of you with a grunt. “Yeah.. I bet he’s great.”

“You may now freshen up. The prince is expecting you lot, soon.” Hae-seong drawls out before turning around on his heels and heading back inside.

“Well, you heard the duke,” Byron says with a warm smile. “Start getting ready.”

You all line up properly and return to your rooms. It was a nice change to be able to have more time to bathe and relax; you didn’t have to hurry up too much to avoid taking up too much of the others’ time.

Siyeon turns to you excitedly once you return to the room, her wet hair wrapped up in a towel. “______! This is so exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. What do you think the prince would say? What’s he like? I hope I don’t bungle up things-”

“Wolfie, you’re gonna do great! Don’t worry too much.” You reassure your friend with a playful shove to her shoulder. “You’re a social being, I don’t think he’d have a negative view on you.”

“You speak like you know the prince,” She smirks at you as she unravels the towel from her head and brings her brush to her hair.

You knew she was just teasing you but it still made you nervous that maybe she had caught on. Nevertheless, you played it cool and rolled your eyes in amusement. You threw on your best clothes, a simple blouse and a pair of trousers Siyeon had gifted to you on your birthday.

After fixing your hair and drying it, you were practically ready to meet the prince. You looked around to the other girls to see if they were done getting ready. As your eyes scanned their neatly pressed dresses and colorful clothing, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. It was only then did you notice that the majority of the girls that had made it past elimination was from the city-towns.

You tried not to let this get to you, especially since a couple of those city girls warmed up to the rest of you. The others… not so much.

“I wonder what he’ll talk about.” You heard Adrianna, one of the girls from the Capitol, ask. “I bet he’ll ask about the political climate.”

“Maybe,” her friend, Ryuko, responded before glancing back over to you and Siyeon. A mischievous smirk adorns her lips as she brushes her hair over her shoulder. “I guess some people are lucky they’re literate enough to comprehend some things.. or at least seem like it,” She feigns innocence but her voice was loud enough for you to hear.

Her and her little group chuckled to themselves as if they’ve said the most clever thing in the universe. Irina, a girl from a mining town, scoffed at them, mumbling to herself in her town’s dialect. She glanced up, accidentally meeting your gaze, to which you awkwardly pulled away from. Irina simply chuckled at your action.

“Don’t worry I don’t bite,” She reassures you— her accent thick. “Unless you’re one of those girls.”

Now it was your turn to let out a laugh of your own. Sure those girls were nasty but you tried not to pay no mind to them. Just focus on yourself.

You were awkwardly waiting by the tables in the library, anxiously tapping your foot against the marbled floor. Off by the couches at the farthest window was the prince and one of the male delegates from Sinna, a city-town. Their voices weren’t heard from where you were but you could see from the way the delegate was animatedly moving their arms around that they were having a rather pleasant discussion.

You found it kind of ironic but no less amusing that you were supposed to meet the prince here. It was almost as if fate was foreshadowing your meeting with him.. or it got too excited and decided to speed things along so that you’d meet on that fateful night almost a month ago.

You decided to read as you waited, wanting to get your mind off of your nerves. (You didn’t even know why you were so nervous. It’s just like talking to a friend.) Luckily enough, Hae-seong allowed you without one of his offhanded insults. Maybe he was having a good day… You picked a book off the shelf, turning it over in your hand to read the title: The Iliad.

You return to the table, getting lost in the world of Odysseus that you had conjured up in your imagination. And for a while, your nerves disappeared. You immersed yourself in Odysseus’ different travels and adventures. You were practically so invested in the novel that you almost didn’t register your name being called. You jolted out of your trance when Siyeon poked your shoulder, glancing up to see the familiar pointed look Hae-seong threw at you.

“Miss _____, don’t make me repeat your name for the third time. It’s your turn to speak to the prince.” He huffs.

You scramble out of your seat and you heard a few chuckles and sneers of amusement from the other delegates. You absentmindedly bring the book along, your nerves suddenly returning and hitting you with full force. As you approach Seonghwa though, you couldn’t help but feel a little at ease when he flashes you his charming smile.

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve ignored me,” He teases as he motioned to the book. “I don’t blame you— its a great book.”

“Sorry about that, your highness.” You apologize sheepishly as you sat across him, setting the book into his hand when he held it out. “But yes, it really is a great book.”

“Well it suits you. The story, I mean.” He sets it down by the window sill and turns to look at you.

Seeing him up close in the light of day was much different than seeing him at night under the dim light of the moon. The sun’s rays glinted off of his luscious and well kept curls, reflecting back against the elegant crown that sat upon his head. You could finally appreciate his features, from his sharp nose, to his strong jaw, and all the way up to his bright eyes that held some sort of childish wonder to it.

He was absolutely ethereal.

“What do you mean by that?” You manage to say when you break from your trance.

“You’re somewhat like Odysseus. You’re both determined to get your end goal— and you’ll stop at nothing to do so,” He deduced and leaned against the couch’s backrest. “Or at least, that’s what your eyes say.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes, you’re eyes. You have this… this determined yet intimidating look in it whenever you’re faced with a challenge.”

You do..? You were so puzzled yet impressed on how he was able to detect that from you… and why he was able to do so. Did he look at you often whenever he observed the whole group during training? Or did you bring too much attention to yourself whenever Hae-seong scolds you for the upteenth time that day. Whatever the reason, you didn’t think that the prince, out of all people, would pay this much attention to you.

“Speaking of which, what is your end goal? You never really told me.”

A wave of nostalgia, and homesickness, washes over you. You release a sigh, shoulders sagging. You fish out the simple necklace that was left to you, untying it from your neck and holding it out to Seonghwa.

“This,” You point to it, dropping it in his waiting palm. “This is my end goal. You know how my father runs a smithy back in Trelark, right?” He nods and you continue. “Well, I promised him that one day, I’ll get him the life he deserves. Open another smithy and bring in more money so that he’d never work another day in his life again.

“But then this selection thing came up. It’s not exactly what I had planned, but it was something. A warmer home, a softer bed, better food to eat,” You listed off and stared out the window. The town looked nice at this time of day. “And maybe, a chance to heal. Not only physically but emotionally.”

The prince remains silent at your heartfelt confession. That explained a lot of things about you. Why you valued your relationship with people so much and why, despite the many times you’ve fallen, always pick yourself back up and strike back with even more vigor.

A fond smile graces his lips as he looks down at the necklace you handed over to him. His delicate fingers ran along the smooth edges of the marble pendant as if tracing the memories held within it. “You really love your family a lot, don’t you _____?”

“They’re all I have,” You mumble when he gives the necklace back over to you. “The whole world can turn around on its head for all I care. As long as I have them, it’s all that matters to me.”

Hearing that stirs something within Seonghwa- a warm but heavy feeling inside his chest. He knows he has a lot of duties as a prince to take care of his kingdom, to give most - if not all - of them a good and stable life. But hearing you say this really spurred a sense of urgency to do better and to find practical yet effective ways to alleviate his kingdom.

He rests a hand on your knee, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I believe in you, _____. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this.”

“Why would I not trust you? I mean, I’m literally fighting so that I’d end up as the one protecting your life. If anything, you should be the one doubting me.” You chuckle, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I suppose so,” He muses.

The two of you continued to talk till your time with him for the day was up. He told you about how pleased he was to finally be able to meet Siyeon and Raviv, since you’ve told him about them before. He even talked about his slow but steady progress in mending his relationship with Ayeong. You were glad that he was able to move past that awkward stage and was now talking to her like nothing ever happened between them. He was more open in talking about him this time; last time you were with him it was mostly you who did the talking. You never knew how complicated, and boring, the royal life was until he spilled it all to you. Your lives were so different from each other yet here you were— exchanging stories and learning from one another.

You learned that he had an older brother, who was now living in the kingdom where his father came from. He was married to the princess there and had twins- one boy and one girl. It was quite a bit endearing to see the prince gush over his niece and nephew. His eyes sparkled with love and whenever he gets excited, his hands move animatedly.

Before you knew it, your time with the prince was up. Hae-seong walked over to the two of you and cleared his throat. “Prince Seonghwa, your time with Miss _____ is up. I shall call on the next delegate.” Seonghwa nodded. “Thank you Duke Hae-seong. Let me just wrap up my conversation with _____.”

The nobleman nodded and turned on his heel to collect the next person. Before you could stand to bow towards the prince he reached out to you, making you pause in your actions. You look at him quizzically, quirking your brow up at him.

“I almost forgot to ask; would you and the rest of the delegates like it if you were given a break? Just a few days off to rest and recuperate. Maybe even go around Capitol; the first Autumn Light festival is coming up soon. Maybe you’d like to witness that.”

Your eyes brightened at this. You haven’t been able to appreciate the city when you arrived. Aside from that, you were barely able to write more than a few letters to send back home to your family. Heck- you didn’t even have the time to send those letters. So of course you didn’t pass up an opportunity like this.

You nod your head with a grin, excitement bubbling within you. “I can’t speak for all of them but I’m sure most of us would enjoy that.”

Seonghwa nods and releases you before bowing his head humbly. “Well then, until the next time we meet.”

You curtsey in response, a playful glint in your eyes. “I’ll look forward to it, your highness.”

He chuckled and watched as you walked away. It was only when the next delegate came in did he draw his attention away from you. There was truly something about you that had drawn you to him.

“He was so nice and charming,” Siyeon gushes as you brush her hair.

It was late at night and everyone was preparing for bed. Once again, the girls were huddled into little groups or off by themselves doing whatever fascinated them at the moment. Now the chatter was about their time with the prince instead of the usual recap of the day. It was a nice change of pace, you all needed slow days like this.

“And his teeth— he has such nice teeth. I want nice teeth,” She pouts and turns to look at you.

“But you do have nice teeth, Wolfie.” You tell her as you shake your head. You set down her brush by her bedside table and flopped onto your own bed. “Your teeth are so nice they’re practically blinding.”

Siyeon huffs out a partially sarcastic laugh before tossing one of her pillows at you. “Ahhh, I can't wait till we meet him again. It was so nice talking to him.” She sighs as she lay sprawled all over her mattress. “Okay enough about me. What did you two talk about?”

You throw the pillow back at her and hum in thought. “Not much. Same as you: how my day has been, what things are like back at home, all of that.”

You felt bad for not coming clean to your friend— especially since it was unfair. But you promised yourself that you’d tell her and Raviv one day. Now was just not the right timing. You push the thought to the back of your head and move to settle under the covers.

“That’s it?” She prodded, convinced that you were holding back something. “Come on, you can tell meeeee~ I doubt it was just mundane stuff when you two were talking so excitedly with one another. Was it the book you brought with you?”

Your heart pounded rapidly against your rib cage at her suggestion but soon calmed down when she brought up the book. Thank the gods she noticed that. “Fine fine, we did talk about the book. But that’s all.. well— wait he actually asked if we wanted to have a break and I said yes. So maybe we’ll have some rest.”

Siyeon’s eyes widened animatedly at that. A large grin adorned her beautiful face and she bolted upright from her bed. “Seriously?? We get to have a break? Can we go around Capitol? I want to see the whole place.”

You chuckle at her reaction, leaning against your arm. “I think we can, hopefully; that’s if Hae-seong doesn’t throw a fit at the idea.”

You two chuckle at the little jab you put against the duke. Mina soon comes in to tell you that it was time for bed and curfew has started. You found it a little childish for this part of the nightly routine but you suppose it was implemented in order to keep the castle quiet and orderly at night.

As you blow out your candle and settle into bed, allowing your exhaustion to finally lull you to sleep, you think about the next days to come. Especially your next meeting with the prince.

And in the opposite wing of the castle, as Seonghwa shuffled into bed, he was thinking of the same thing.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez smut #park seonghwa #seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader #prince seonghwa #prince!seonghwa #prince park seonghwa #royalty au #fantasy au #ateez royalty au #ateez fantasy au #regiis #fandomsonrequests

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aureutr · 3 years

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Fae AU headcanons/details for the anon who asked, under the cut bc long

This is nowhere near as coherent as the royalty AU stuff from yesterday, gets even less so as it goes

Din/Mandalorians/Humans in general:

- Winter has been getting longer and longer for the past 28 years or so

- Mandalore was once a prosperous kingdom that was destroyed some years back, its surviving people now live scattered (no Mandalore reunification arc in this story)

- We’re borrowing a bit from the Witcher in that Mandalorians are renowned monster hunters. But people still don’t particularly want them around because they think they attract monsters or something? (they don’t but people are stupid)

- Does not mean Din is an expert on all types of monsters/creatures, most of the time “chop it with a sword” is good enough

- Because he has to ask the Armorer wtf to do with Grogu, the changeling he accidentally took responsibility for

- He has to return it to the Fae and get the child Grogu was swapped for back. Or the human child will be lost forever

- I kind of want to make the Armorer a witch but having her be a blacksmith works perfectly in this AU so :shrug:

- Din feels kind of disconnected from both regular people and his own, he travels on his own a lot. And though he pays tithe back to the covert he isn’t exactly part of their community

- He has a horse named Crest

- Beskar is cold iron

- Before he leaves on his quest to swap the changeling back the Armorer gives him an enchanted beskar chainmail hood that he wears under a regular red cloth hood (think Aq Vetina). So long as it’s pulled up it hides his face. He can’t show his face, give his name, or eat the food while he’s in the faerie courts or he’ll be trapped there forever

Luke/Summer Court/Story in general:

- The Summer Court is almost completely empty, at least of “proper” fae. Lots of minor faeries around but they’re not all exactly...sentient?

- Which means that the Prince of the Summer Court is super lonely and interested in this mysterious hooded human who’s trying to trade a changeling

- No one from the Summer Court has done a changeling recently but Luke doesn’t want him to leave right away so he kind of dances around that so he won’t be so alone

- And later is like “oh well there’s the Solstice Ball coming up so maybe the human kid will be there, the whole Winter Court is coming” (or they’re going to the Winter Court instead...this is not a well fleshed out story)

- Luke also keeps talking about his dead mother and asking Din if he wants to meet her and Din is like “uh....? how?”

- But he’s like “well she’s dead for now but she’ll wake up later”

- “So you mean she’s in an enchanted sleep?”

- “No she’s definitely dead. Here I’ll show you”

- Think like Snow White’s glass coffin meets Padme’s funeral scene. Includes the japoor snippet but only half of it is there HMMMMMM??

- This entire thing is too friggin weird for Din but he doesn’t want to be rude so he’s like “oh...okay...cool?”

- Anyway bad things happened with the Winter Court around the time Luke was born, the Queen died (supposedly temporarily but maybe that’s just what Luke wants to believe????), and now the Summer Court is in decline

- They get to the ball and Leia is there but Luke is like >:( nope, hate you, go away

- Din does not understand this dynamic either, Luke spoke so fondly of his family earlier and isn’t this his sister?

- Something something Luke has to trick Din into sealing himself to the Summer Court because Din does something on accident that would get him killed/imprisoned by the Winter Court and Luke wants to save him

- Din does not appreciate this

Uhhh...any of the rest I have would be spoilers if I ever do flesh it out more

#fae au #fanfiction meta #dinluke

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fatcatsarecats · 5 years

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Xavierine witcher ficlet! Inspiried by my screaming at @gerec‘s askbox and @traumschwinge’s xavierine ficlet. i hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you guys in as well!!!

Many thanks to @irelise and @jackyjango who helped bunscheme this into shape!!!

—

If Charles knew Logan well, and he very much did, then the reason Logan hasn't answered any of his summoning Ravens is because he's been mucking around in some dingy cavern on either a treasure hunt or a Witcher Contract. Indeed, a quick location spell and a portal later, and Charles finds himself sinking his boots into a pile of hairy, but thankfully dead, arachnomorph legs. His nerves almost jumps out of his skin, but he doesn’t let himself cringe until he’s carefully climbed his way down the pile.

Times like these he’s grateful for his leather gloves and his study of magic. An enchantment sharpens his eyes to the darkness, and he finds Logan crouching by the mutilated body of an arachnomorph, holding a knife as he palms through its spilled innards.

"Watch your left."

Charles ducks fast enough to miss a small section of an arachnomorph leg sailing through the air. A thin silver, line of its blood splashes on his arm. He stifles a shudder, and with a burst of magic, waves his clothes clean again.

Lord, the sodden smell of algae is nothing compared to dead, squished spiders.

Logan doesn’t pay him any mind. He’s probably already smelt Charles coming the moment he stepped out of the portal. Even though he’s tied his hair, strands have plastered itself to his forehead, drenched he is from the cave waters and… other things

Which simply won’t do. A burst of magic thickens the air, and Logan grunts when he finds himself clean again.

“You could’ve washed away some precious extract, you know,” Logan grumbles.

Charles stifles a chuckle. “If they were as precious as you claim it to be, then it wouldn’t be splattered all over your clothes.” He walks to get a better look at dead the spider. "Charming," Charles says, scrunching his nose. "A contract, is it?"

“Ealdorman’s son went missing. Tracked his body down outside the cavern.”

“That poor boy,” Charles mutters. “So they sent you out here.”

“Nah, just thought I’d clean place up and maybe stock up on supplies while I’m at it.” Logan bags a couple of sticky, bright blue mutagens, before getting to work on it’s heart. "Can't let good ingredients rot to waste."

"Joy."

"Scuttly little bastards they are," Logan says. "Could've used your help when they were ganging up on me."

Charles raises one eyebrow. "If you had answered my calls, then I would have been happy to help. But, of course, you had to make it hard and camp inside a cavern."

Logan huffs in amusement .“All my fault, huh.”

“Always,” Charles says, his lip twitching. “Although, consider yourself forgiven if you save some of that saliva for me.”

Logan thinks on it, then he dips his finger into a pool of saliva. He scoops out a thick glob and offers it to Charles.

“In a vial, Logan.”

Logan barks out a laugh. "I forgot how sticky and pungent their webbing is. Wouldn’t be surprised if wads of the shit has slithered under my chainmail."

Charles shudders, batting at Logan’s hands, and Logan laughs even louder. As he always does when he purposely grosses Charles out.

"As... engrossing as it is," Charles says. “Aren't you going to ask why I've called on you?"

"Can't it be for my pleasant company?"

“Ah, yes. Because you are quite the conversationalist, my friend,” Charles says. “Well?”

Logan folds his own arms and stares at Charles. When it doesn't look like Charles is going to offer his reason—because really, he can be just as stubborn as a mule if he puts his mind to it—Logan sighs.

"Alright, I'll bite.” Logan tosses a pair of arachnomorph fangs in his palms. “What brings you here, Charles?"

Charles rolls his eyes. "I've detected residues of magic in Skellige. Ones that came from a big spike of power. There's a high chance that it could be Laura and her friends… but my report is quite dated. They could be long gone by now, so there’s no rush. I’d like to investigate the site, nonetheless.”

Logan's eyebrows dipped on his head. "I'm surprised you haven't checked it out yourself?"

Charles hears the unspoken, ‘With Erik,’ in his comment, and gives Logan the grace of ignoring such thing. “I was heading in that direction and I was wondering if you'd want to come with me."

“Why?”

“I thought it’d be nice to bring her father along if we do come across her.”

Logan doesn't say anything for a minute. He just scrutinises Charles with his unnerving stare. His cat eyes are infamous—known to discompose even Mages and Sorceresses—but Charles is used to them; he used to the myriad of expressions which crosses those cat eyes—both Logan and Erik’s.

"You could've just gone," Logan mutters. "You know how I hate portals."

Charles waves his hand. "Nonsense. I'm due for some quality time with my horse, anyway."

“You could have gone with Erik.”

Charles forces himself not to stiffen. “I didn’t think to ask. We’ve gone our separate ways.”

"Hmm," Logan says. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Darling,” Charles sighs, “when normal people skirt over a subject, it usually indicates and unwillingness to talk about it."

"But we're not normal, yeah?" Logan says. "You look upset."

Charles purses his lips. "You are as tact as ever, my friend."

“I’m one hell of a wordsmith in my own right,” Logan says. “But I don’t give that much of a fuck for Lehnsherr. He lands on his feet more fucking times than I can count. It’s you I’m worried about. Not to mention, the last time you and Erik tried to do anything with a Djinn, half of Rinde almost felt its wrath.”

Charles looks away. On instinct, he rubs his face (‘It’s better than crying.’) and exhaustion settles in, as it usually does whenever he thinks about the situation with Erik.

Logan’s face softens. There’s only silence between them as Logan rummages through his satchel.

“Here.”

Charles looks down. In Logan’s hand is a vial of monster saliva. He touches the vial almost gingerly.

He must think Charles to be so pathetic. Things didn't work out with Erik, so he runs to Logan crying about it. Isn’t that what he’s doing anyway? But then, Logan is much kinder than to call him out on it. Much kinder than what Charles deserves, probably.

"Things with the Djinn didn't stick?" Logan asks gently.

"No." Charles sighs. "It did. That's the problem."

Erik wasn't supposed to be his, Charles knows. Erik was his by a lethal combination of pure stubbornness and a disastrous accident. He was Magda's first, and Charles fooled with a Djinn when he wasn't ready and they ended up bonded. The next few decades were spent bouncing between passion, love, and resentment—the kind that’s thick enough to choke on.

Charles was ready for the latter. He took away Erik's choice in his love for Charles It was his fault for releasing the Djinn and putting them in a position where Erik’s life was compromised. When he used his last wish to save their lives, he invoked the Djinn’s mischief, and the Djinn tied their destinies together.

They spent all those years fighting, and Charles spent all those years hating himself for ruining one of the only good thing he's found in decades… Charles wondered why he spent so long waiting to find another Djinn to break their bond. Maybe he could have spared himself the current heartbreak.

Because to find out that their feelings were their own. To find out the Djinn had nothing to do with their hearts—and certainly nothing to do with their proximity from all the times either of them have stormed halfway across the world in their anger...

That… Charles was not ready for.

All the pain, the resentment, the hurt.

All for nothing.

They ended things there, so they could start fresh. It was more so Charles's decisions than Erik's, but Erik has other business to sort out himself. Magda is a fellow sorceress. It could be as if no time had passed at al.

It was—is—better this way.

"I'll tell you about it one day," Charles says, tucking his vial into his rucksack. "Are you done here?"

Logan stares him again. This time, Charles blinks back at him, tilting his head in question. Logan brushes some blood off his shoulder plates as he stands up. He offers a hand and pulls Charles up with him.

Charles chants a quick cleaning spell on Logan’s gloves. He’ll thank Charles for this, he’s sure of it.

"Still got one or two nests to go," Logan says. "Want to come with?"

“Why is it whenever I visit you, we always end up in some dark, smelly cave?”

“Should’ve kept better company then.”

That pulls a laugh out of Charles. “At least it was treasure last time,” Charles says. "But why not? Two heads are better than one, I suppose."

Charles gathers a ball of light in his hands. He holds it out, and the ball floats near his head, illuminating a soft blue on their surroundings.

“Speaking of...” Logan says. "Aren’t you going to..."

Charles tips his head in question.

Logan taps the side of his forehead.

Surprised, the ball of light beside his head blinks out momentarily. He could count the handful of times Erik has invited him into his head. Logan has long surpassed both fingers of his hands. It’s how Charles got the inkling that too had a past with a fellow mind reader. He’s simply too comfortable having someone in his head.

He forgot how nice it could be when someone else takes the initiative.

Logan’s head feels like it always does. A glass of whisky warming his systems in a lowly lit pub. He’s thinking about Laura, mostly. Worrying about her. Wondering what forms of trouble has she and her friends been up to.

“Comfortable?” Logan asks.

If you don't mind, Charles says. Remember that it goes both ways. I’ve fine tuned the spell as such. And if you need space...

“I'll tell you, bub,” Logan says. “Just don't go looking into places you're not supposed to be. Unless you want to see a bunch of alghouls fucking around the place.”

As far as he knows, alghouls do not mate or reproduce with each other, but he doesn’t doubt the imaginative powers of Logan’s mind.

Charles shudders. You have an odd and macabre sense of humour, my friend. Shall we get going?

#xavierine #past cherik #witcher au #charles xavier #logan howlett

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

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Ectober Day 2 - Homecoming - We Welcome Back The Lords Of Chaos

Danny, Sam, Tucker and Valerie - lovingly known as the defect quartet - may have been held back one year but there’s no way they aren’t starting off their last year with dramatic bullshit. Because, honestly, they're tired of wearing masks and the lies. Besides, they’ve all moved to the Ghost Realm anyway, so what does it matter.

Danny lounges across the arms of a high backed chair, lazily swirling a half-filled wine glass of ectoplasm. Sighing up at Sams’ bedroom ceiling, “so we’re really doing this huh?”.

Tucker huffs from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, “might as well dude. It’s our last year to really throw Casper High through a loop”.

“And sources say, all the fuckers we should have graduated with last year will be there”.

Danny tilts his head down to look at Valerie, who’s repairing an ecto-blaster, chuckling at her, “is that your way of saying you spied on everyone?”.

Valerie just smirks making the halfa laugh, as Sam comes in the room. Everyone looks to her and takes in the deep red and orange knee-length dress made of felt leaves, dark purple under-bust corset; the arm sleeves long flowing sheer black and decorated in gold filigree. Black hair short and spiked, with leaves sticking out in places; her ever-present combat boots on, grapevines for shoelaces.

All three make a point of whistling.

Valerie kicks Tucker, “your turn to get dressed up, techno geek”.

Tucker grunts, “ladies first”. While Danny laughs, “Tuck fuck, you’re the one who’s going to enjoy this most. Parading around your royal ass for chics to fawn at”. Making Tucker groan as he rolls over and pushes to get up, “y’all are never going to let me live down that shit are you”.

“Nope”.

“Not a chance”.

“Wouldn’t think of it”.

Tucker just flips them off as he leaves the room.

Danny downs the rest of his glass and flips in the chair to be sprawled out on his stomach; chin up on the armrest and feet touching the floor. Blowing cold air at Valerie who sends him a dirty look as he speaks, “you’re not gonna take long are ya?”.

“I’m a girl”.

“But you’re well, you”.

“Asshole”, Valerie smacks him over the head with the butt of her gun, “but no, unlike you lot I’m not going all ghost royal to freaking homecoming”.

Sam rolls her eyes as she does her make up, “wait for prom, this is just basic lazy day royal garb”.

Tucker comes back in seconds later, a white intricately pleated kilt with gold trim and belt. Simple chain mail t-shirt and white robe, tied closed loosely with a silk rope. Topped off with a large bronze necklace etched with snakes and jackals, and wearing no less than fifteen gold, silver, and iron bracelets and rings; embedded with gemstones.

Danny, raising an eyebrow, “fucking speeding dressing? Is that a challenge?”.

“Dude no”, Tucker continuing to speak as he puts on a pair of sandals, “you can make your clothing appear instantly and out of thin air. Meanwhile, I simply calculated the highest rate off efficiency based on my clothing and accessories. You know, a real skill”.

Valerie snorts as she stands, tossing the ecto-gun on the bed, “I don’t know Tucker, creation and teleportation of damn ghost clothing sounds like a far superior skill. And less geeky”. Tucker makes a show of looking offended before pulling out black eyeliner and green eyeshadow; joining Sam at her vanity.

Danny flings over the chair, standing up as Valerie leaves to get dressed. Danny walks over to the vanity and squeezes his two friends' shoulders, “we are going to freak everyone out, now hand me an eye darkness stick”.

Sam snorts, handing Danny an eyeliner pencil, “drama queen”.

“King actually”.

Sam just rolls her eyes while Tucker points at her, “he’s right though. No one will be surprised by you, miss ooky spooky, but the rest of us? Just chaos”.

Danny snickers as he leans over them, pulling down at his eyelid as he lines his eyes, “poor Mr. Lancer’s going to have a never-ending stream of heart attacks this year and we’re starting it off today with a showy flashy bang. I’m surprised we even got Val to go along. The quartet’s truly complete”.

Sam smirks as she finishes off her lips with a metallic purple, gold shimmer layered over top, “I just want to see Paulina��s face. She couldn’t even afford Tucker’s outfit”.

“Isn’t she, like, a small-time model now or something?”.

“Yeah dude, for cars I think? Course she only stuck around Amity for your ghostly spandex covered ass”.

Valerie leans on the doorway after reentering, “well it is a great ass”.

Danny slaps his ass and winks exaggeratedly, “you mean it’s deadass drop-dead gorgeous”. While Sam and Tucker both turn their heads to take Valerie in, being the only one who isn’t some kind of ghost royalty. Knight was close enough to garner looking fancy as shit though. Having been knighted by all three of them.

Red titanium breastplate, waist plate, shin plates, and forearm plates; breastplate etched with black images of battling hellhounds, the rest etched with blood blossoms. Over top of a sheer black near floor-length pleated sleeveless dress, a dark cherry red silk knee-length long-sleeved pencil dress underneath that. Long curly hair pulled into a low ponytail and laying forward over her shoulder. Simple black titanium band rings on every finger and black dress shoes.

Danny makes a show of swooning as he hands her make up bag over. Which she uses to bop Danny on the nose with, as he leaves to change.

Shaking her head as she trades seats with Sam, who goes to sit on her bed and paint her nails black. Valerie only somewhat seriously asking, “so just how excessive is he going to look?”.

Sam chuckles, not even looking up, “good luck getting him to not wear a velvet cape”.

“My god what have I signed up for”.

Tucker snorts, “generalised suffering and ringing in the year of mischief”.

Danny dramatically swishes the vines covering the doorway out of the way, near shouting, “more like singing in the mighty reign of the defect quartet! Humanities rejects!”.

Valerie points towards his voice, “hey now, I still live in the Mortal Realm...mostly. I haven’t totally defected from normal human soci-”, cutting herself off as she turns around and gapes.

Danny’s standing there in a Superman pose, floor-length black crushed velvet cape with white plush lining; clasped together by two large green skulls, images of flames etched in pale green, and connected by a loosely hanging large blackened silver chain. Over top of a silk dark purple surcoat with black satin swirling embroidery, black leather double belt decorated with black spikes, and long-sleeved fine silver chainmail under it all. Black clawed titanium gauntlets and segmented knee-high boots of the same metal; both embedded with emeralds, rubies and onyx stones, at every joint and the cuffs. The whole ensemble finished off with a black leather choker, a green skull centrepiece with a large black obsidian ring hanging from its mouth.

Sam and Tucker start laughing at Valerie’s still gaping facial expression, while Danny slumps exaggeratedly, “What? Too much?”.

Tucker laughs hard, thankful his make up is already set, “dude! We’re going for street royal! Not ‘we’re going to the opera house’!”.

Danny sticks his arms out to the side slightly and looks down, “this is street royal”, plucking at the cape collar, “this cape is barely one step up from civvies”. Making Valerie finally lose it and start laughing her ass off. Wheezing, “you! You’ve been! Been here too long!”.

Tucker points at Danny’s shoes, “at least go for low top shoes and wrist-length gloves”.

Danny rolls his eyes and alters their length, before sticking in decent sized emerald earrings and giving himself black leggings, “happy?”.

Valerie shakes her head with a smile, “this school year is going to be a mess”.

Danny smirks, “perfect then. They have the audacity to hold these royal and knightly asses back a year then they deserve it. Plus”, pointing at everyone in turn, “how has no one figured shit out yet. Like this is getting sad, and it’s not like any one of us actually need the acceptance or even tolerance of the mortal world”.

Everyone sighs, “would still like it though”, before shrugging, “screw the lot of ‘em otherwise though”.

Tucker points at Danny, “really says a lot when even Mr. ‘Oh-Ancients-what-if-they-don't-accept-me?’ no longer gives a damn”.

Danny shrugs, “kind of hard to care when my folks and your folks, and maybe Val’s, are the only ones I’ll ever really be seeing again. And they’ve all accepted our crazy bullshit”.

Sam groans as she sticks her nails in Danny’s face for him to freeze-dry, “and lucky me, I get to be the odd one out in the acceptance train. But hey, it’s not like I ever actually cared. Not to mention Nana Ida is leaving the four of us everything”.

Valerie coughs, nearly messing up her dark grey lipstick, “wait, I’m included now?”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “duh. All of team Phantom is and you’ve officially joined the chaos”.

Danny smirks as he flops back down in the chair, “there’s no way out and nothing but dead ends. But rejoice! For death is only the beginning”.

Valerie squints at him as she finishes, “that's way more ominous than you think it is”. While Tucker gets up and rummages through Danny’s bag, lifting up their assorted headgear. Tossing it to each of them and smirking at Danny’s ‘simple’ three-peaked green crown covered in obsidian stones, “well at least this one doesn’t float, or burst into flames, or give off mist, or give off the horrifying wails and moans of the dead”.

“I’d like to actually be able to hear the music, Tuck”.

Danny adjusts his ‘small’ crown and admires everyone else. Sam in her silver elven like crown wrapped in ivy vines and leaves. Tucker’s golden band of coiling snakes and rubies. Valerie with a blackened silver headband with titanium black ram horns, green skull wrapped in vines with a snake winding through its eyes at the centre. Nodding curtly, “alright, y’all ready to go freak all our former and current classmates out?”. All three of them give devilish grins so Danny continues, “well then, it’ll be a pleasure doing this song and dance with you all”, nodding at Sam, “Botany Lordess NightShade”, nodding at Tucker, “Ranatheo Pharaoh T Duulaman”, nodding at Valerie, “High Dread Knight Rufescent”.

The three of them nod back, “Phantom, High Ghost King”. Before everyone bursts out into laughs as they hop into Sam’s pumpkin carriage drawn by three black horses with flaming manes. Deciding to save Danny’s skeleton procession and fanciful Litter, as their ride for prom.

They all agreed to arrive fashionably late, since being tardy was something all of them were well known for. So it seems no surprise to them that things have already gotten started by the time they get there. Danny’s the first to hop out and holds the carriage door for everyone else. A dude smoking outside going bug-eyed at them and coughing, though the quartet completely ignores him.

Tucker, snickering at Danny, “dude, you’re the highest royal of us all. The fuck you doing?”.

Danny smirks, “gotta take care of my underlings Tuck. And y’all are mortals after all”. All three of them flip him off before the defect quartet head inside sneakily; all of them seriously wondering how long it will take for anyone to notice them.

Valerie makes her way over to the food stand, which honestly seemed like a dumb idea to have in the same room as a high school dance. Munching on some cheesy snacks, there really wasn’t a Ghost Realm equivalent to this level of greasiness and synthetic cheese, when someone taps on her shoulder. Turning around to see Star with some curly-haired brunette. Star speaking with shock, “oh! Valerie?!?”. Valerie just waits and smirks into her drink as Star opens and closes her mouth before speaking, “why? How? Armour?”.

Valerie laughs, takes a sip of her drink and eats a few more cheesy snacks before responding, “yup, it’s the last year and none of you noticed just how weird we were. So we decided fuck it, let’s really be straight strange. And the armour is a status thing, Star. Kind of came with the whole getting knighted thing”.

The brunette speaking up while Star just stares, “you know, I heard there were some unusual people in this town but, uh, this is a bit above and beyond”.

Danny laughs from behind the two girls, “you really have no idea Brittney. There’s no place stranger”, making both girls jump.

But Star quickly collects herself, recognising Danny’s deep and rather unique voice before turning around and stopping. Rubbing at her eyes as Danny and Valerie laugh. Brittney nearly whispers, “how do you know my name?”.

Danny smirks and shrugs loosely, cape bunching up. While Valerie speaks, “oh don’t mind that. Danny knows everyone’s names”.

Star looks back to Valerie while pointing at Danny, “okay...What is going on here? Those are, that is a lot of precious gems”.

Danny waves her off, “these are my less decorated clothing. Probably the most dressed-down I’ve been in a solid month”, chuckling, “ah the joys of being royalty”.

Star chokes and it looks like they’ve finally started to get other people’s attention. Multiple girls are poking at Tucker’s finery, Sam looks to be arguing with some popular girls who took Paulina’s place after she graduated. Dash, Kwan and Dale slowly walking over while eyeballing Danny. “The Hell Fentit?”.

While Sam slips over, escaping the clutches of the younger A-Listers, “hey now, is that any way to talk to your future king”.

Dash scoffs, “Fenturd is no one’s king. What are you four pulling?”.

Danny laughs and pats Dash’s head, Dash goes to whack it away but goes through Danny’s intangible arm. Making Danny laugh even harder, smirking down at the stunned Dash, “I’m everyones king in death Dash. Well, if you become a ghost that is”.

Dale squeaks, “you’re a ghost!”.

Tucker tosses his arm around Danny as the two laugh, the jocks and girls changing to glaring at Tucker. Dash muttering, “what the hell”.

Tucker chuckles, “naw he ain’t flat out dead. None of us are. Ghost royals all the same though”, plucking at his gold bracelets, “comes with plenty of positives I’d say”, before flicking sand at Danny, who flicks snow back.

Sam glares and shoves her head in between the two boys, “how dare you leave me out”.

Danny points at her as she flicks leaves at them, Danny speaking with a shit-eating grin, “we’d never leaf you out”.

Star slowly looks back to Valerie, “when the heck did you all acquire powers and what’s up with the king thing?”.

Valerie chuckles as Star and Brittney join her in leaning against the food tables, Valerie replying, “like I said no one noticing was getting annoying so we’re not even bothering to hide it anymore”.

Danny sticks his head close and smiles, “if you recall, there was a point in time where the trio went from just the losers three to the weirdo trio. Quite a time that was. Ghosts popping up all of the sudden. The mad man king of ghosts stealing our town into another dimension only to be defeated and dethroned. Only for a certain someone to find out they were the rightful heir to said throne”.

Tucker joins in, “dude yeah, crazy shit. And then the school goes on weird field trips only for another certain someone to find their look-alike in an ancient museum while some crazy evil ghost awakens. And then of course, as things always happen, turns out that look-alike is the rebirth of the ancient ghost pharaoh and thus heir to the throne”.

Sam smirks, “and who could forget the time this dumb town decided to destroy all the plant life only for some crazy powerful ghost lord of plants to turn everyone into mindless zombies and fertiliser. Only for said ghosts to pick a certain someone as their queen and mother to all plants. Before, obviously, getting defeated”.

Valerie shrugs and smirks at Star, “and then what certain someone turns out to be a freakishly skilled fighter and ghost hunter, and friends with the aforementioned certain someone’s. A certain someone who only needed to share their secrets to unlock the door to knighthood”.

All four grin while everyone around just gapes at them, everyone in the room having gone silent shortly after Danny had started speaking.

Dash blinks before blurting out, “that’s bullshit”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snickers, “is that the ‘how dare you do better in life than me’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’ or the ‘you are lying’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’?”.

Dash glares at him and crosses his arms, “the second Fentoad. You four are weird but that’s it”.

The four exchange glances and snicker.

Star shakes her head and puts on a smile, “well whatever, you’re all here so things can actually start now”.

Valerie raises an eyebrow while Danny asks, “wait what?”.

Star nods to someone and suddenly a banner drops down reading ‘Respect, Protect And Never Forget. The Defect Quartet!’, and the music starts up in genuine, playing weird intense songs that are decidedly not normally played at any dances. Balloons and streamers start going off all over the place; most people breaking out into erratic dance, everything from the monster mash to the creep. One person appears to be doing a mash-up of the chicken dance and cotton eye joe. Anyone not dancing wildly in the whirlwind of streamers and flashing lights is leaning against the gymnasium walls watching the chaos.

Danny makes a show of looking like he’s about to faint, “they love us, they really really love us! Catch me”, before going to fall over.

All three others speaking in unison, “no”, as Danny just collapses on the floor.

Sam points at Dash who just finished doing the wiggle, “don’t you jerks hate us?”.

Dash shrugs, “Danny’s the only one I could pummel that would still stand up to me. Not to mention he never seemed to actually get injured”.

Danny blinks and tilts his head, still laying on the ground, “you actually noticed that?”, laughing, “sweet Ancients someone did actually notice something!”.

A couple of people who were just standing around come up, “plus you four are basically a staple of the school and town”.

“Your bullshit is Amity Parks hazing ritual”.

“You’re our mascots”.

Danny flings himself up and yanks the other three in for a tight hug, “guess we have to frequently visit our mortal lair now! Haha! The mortals have accepted their fate!”, before dragging them all onto the dance floor and all four of them break into weird ghost dances. The most ridiculous or over the top ones they can think of.

Danny’s bouncing around on his palms, cape dragging all over the floor and surcoat folding over his face. Sam is stomping and swaying her hands through the air like she walking through vines and pretending to have a seizure. Tucker looks to be doing a version of the robot that involves swords, bracelets jangling loudly. Valerie looks like she’s fencing while doing ballet, occasionally clanging on her breastplate for the sound effect.

The four bursting into an erratic mock fight as Freaks by Timmy Trumpet comes on. People laughing and eventually joining in. Danny notes that even Mr. Lancer, Mr. Lewis, Mrs, Testlauf and Ms. Trent seem to join in.

Danny shimmies his way over to Mr. Lancer, who’s now panting, elbowing the teacher who’s now shorter than him, “thought y’all would get back at us by making things as weird as possible huh? Try to shock us for a change?”.

Mr. Lancer waves him off, “as some would say, ringing in the new year and your last one”, standing up fully, “and yet you all still managed to startle everyone. What even is this Daniel?”.

Danny laughs exaggeratedly, “y’all only have the tip of the iceberg on our oddness. Literally in my case”, Danny swishes his cape out, snow falling out of it, as Danny goes back to the dance floor,

While Mr. Lancer is extremely confused, and then startled by Valerie coming up from behind and stomping her feet; making a show of standing ridged before bending over in laughter. Patting Mr. Lancer’s shoulder as she stands, “Mr. Lancer, you really should have expected us, especially Danny, to pull some shit. Out weirding him is honestly impossible. But hey, that’s the High King of Ghosts for you”.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “what?”, while Valerie winks and walks off. Mr. Lancer looks around, Samantha’s lifting a teacup made out of a leaf with a vine, Tucker seems to have a magically appearing red carpet of bandaging appearing in front of his feet and Mr. Lancer’s pretty sure he sees brown snakes winding around him in places, Valerie seems to be showing off a green and red board sword - where did that even come from? - to Mia, and Daniel is seemingly hopping around and changing the colour of the floor every time he lands. Mr. Lancer is officially both in awe and fear of what this year is going to be like. Watching as the Defect Quartet, which he honestly thought was a pretty insulting name for the group, all collapse in a heap on the ground; Daniel throwing his cape over the other three dramatically like a large blanket, while the music quietens down.

Star and Kwan, the previous years' homecoming queen and king, take the stage. Star grabbing the mic, “okay now that we’ve had a chance to adjust to the strange and bizarre again. It’s time for this years homecoming king and queen!”.

Star waits for the cheering to stop, though some are booing too, expected honestly. Clapping her hands, “so the votes were cast by everyone as they entered, meaning!”, Kwan holds up two envelopes that Star points at, “we don’t even have to wait!”.

People cheer and hold up cups while Star opens a pink one and Kwan opens a blue one. Meanwhile, Sam mutters about gender roles, stereotypes and colours.

Star smiling down at the paper and lifting up her head, “the homecoming queen is...Valerie Gray!”.

Valerie sticks her arms out to the side speaking as people cheer, “the fuck? I’m only here, like, half the classes?!?”.

Jesse elbows her above the metal, “but you have literally saved people's lives and not to mention basically taught everyone how to work ectoweapons”.

While Kwan leans into the mic, grinning like an idiot, “and the homecoming king is...Danny Fenton”.

Sam, Tucker and Valerie slowly look to Danny with expressions of mock horror, while people cheer. Danny blinks once, twice, three times before going stiff and pitching sideways, laughing and shouting, “you poor innocent fools!”.

Valerie sighs and grabs Danny’s arm, pushing up his cape to do so, and drags him with her towards the stage. Danny points behind him at Sam and Tucker, “chant as we rise”.

Sam and Tucker shrug and start stomping their feet, “before the armies, start the chaos. ‘Cause these boring skies will be no more”.

Dash snorts at Dale, “they are really going all-in on this act, aren’t they? Kind of makes me miss Highschool”.

“It’s only been a couple of months dude”.

While Danny bends forward to let Kwan awkwardly put the puffy homecoming king ‘crown’ over Danny’s actual crown. Valerie doing the same as Star tries to situate the tiara in between the horns. Star muttering at her, “this is absurd”. Making Valerie and Danny smirk.

Star and Kwan step to the side and bow at the crowd while Danny does silly hand waving; Valerie being more normal about it even if light is bouncing off her armour.

Star and Kwan hop down off the stage as Valerie grabs the mic and points at Danny, “the Zone were you all thinking putting him up here?”.

Multiple people shout at them about how they basically defined the town and school, were a vital part of the atmosphere and culture. And that Danny was basically the epicentre of it all.

Danny laughs and leans over the mic, looking at Valerie, “face it Val, I’m the perfect collection of blood, guts and other assorted candy store viscera”, before turning to the crowd, “Imma tell y’all a story. ‘Cause unholy guacamole, you have no clue”.

Valerie looks at him and snorts, “origin story time?”.

Danny just smirks before speaking, “you see, it was many years ago. Before you or I, but not really ‘cause I was here and so were most of you. I decided this reality wasn’t for me, space was always my shit. Hence why I get called space boy so much. Anyway, so I tried to aim for a better world. And then what happened? I accidentally opened a hole into the realm of the dead! And you know what I did? What I goddamn did? Waltzed in and screamed ‘Honey! I’m home!’”, clapping his hands before pointing them out at everyone, “and now I’m here with you fucks again, in a town known for its ghostliness. Which I am absolutely the epicentre, or whatever, for. So y’all want atmosphere, I’ll give ya atmosphere”, snapping his fingers making green mist appear in the air, “this year is going to be a dissection of weird for all to see!”, Danny leans against the podium, posture instantly becoming more serious, well sort of serious anyway, “but really, the lot of us genuinely debated whether to even stick ‘round Amity”, Danny laughs as multiple people gasp and some shout “no!” and “never leave us!”, most people just going along with the quartets dramatics at this point. Danny smirks as he continues, “this silly mortal plain can barely handle us, we are in league with the dead after all. But fuck it, this town’s dead enough for our asses and y’all clearly accept our shit”. Resulting in a bunch of cheering, even if most people are incredibly confused.

While Danny nods at Valerie to speak, letting her step up to the podium with a dramatic bow. Valerie chuckles and smiles at him before turning to the crowd, “so obviously I’m the least odd of the quartet. I’m also the only one that isn’t straight up accidental ghostly royalty”, Valerie shrugs, “up to you whether you believe any of us about our bullshit. But just keep in mind, we have been ‘away from town’ all summer. Take a good guess as to where. Anyway, let’s have a wild year and remember”, Valerie leans forward almost menacingly, metal wrist guards clanging on the podium, “this is your final chance to take us down”.

Danny throws his arm around Valerie, “and you call me ominous!”, turning to the crowd, “is our lives nothing but strange or just hard to believe? Question our behaviour but it’s never what you guess. So just let go of what you don’t know. You laugh at us and you laugh with us. But we can be anything you don’t want anyone to be”, snorting and laughing, “because we are humanities defects!”.

Valerie pushes him off the stage and grabs the mic, “he’s a drama queen, obviously”.

While multiple people whisper about how it seemed like the quartet are the ones who came up with their name, which honestly tracks.

Danny shouts from the ground, “KING!”, before springing up and adjusting the fake crown over top of his real one and smiling wide at everyone, “best boil my blood and gouge my eyes, for I’ll never learn to hold my tongue”.

Valerie shakes her head as she hops down from the stage, going with Danny for a dance, “you ominous bastard”.

Danny laughs as he takes her hand in his, “ah sweet sweet normalcy”.

While Tucker and Sam dance, snakes and vines weaving in a dance as well.

Mr. Lewis watches from the sidelines over the rim of a paper coffee cup, “you know, I thought aliens were the weirdest shit I was ever going to see”, shrugging, “but hey, at least no ones tried to kill me yet”.

While the defect quartet roamed the dance, confusing every person they talked to or stood next to or so much as looked at.

End.

78 notes · View notes

7deadlycinderellas · 5 years

Text

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch27

Ao3 link

Winterfell

Benjen ends up back at Winterfell a week after the wedding.

His face is scarred deeply, his lips torn to bits by his brothers in black’s attempts to remove the perverse stitching job. It hurts him to talk.

The only words he gets out are “they’re coming.”

Ned shushes him.

“We know.”

Shireen pushes him a stack of papers and a pen.

“Don’t talk if it hurts.”

She sits with him for several hours, over steaming mugs of broth. She writes down near every word.

Benjen carries a letter from Stannis, calling for aid. The wall may soon be overwhelmed, he says. Wights attack day after day, night after night, piling themselves upon each other to try and break the stronghold down.

He has used one of the caches of wildfire Sansa sent. He says it lit part of the forest on fire, and kept the dead at bay for most of the next day and night.

But that was only one point in the whole wall.

Ned called the banners, like he had said, immediately following the wedding. Representatives have appeared slowly, too slowly he thinks, but at least they’ve come.

He addresses his bannermen over a map of the north. He sighs deeply

“Each house will send aid, but most of our forces should remain in their keeps, for the time. If our intelligence is correct, and the wall falls, we will spread our forces in a straight line across the north. Right now, our immediate priority is to begin immediate evacuations.

“There is room for the listed numbers of non-combatant women on Bear Island,” Robb explains. Robb has escaped from his wedding night with only a black eye, and the Stark’s bannermen look to him as much as Ned.

Robb nods towards Maege Mormont for confirmation. The lady had arrived with her three eldest daughters; Dacey, Alysanne, Jorelle and had left the island in the hands of the younger two; Lyra and Lyanna.

“More than capable of keeping the women of the north safe,” Maege assures, with a stature imposing enough to back up her words, and question whether she would have ever needed protection herself. The arrangement had been Sansa’s suggestion, thinking that many of the women who were not willing to learn to fight in the previous years might feel more comfortable under the protection of other women.

While the decision making is going on, Benjen’s followed Shireen’s lead and ended up in the library, with her, Jon, and Bran.

He notes the sky, growing darker gray by the day, through the tiny window. He looks around, at the tall shelves and winding staircases.

“I haven’t been here in years,” he admits, “Even before I took the black, I was never one for books.”

While Shireen takes down his words, Bran lays out what he’s been doing with the ravens.

“I sent Una to Castle Black, Dosa to Eastwatch, and Tresn to the Shadow Tower. Quatri’s in the mountains to the west, Quinta to the east of the Kingsroad. Sexen I sent to King’s Landing, and Septima along with Theon to Dragonstone. When the wall falls to the dead, we’ll know. If either the Dragon queen or the Lannisters decide it would be a good idea to sneak up on us in the middle, we’ll know too.”

Benjen looks at Bran with a steady eye. True, he had known he would not find the same eager child as he had known the last time he’d visited home but…

“The story all of you have spun is unbelievable...As is the fact that you’ve spent years knowing this was coming and not having lost your minds.”

“I really do agree,” Shireen interrupts, pausing her writing. She has done her best to hold herself apart from what the others have told her of her demise. She tries to focus on the fact that she’s come past it, gone beyond it, but sometimes it still creeps back in. Sometimes in her dreams, she swears she can still smell the fire, hear the screams from her own throat.

Bran laughs to himself.

“It’s all we can do.”

He tries not to think too much of what it would have been like if this had all happened and it turned out that nothing could be changed at all. That they would have all been forced to watch as those they loved died around them regardless of their foreknowledge. Bran shudders at the thought of feeling the raven’s visions take over his mind again.

Once he’s done, he tells Benjen that Jon had wanted to meet him in the Godswood once he was free, and left for the training yard.

At some point, Sansa has left the group planning strategy in the Great Hall, and sits along one of the posts in the training yard with her bow across her lap, watching the others train in spite of the snow. Bran joins her.

Arya, Meera and Brienne are taking turns switching off with weapons. They aren’t taking up much space. Most of the yard is being taken up by Val and Ygritte running through the Free Folk women and children who have made their way to Winterfell. From children barely old enough to learn their letters, to women old enough to wed, they show what they can do with a spear or bow or axe. Val and Ygritte are rather ruthlessly tagging those who need to evacuate with the group the next morning.

“It won’t do any good if you stay if you can’t fight,” Val insists slowly, “You may think you’re being brave, but all that will happen if you die, is you’ll become one of them. A mindless, ice blooded, blue eyed abomination who could be responsible for the deaths of your friends and family.”

Ygritte doesn’t add anything, but if any of the children try to mouth off, she will go into details on the ones she picked off over the wall. How they barely even looked human anymore and seemed to be able to stand up and shake off near anything. She has lots of these stories.

“Just watching from the sidelines today?” Bran asks Sansa.

Sansa laughs softly.

“I’m going to be evacuating anyway, not right away, I’ll wait until the last group out of Winterfell...but it was foolish to think I was ever going to be a soldier.”

“No one ever thought you would be a soldier,” Bran insists, “Very few here are. But we all understood your reasons for joining with the rest of us. Human monsters are different from ones from Old Nan’s stories.”

Bran’s quiet for a moment. He watches the women spar. Meera catches his eye for a moment, and Bran feels the back of his neck go red. Sansa pretends not to notice.

“I’m not staying either,” he admits, “I’ll leave when you do. I’m a hundred times better a fighter than I was...but I can’t run away. If someone corners me, I’m a goner. Like you, I’m not a soldier.”

Sansa gazes upwards at the sky. It’s dark gray, it’s been that way for over a week now. It seems to be getting darker, like the very weather knows what’s to come. Or maybe they just weren’t paying attention the first time.

She turns her eyes back to the training yard, and squints,

“Where did Arya go?”

“Gendry came out a second ago, said something and they went back towards the smithy.”

What Gendry had come to tell her was that he’d finished with the set of chainmail he’d made for her.

“I’m going to make the other ladies at the training yard so jealous,” she tells him while pulling it into place.

“I’ve got more punched out,” he tells her, “Mail’s easier to make from approximate measurements. If there’s gaps in plate armor, it’s worthless. I’ve got another hauberk I made for Meera when I made yours, but she didn’t want it.”

“She doesn’t like mail,” Arya comments, “Says arrows can break straight through it. Prefers leather.”

“Well thankfully,” Gendry replies, patting her shoulders and planting a kiss on her, “We have most of the arrows.”

Arya’s quiet for too long, and she shakes her head, darkness behind her eyes. Gendry’s hands have moved to her cheeks, concerned, and she indulges herself by kissing him full on the mouth, tongue slipping between his lips.

This is what Sansa gets a glimpse of, before turning at the door and leaving. She can talk to Arya later.

It would be a lie to say she doesn’t feel a twist of envy in her chest. She seems to feel this twist nearly everywhere she goes now. The impending darkness is making the people of Winterfell cling to each other. Ned and Catelyn seem to have somehow, silently mended their fences. Meera had made an offhand comment that Summer wouldn’t leave her be nowadays, making her ears grow pink. Even Val seems to have settled in. Sansa had overheard her speaking to some of the other Free Folk women and had heard a snippet of ‘Didn’t know southern boys had it in ‘em!’.

She thinks to the letter she sent with Theon, and wonders if there’s any chance for her to find someone to cling to, even if it’s later, among the ashes.

When she needs a moment to distract herself, she finds herself seeking out Brienne.

“Lady Sansa” she greets her every time, even in defiance of Sansa’s laughing that it was unnecessary.

Sansa looks at her for a bit before speaking.

“You seem to be taking this all quite well.”

“All what, my lady?”

Sansa’s mouth puckers. She would think she was being mocked if that was so incredibly unlike Brienne.

“You follow us here, to a place you’ve never been before, and we’re all going on about fighting a war against the dead, and you don’t bat a single eye.”

Brienne shrugs. She’s so tall, that in armor even her shrugs have a note of intimidation, well, they would if it weren’t for the entirely innocent look on her face.

“As sworn shield, it is my duty to defend Lady Shireen, whether it be from nursery tale monsters or ordinary men. In my experience, there’s not always a difference.”

True enough. She continues,

“And it doesn’t matter much if I believe it or not. They’ll come or not regardless.”

Sansa studies Brienne. Even before, she had been the picture of loyalty, in face of incredible odds.

“Lady Shireen is quite sensible,” Sansa comments, “Protecting her shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

She lets the silence sit between them heavy for a bit.

“You were the truest knight I ever met before,” she tells Brienne quietly.

Brienne’s response is halting,

“My lady, I-”

Sansa shushes her.

“You were. Both by the technical definition, and in every word you spoke and every step you walked. You were brave and honorable, and always defended those who needed you.”

How foolish her younger self would have thought her. Admiring a plain faced women who wore armor and carried a sword, who was often seen in the company of Jamie Lannister at that. But Sansa has known enough false knights to know the value of a true one. Sansa’s word speaks the truth.

“And if you’re willing to stay here and fight with us, then the north will be in your debt.”

Dragonstone

Danaerys Targaryen is an impressive figure. Head held high, surrounded by her attendants as she walks towards the castle off her dragon.

Tyrion’s heard the stories, if only second hand from Varys. Of how she walked into the fire and remained unscathed, bring forth three baby dragons. Of her purchase and freeing of the Unsullied, of her takeover of Slaver’s Bay, and renaming it.

They’re great stories.

Despite this, most of what Tyrion can think when he sees her is, “She’s barely more than a girl.”

A girl who managed all of that, though. And with the flying figures behind her on the water, makes the stories easy to believe.

Once they sit at the table and begin to talk things out, the situation grows hair.

“You’re only allies here, present company excluded,” Varys points out, “Are a population known entirely as raiders and pirates. You’re combined forces could probably take Storm’s End, and secure this keep, if nature did not decide to keep you out. But beyond these borders, you will be met with hostility and a great deal of military might.”

Hostility, Tyrion thinks, in the form of his own family. He wonders if the punishment for a traitor is as harsh as that for a kinslayer.

The arguments over the table go back and forth and Tyrion feels like he spends a part of every day glancing over his shoulder, and the horizon, for whatever is going to ambush them, and crush this whole thing in one blow.

Somehow the only thing that comes over the horizon is a merchant’s boat, carrying Theon Greyjoy.

The young man has not changed physically much since Tyrion had seen him last at Winterfell, but given that their meeting does not involve a single dwarf joke, he supposes he must have matured some.

Watching the lad reunite with his older sister is the greatest entertainment Tyrion has had in years though. Between Theon’s exclamations that Yara used to resemble a fat little boy, and that despite her age, Yara could still overpower him with an expert knuckle burn, Tyrion sips his wine and just watches. There’s shades there of his relationships with his own brother and sister, unmarred by years of bad faith.

But Theon does not just bring news of the north, nor did he come to bend the knee in their stead.

“I come to inform you,” he begins in a voice that is half dead serious, half seriously practiced, “that the north is currently in heavy preparation for an incoming invasion from the far north...of creatures from stories. Of the dead, risen from the earth at the hands of creatures like men with skin of ice.”

Yara howls from her spot at the table.

“Are there grumkins too?”

Theon looks like he’s fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

“Nearly seven years ago, three of the younger Stark children...transformed. They began to speak of things that had not happened yet, including the coming of these creatures. I watched this happen, and I watched as Wildlings began to flee south of the wall in increasing numbers...and began to speak of the exact same things the Starks were.”

Tyrion’s mind begins to prickle when Theon’s story continues. It was strange enough, having the story dropped on him in the form of a rambling letter and a single personal secret, but for someone who saw the Starks everyday, it must have been so much worse.

Danaerys interrupts him for a moment,

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what your story is getting at...rather than bending the knee, the Starks are requesting my aid. If this is true, I would ask why this is a more pressing concern than retaking the throne that is my birthright.”

Theon nods, ever so slightly. He speaks a bit about the other things the younger Starks had warned them of, of the treacherous state of the politics of King’s Landing. But he ends the discussion with,

“Because if the Others get past the north, then the whole realm is in danger.”

This is completely true. Tyrion never paid the most attention to old nurse stories, but he remembered the tale of the Long Night.

Danaerys seems to be thinking about it, when Varys interrupts.

“If I may, your grace? The seven kingdoms may not be the most welcoming to a Targaryen seeking to regain her throne. But one who swooped in with three dragons during an unexpected war against beings who are- remind me Greyjoy? Vulnerable to fire-”

Theon nods.

“It may become easy to spin you as a war hero. One who returns home to Westeros after becoming known for ending slavery. These are the sorts of things the smallfolk could get behind.”

Danaerys seems to be considering this proposal. While the discussion continues, Tyrion excuses himself and finds Theon does as well.

When they are out of earshot, he hands Tyrion a thick letter.

“This was given to me under pain of death if I so much as glanced at it.”

Tyrion turns it over, finding Sansa’s neat hand on the envelope.

“To be frank,” Theon starts, “If Sansa has any goodwill towards you after her...last life, I say take it. Those years ago I watched her transform from a silly, empty headed little girl into possibly the most cynical woman I have ever met. Sometimes I-”

Theon rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Sometimes I catch her, or one of the others looking at me. Sometimes they look frightened, but sometimes they look...like they’re expecting me to act a certain way, and when I don’t they’re...disappointed, but not surprised. If she still holds in any esteem, I’d count yourself lucky.”

Tyrion mulls over his words for the rest of the night, and doesn’t pull out the letter until it’s late and he’s sure he’s alone.

The handwriting is neat, and the salutation formal. After that, the tone degrades quickly.

I’m sorry for leaving you the way we did. It was cruel to do so. Soemtimes I feel I’ve forgotten how not to be cruel.

I suppose you’ve surmised the truth from my blathering before we parted. When I was fourteen, the two of us were forced to marry, your father’s work, in an attempt to keep hold of the north. Despite the situation, you tried so hard to never upset me, to never hurt me. You will probably insist that that’s not much, but at the time, it felt like everything. During that period of my first life, I didn’t get kindness from many people, and every little bit of it is precious to me. You would shake me off, I know. Sometimes it hurts to know how little you think of yourself.

In the past few years, I feel like the two of us could at least call ourselves friends. Some might say that’s a poor basis for a relationship, but given the disasters I’ve seen, I think it’s better than most. I’m saying this, mostly because I think there’s a very good chance one or both of us could perish in the coming war, and I had to at least try.

I’m not sure if I would even know what love is anymore. I’m not sure I would recognize it. But if we manage to both survive all of this, the dragons and the others and the fire and blood...then I’d like to see if we could find it. The both of us.

Tyrion stares at the paper, and then tucks it away.

The next day, Danaerys decides that she should fly north with one of her dragons, to at least see what’s happening in the north.

The Wall

Stannis had sent for aid. He sent it to every fucking house in Westeros.

The northern houses had responded, even if in such meager numbers.

But at least they had responded.

“More are attacking the gate,” a greenboy tells him,

“Then hold it. Don’t let it fall. If it falls, this will all be for naught.”

Many at the wall have fled. Those who remain are the most devoted, or the most desperate. Those with the least hope for their lives.

Stannis can’t stop to think that they are fighting dead men. They are merely the enemy, attacking the wall that must stand. They will fight until they cannot. He spares a thought to Shireen, hoping that she is still safe in Winterfell. He does not spare one for Selyse, though he assumes the other Baratheon men must have helped her flee when he ordered them away. Perhaps that god that she's begun to speak of little more than will give her some comfort.

The sky is dark gray, carrying with it the blizzard that should slow down the impending army, but instead is just making it worse.

There’s an explosion somewhere. There is only one cache of wildfire left. As many as they seem to burn, there are always more.

“Take the last, run for the Last Hearth. Come back with anyone you can find,” Stannis orders, “The wall cannot fall.”

The sound of the flames cackling among the snow reaches his ears. The sound of screams too, human and beast both. He tightens his hand around his sword.

Stannis has spent his whole life thinking of his duty. Perhaps, in this moment, he can call upon his house’s words. Ours is the fury.

There’s thumping sounds, and metal scraping, and screaming. Stannis readies himself. He will lead his men, he will be among the first in the fray.

The nightswatchmen he sent to the Last Hearth does not desert. He gathers everyone he can find, and they race back to the Shadow Tower.

They find it fallen, the gate broken through, litrered with blood and bits of bodies, burned. And the man finds Stannis Baratheon, dutiful to his last breath. They find him at the mouth of the gate, completely still, his limbs twisted and broken. They say a blessing. And then he screams.

The fire of nightswatchman’s torch is enough this time.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #sanrion #time travel fix it #fic

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janiedean · 5 years

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Because you might need something to take your mind off all the stupid...

… and this isn’t particularly good or funny, and it probably requires a lot of editing and some semblance of coherent word choices, but maybe it’ll make you smile a little, if only for the knowledge that one of your works inspired it. I wrote this little scene a while ago after reading “as beautiful as you”, having my soul just a little bit irreparably wrecked by the part where Jaime wakes Brienne by giving her a sword rather than kissing her or taking a sword from her, and having my brain immediately jump to, “Yes, but do you know why you love this so much?”

It feels like it should be part of a bigger story, but knowing me, it’s probably not getting anywhere anytime soon. All I’ve got right now is that the sparrow is actually a human (or humanoid?) who got cursed into a bird for whatever reason and must mentor a true hero to break the spell. He’s also kind of dick, which probably makes things more difficult than they should really be.

So, well, here it goes:

“«So,» said Jack. «Here she is. But how should I wake her?»

The sparrow fluttered his wings as if to shrug, then flew from his shoulder and went to hover over the princess’ still body. He considered it for a moment, then said: «Usually, a kiss is enough.»

Jack startled. «A kiss?»

His companion landed beside the princess’ head and fixed him with one of those stares of his that always managed to look much more annoyed than his features should have allowed. «A kiss,» he repeated. «You know, when you press your mouth to another’s? I know for a fact that even peasants know how to kiss.»

Jack chose to ignore that last sentence. He came closer and looked down on the princess where she laid, rather comfortably or so it seemed, on a pile of embroidered blankets and pillows. Her loose, flame-red curls spilled out from under her gleaming helmet and onto the costly fabrics of deepest blue and brightest green, and she was tall and broad-shouldered under her chainmail, which looked as if it was made of rings of silver, the way it shined in the golden mid-morning sun. She had a tiny smile on her full, pink lips, and the fingers of her right hand were wrapped around the bejeweled hilt of a sword, not gripping it forcefully yet not holding it loosely, either. There was no stiffness to her features or her limbs; she looked peaceful, and in a way, almost confident. «I can’t kiss her,» Jack said.

«What? But we’ve come all the way up here! And it’s your quest! You’ll be a hero!»

Jack looked to where the sparrow was hopping frantically on the ground. «I don’t really think heroes run around kissing sleeping strangers. Not until they’ve woken them up and asked them whether they wish to be kissed, at least.» He didn’t answer the bird’s muttered, oh, you’d be surprised. Instead, he asked him: «Is there no other way?»

The sparrow stopped and sighed. He managed to look pensive. «Well, you could take off her armor and helmet, I guess. Get rid of the sword, too. This kind of thing sometimes happens as punishment to wayward daughters who won’t get out of their hauberks and into a nice dress to go find themselves a husband, and who’d rather play with steel swords than… oh, what is it, now?»

«If that’s the case, it seems to me that she was punished for a very wrong reason, and that it would also be wrong to help in her punishment by stealing her armor and weapon. And look how brightly they shine! She must care for them a great deal.»

«Who even talked about stealing? Just take them off of her, put them aside, and give them back when she wakes!»

Jack pondered over this option. «But it still sounds wrong, and quite a bit rude. I wouldn’t blame the princess, if she woke up and got mad at me for manhandling her and undressing her as she slept, and on top of it all, taking the things she loves away from her as if I was trying to punish her, too. I could try to calm her down and explain the situation, sure…» A thought came upon him. «But is she even being punished? She looks happy and comfortable enough. Are you sure she’s really being kept on the mountain by someone else, and that she’s not here by her own will?»

The sparrow gave a brief, high shriek. Then, he quieted down and said quietly and slowly, sweet as overripe fruit: «Do you think young royal ladies just climb on the highest, steepest mountain available in the middle of nowhere to sleep for a thousand years? Now, that seems a bit much for a beauty sleep, doesn’t it? And what about all the brave knights who came to rescue her through the centuries, and even battled with the damned dragon?»

«The dragon wasn’t even really there to guard her. She just needed a quiet place to stay as she waited to heal from her illness, but every few decades, someone came to attack her, and all that ruckus kept slowing down her recovery. None of those knights even bothered to take a good look at her and find out that belching out flames at random intervals is the draconic equivalent to hiccups.»

«Well, they were a little too caught up in acting like real heroes to play nurse to a gigantic monster with very sharp claws and teeth that can also spit fire, I assume.»

«But their heroic methods didn’t work, did they?»

The sparrow averted his gaze and was silent for a moment. «Well, no. Not really. Still…»

Jack crouched next to the princess, stared at her fair face, and patted her hand gently. «Your Highness, won’t you please wake up?» he asked her. «I don’t mean to disturb you, but it is very late.»

«Oh, alright! Just keep doing whatever you,» started the sparrow in a bitter voice, but he was soon cut off by the princess herself mumbling something unintelligible. She did it again as she slowly moved this way and that, and then she let go of the sword, stretched out her strong arms and legs and let out a big yawn. When she finally opened her eyes, they were a clear blue, if somewhat unfocused. But after she rubbed at them with her hand, they seemed much more alert.

«Yes,» she said a bit groggily, pushing herself in a sitting position and turning to look at Jack. She took off her helmet and laid it down next to the sword. «I know it must be late. How long did it take you to understand? Or did my father figure it out all on his own before he sent for you?»

Jack and the sparrow exchanged a glance. «Um. It took one thousand years. And six months. Um,» said the sparrow. Jack wanted to reach out a hand and pat his little head, but he thought better of it. The sparrow wasn’t usually one for that kind of thing.

The princess let out an incredulous laugh. «That long? Truly?» She shook her head, her wild curls flying around her face. «I had thought the stubborn old goat would just keep looking for the eager grooms most like himself at first, but I had also hoped he’d swap them for more fitting choices sooner than this. Are the words, I don’t want a husband who only knows how to demand and order and act against my will and who wouldn’t know a polite question if it hit him right in his stupid, ugly mug, so very difficult to make sense of?»

«They aren’t,» Jack agreed.

«You’d think so, now, wouldn’t you. But then again, if they weren’t, I wouldn’t have had to set up my little trial in the first place. Ah, well, but at least I have enjoyed a very nice nap and I feel quite well-rested. It would have been better, if not for all those cretins and cowards trying to kiss me or do even worse… I did think to wake up for a little while to teach them a lesson, but there was some creature that took care of them before I ever could. As the enchantments I put on my belongings took care of the thieves and their grasping hands, of course.»

«Does that mean you’re a witch, Your Highness?» asked the sparrow, a little too hastily.

The princess turned to look at him and sat herself more comfortably. Her face softened and when she answered, her amusement seemed more sincere, laced as it was with kindness rather than exasperation. «Well, how do you think I’ve managed to sleep for a thousand years and then another six months still, little bird? And how could my father still be alive, if magic did not run though our line?»

«We don’t know whether your father still lives, because we’ve never met him,» clarified Jack, and felt bad for not telling her sooner. «We didn’t even come here as grooms. We were just looking for a heroic quest to fulfill.»

The princess turned towards him once more and scrunched up her brows, as if trying to decide if she should believe him. She must have realized he was speaking honestly, because eventually she patted his hand as he had done with hers. «Oh, no need for that sour face. I mean no offense, but I am glad this tiny sparrow here isn’t vying with you for my hand… and even you would have had to spend at least a few months courting me. The trial was only ever meant to find me a man I could accept as a possible groom.» She rose to her feet. «As for my father, I doubt he’d let himself die before seeing me up and about once more. I told you, he’s stubborn. And in truth we do care for each other, though it might not always seem so. Now, I remember there was a stream down there, and I need to make myself a little more presentable. When I’m done, if you’ll help me back to my father’s keep, I’ll have him feed you and give you fresh clothes and a place to rest before you go back to your quests, and whatever else you might need.»

With that, she rolled her shoulder, stretched out her arms again, and went her own way.

«Are we going with her?» Jack asked the sparrow.

The sparrow answered him: «Well, yes. You’re a hero, now, I guess. Technically, at least. And heroes do get their rewards from their princesses and their princesses’ fathers… even if it usually doesn’t go quite like this.»

Jack nodded. Food and rest and fresh clothes seemed nice, anyway.”

----

OMG THIS IS ADORABLE AND PLEASE IF YOU EVER FEEL LIKE WRITING THE FULL THING I’M 100% DOWN TO READ IT also I ship these two already like fed-ex, the crack is delightful because hONESTLY IT JUST TOOK ASKING HER XKLGKJSDGJLJDKLG I LOVE MY TROPES DECONSTRUCTION, the princess is honestly to die for, HE’S ADORABLE tho admittedly ofc the sparrow is the best lmao oh god now I want him and pigeon ned to meet or smth xDDDDD ALSO THE DRAGON BEING SICK KILLED ME SDKLGDSLJJKG THIS WHOLE THING WAS JUST SO PRECIOUS THANKS I 100% COULD HAVE USED READING IT ;___;

#submitted #not mine #submission #haljathefangirlcat #flkjgjklsdjkgljklds #THIS IS SO PRESH <333333333 #jaime x brienne for ts #sdlkgljksdlgkjgklsjdglkjsdlkgjlkdgjskljdsgdksgj #I CAN BELIEVE SHE FEELS REFRESHED I need that nap too tbh

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writings-of-a-narwhal · 6 years

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Tag Games!

thanks to @abalonetea for tagging me!!! :D

i’ll tag @dogwrites and @yetmorestories!! (no pressure!!)

this is going to be under a readmore because there’s 20 questions and i have a lot of characters oops

1. Describe the plot in one sentence.

A former queen is out to take her kingdom, Issera, back from her son, but two groups are against her; her son, his retainers, and his allies, and then in the neighboring country, a group of young people, all working to stop her.

2. Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel, and taste to describe the aesthetic for your WIP.

sight - glitter in the air. it shines harshly. lights shining in a dim room, reflecting off the air. magic that hangs like a chandelier. it’s heavy, weighs you down, fills you lungs like water.

smell - the coppery smell of blood. blood on your hands, on your sword. you try to scrape it off but it lingers. the vaguely metallic scent follows you wherever you go, telling of suffering and death

sound - metal on metal-- swords clashing on the battlefield, knights training, armor being put on and adjusted,

feel - burning. the burning on your skin as sand scrapes it. the burning of the sun blazing down on you. the burning of fire as it scalds your hands. the burning of rage as it races through your veins. the freezing burn of fear as it paralyzes you.

taste - once again, blood. a split lip, a bloody nose, biting your cheek so hard it bleeds. licking your wounds after a battle.

3. Which 3+ songs would make a playlist for your novel?

This is War - 30 Seconds to Mars

Skyfall - Adele

Meet Me On The Battlefield - SVRCINA

4. What’s the time period and location in which your novel takes place?

heck if i know dude. it’s a fantasy world and i have like, no idea what year it is. however, people have said it gives off a renaissance vibe? there’s no cars or anything like that, and there’s no computers or telephones at this pint in time. there’s little contraptions here and there, made of gears and the like.

the two countries are Feria and Issera.

Feria is a country of shadowy forests and babbling brooks. don’t go wander into the forest, especially not at night. there are valleys of flowers and tall grasses. the buildings are made of cold gray stones and high walls border the castle. a few giant trees sit in the center of the forest, holding secrets that no one remembers.

Issera is a desert country. the sands are gold and shining and they make your eyes hurt if you stare out for too long. the air shimmers with magic, but not the good kind of magic. and somewhere out there, there are dragon graveyards. the buildings are made of mud and sand and sometimes stone and wood. the insides are as colorful as a rainbow.

5. Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded?

before it was Broken Thrones it was just ‘untitled wip’

6. What’s the first line of your novel?

Amary scowls, head throbbing with the rhythm of her heartbeat

7. What’s a line of dialogue you’re particularly proud of?

“The battlefield is where I feel a thrill. That area between life and death, that is my seductress, nothing and no one else.”

8. Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?

“This war, it’s done nothing but take.”

“That’s what war does, ala, that’s why we fight. We fight to keep ourselves from losing even more.”

9. Who are your character(s) face claims?

i don’t have many faceclaims. i think my main one is Culraes’?? and this is that\

10. Sort your characters into Hogwarts houses

disclaimer: i have never read/watched Harry Potter and i’m doing my best. i’m not sure about any of this.

Amary: Gryffindor and a little bit of Slytherin

Eira: Hufflepuff

Rosar: Hufflepuff/Gryffindor

Lumi: Ravenclaw

Finlos: Gryffindor/Slytherin

Barrow: Ravenclaw? maybe with a little Hufflepuff?

Marigold: Slytherin

Athum: Hufflepuff

Culraes: Gryffindor

Warin: Slytherin/Ravenclaw

Jeris: Slytherin/Hufflepuff

Erihhn: Slytherin

Jayah: Slytherin

Jayi: Griffindor

11. Which character’s name do you like the most?

I really love Athum’s name. something about it is just so pleasing to me???

12. Describe each character’s daily outfit

Amary - form fitting clothing. originally in dark colors but she switches them out for the looser fitting, lighter colored clothing of Issera and makes adjustments to them until they fit to her liking. thick and soft bottomed boots that strap up and secure her pants in place. a sash that has dozens of gold lines sewed into it. daggers tucked everywhere.

Eira - dresses. she wears more formal style dresses with corsets most days and most of the time they have beads or sequins decorating them, especially on the area on her torso. ballet flat style shoes when possible. her dresses always have pockets and she keeps shiny rocks in them.

Rosar - (in Feria) dresses like Eira’s but with less sequins and beads. (in Issera) loose fitting pants that billow almost like a skirt. loose fitting shirt that is tucked into the pants. a scarf wrapped around her head when travelling. soft-bottomed boots.

Lumi - think Belle from Beauty and the Beast before she goes to the palace. that type of dress, boots that tie up, and a paint splattered apron. bows in her hair that keep her braids tied. a simple necklace with a golden locket.

Leaf - nothing. she’s a cat.

Finlos - (in Feria) his knight uniform, golden bronze armor and green underclothes. all engraved with leaves or trees. (in Issera) he wears pants similar to dress pants and a loose-fitting shirt with suspenders over it. the shirt is Isseran, the other things are not.

Barrow - a three piece suit, usually in the gray family, or maybe brown. dress shoes. that what he wears when he’s attending to business as a Marquess, when it comes to his secondary job, his outfits can vary by day.

Marigold - pastel and frilly dresses!! usually in pink, as that’s one of her favorite colors. she also has some rings she wears, a promise ring and an engagment ring. necklaces and earrings are also involved.

Athum - the traditional Isseran clothing; loose fitting pants and shirt, tan colored. over the shirt is a bunch of ‘wrapped’ clothing that is usually brown, but sometimes with turqoise and gold. a scarf that wraps around his head when travelling.

Jeris - something very similar to Athum, but his ‘wrapped’ shirt is usually made of faded greens and cream. he also carries a satchel that is filled with herbs and other first-aid supplies. green scarf that wraps around his head when travelling. a dagger strapped to his side.

Erihhn - once again, very similar to Athum’s outfit. except he keeps his things very meticulously perfect and not one thread is out of place. his colors are blue and gray, balanced evenly. he carries a leather bag, but you’ll never know what’s in it.

Culraes - similar base clothing to Athum. his ‘wrapped’ overshirt is brown and dark red. helps hide the blood, he says. his sword is always strapped around his waist, his prosthetic arm is exposed, his face scowling. the scarf that goes around his head is usually hanging aronud his neck loosely rather than around his head.

Jayi - well, she’s usually in her armor, which is dark blue/gray with dark chainmail underneath. a black eyepatch with dark blue embelishments. when she’s at home, she wears a shirt that follows the style of a kimono, with a little of her midrift exposed, and pants that are a little loose, all in more pastel colors or gray.

Warin - he wears something similar to a yukata in different designs, sometimes floral, sometimes repeating shape patterns, sometimes something with dragons. he wears the traditional loose pants underneath.

Jayah - she always wears the most fabulous looking clothing. all made of silk. it’s a bit like what Jayi wears, but it’s more like a tradional kimono. it allows for a lot of movement, with the fabric flaring out at the bottom. she also wears a crown, the crown she used to wear when she was queen. and she has many necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and other things.

13. Do any characters have any distinctive birthmarks/scars?

so many of them do!

Amary has scars all over her body, after all she’s been hunting people down since she was 16.

Rosar has silvery irises from cataracts. she also has vitiligo, which is just beginning to present itself.

Lumi has a giant scar on her back. it stretches from the top of her spine almost down to her tailbone. it’s like bear claw marks down it. she also has freckles on her face and shoulders

Finlos has a faint scar along his jaw. he also has a birthmark that’s on his right shoulder and it looks vaguely like a bird flying

Barrow has a birthmark that looks like a heart that’s placed over his actual heart. he has others that are like scattered islands across his shoulders.

Athum has several scars, the most prominant is the one that goes across his chest.

Jeris has a scar over the left side of his face. it just barely missed his eye, and it stretches down to his lip. he also has numerous smaller scars from horse related accidents.

Erihhn has a few marks on his body from indicents related to his job. small burns here and there. nothing too serious.

Culraes is missing his left arm from the elbow down, and there are a lot of scars on the end of what’s left. other than that, scars are scattered all over his body.

Jayi has scarring over her right eye, mostly covered by an eye patch when she’s out and about. next is the group of four scars on her left forearm that are dark and shiny. there are also some odd growths along her spine, though we don’t need to talk about those.

Warin has burn scars from dragonfire, but he uses his magic to hide them (think Thranduil). they mark his face, torso, and some of his left thigh.

14. Which character most fits a character trope?

maybe uhhhhh

15. Which character is the best writer? Worst?

Barrow!! he writes poetry and writes the best stories!! i love him!!! Culraes is the worst. he has no idea how to tell a story.

16. Which character is the best liar? Worst?

Jayah is one of the best liars, though Barrow is right up there. Eira is the worst.

17. Which character swears the most? Least?

at this moment in time, Culraes is the only one that curses. Eira could never bring herself to curse ever.

18. Which character has the best writing? Worst?

Warin has truly amazing handwriting. it’s so neat and fancy and pretty...

Eira’s handwriting is chicken scratch. it’s horrible

19. Which character is the most like you? Least like you?

Lumi. I am so much like Lumi. her head is always in the clouds, she forgets things just as she goes to say them. she’s sweet but afraid. she loves cats. i am her.

i like to think i’m nothing like Jayah. i don’t like hurting people irl and i don’t crave power the way she does.

20. Which character would you most like to be?

hmmm....Warin, maybe? he’s calm, collected, and thinks things through a lot. so maybe him??? idk. this is such a hard question to answer.

#tag games #omg this is so long #that summary in a sentence is no good lmao #but uhhhhh i hope it did this right #Broken Thrones

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mattzerella-sticks · 6 years

Text

Joust Another Normal Day (Dean/Cas fanfic, 3.8k words) (ao3)

Charlie plans a trip to the Renaissance Fair with her best friends Dean and Sam Winchester. However, of the three, Dean is the least enthusiastic about going - at least for show. In truth, he finds the Fair interesting. Especially when he comes across an enchanting member of the Fair.

Will Dean be swept away like the damsel he is, or will his mood forever be stuck in the Dark Ages?

Dean tugs on the leather wrapped around his forearms, adjusting it slightly from how it shifted, and pulling the straps tighter. He fiddles with it for a good while before an arm throws itself around his shoulders. Looking up from his wrist, Dean casts an annoyed glance at his beaming, redheaded friend. Charlie only squeezes tighter, jostling him.

“It’s fine, Dean,” she says, “Your whole costume is in perfect order… just like it was when we left your apartment, and when we got out of your car, and even when –“

“Okay, I get it,” he cuts her off, taking a quick peek at his outfit one more time. His leather boots were still a bit dusty from walking through the parking lot – but better than the mud on Sam’s when he accidentally stepped through the dewy field. His pants and tunic feel sweaty, but the leather over shirt and chainmail collar piece hide any evidence of stain. However, he does wish he left his sword back with Baby – the heavy wood tiring and cumbersome to drag around all day.

“Do you?” Charlie continues, “Or are you just saying that to appease your Queen?”

Dean scoffs, “Please, you know I’ve never appeased you a day in your life.”

“Very true,” Charlie says, pouting, “Why do I keep you on as a handmaiden then?”

“Because good help is hard to find?” Dean shrugs, “Or maybe because Sam makes me look like a good handmaiden by comparison?”

Sam walks in on the tail end of Dean’s statement, frowning at him, with two legs of turkey in hand. “I resent that,” he says, handing one of the legs to Charlie, and holding the other one away from Dean. “And because of your comment, this is mine.”

“Oh come on!” Dean barks out, “You don’t even like it!”

“No, I said it was empty calories,” Sam tells him, taking a large bite of the turkey, “Butsh shpite issha good enough reashon to pack ‘em shon.” Dean pouts fiercely, watching his brother eat his turkey leg.

“Really?” Dean whines, “This was the only reason I even agreed to drive you two in the first place!”

“We both know that’s not true, Dean,” Charlie says, swallowing a juicy piece of meat, “Don’t try and keep up a cool front with us.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “You wanted to come to the Renaissance Fair as much as we did.”

“Like that’s true,” Dean scoffs, squeezing his midsection, “Way I remember it, the two of you had to beg me because Charlie’s car was still over at Bobby’s and you bike.”

“You didn’t have to dress up though?” Sam smirks, victoriously tearing off another strip of leg from the bone, watching Dean’s face fill with color. His brother short circuits, sputtering noises every five seconds.

“Well,” he finally recovers, saying, “It’d be weird to come and not dress up.”

“Only if we were at one of our LARP events,” Charlie points out, “Which you also take great pride in.”

“That’s different! LARPing involves strategy, skill… planning against an enemy army to win! Not…” he glares at two Fair workers, a man in Renaissance clothing looking around wide-eyed for a woman in blues and purples and wings dancing to his right, to the amusement of a baby in a stroller, “an absence of shame.”

“Didn’t think you still had any shame left after Lisa,” Sam says, clapping a hand to Dean’s shoulder, finishing off the turkey leg.

He glowers harshly at Sam, his ex’s name like a needle to his already flimsily inflated enthusiasm, popping it to whiz about before fluttering sadly to the ground. “And on that note,” Dean mutters, pulling away from them, “I am going to get my own turkey leg.” He offers each of them a middle finger and stalks over to where Sam went.

His absence barely affects the others.

“So,” Sam says, “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s go get our hair braided! I saw a lovely little stand just over there…”

Their voices trail off the closer he gets to the food stand. And with his already diminished luck, the line seems to stretch thirty people long. Dean sags, trudging towards the end to wait – his thoughts darkening under the blistering sunlight.

It’s been a few months since Dean has heard Lisa’s name – but the wound badly healed. So even the mere reference of her sends phantom pains throughout. He doesn’t miss her – their relationship had ended way before she officially called it off. Dean only wishes that it didn’t go down like it did. Sam and Charlie only know that Lisa threw him and everything he owned out of her house, loudly. What they didn’t know was –

“Excuse me? Are you going to move ahead?”

Dean startles, turning towards the man behind him. He was similarly dressed to Dean, except his tunic was a thick black, and his tanned arms were exposed to bronze further. The man watched him bemusedly, a questioning smirk on his face, surrounded by days worth of scruff.

“What?”

“The line,” the other man says, pointing ahead, “it’s moving. In fact,” a few people shuffle forward, “there it goes!”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Dean chuckles, taking wide steps towards the woman in front of him. He pauses, looking back towards the man once more. “So,” he starts, “you must really want a turkey leg, huh?” He tries to pocket his hands, but the absence of pockets leaves his hands to hang awkwardly at his sides. Dean stews in the awkward, jerky movement.

“But of course,” the other man says, crossing his arms, “I mean, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, laughing, “Wish I didn’t have to wait so long…”

“It can get maddening…” the other guy trails off, looking to the side, “But you get used to it.”

“Sounds like you know a thing or two about waiting in lines,” he says, “You do this stuff a lot?”

“I’m not sure,” the other man hums, scratching at his chin, “By ‘this stuff’ do you mean the Fair or waiting in lines? Because I don’t think that’s a respected profession…”

“The first one,” Dean snickers, beaming at him, “Although the waiting in line job sounds like it’d come with good pay.”

“As it should,” he responds, “however the benefits are somewhat lacking. I mean no dental… barbaric.” The other man finally breaks down, he and Dean laughing as they move forward in line.

“I’m Castiel,” he holds his hand out to Dean, “I work here.”

“Dean,” he says, gripping Castiel’s warm hand in his, “I don’t.” They take a few more steps forward. “Although, I didn’t think you would either. You don’t act like any of your… uh, co-workers.”

Castiel huffs, “We do have things called breaks in ye olden times.”

“So will I be seeing you prancing around at some point?”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Castiel smiles, “Prancing isn’t really my thing.”

“Oh really?” Dean asks, knocking shoulders with Castiel, “Pray tell what is your thing then?”

“I’ll tell you,” Castiel teases, “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier?”

“Y’know,” Dean says, ducking away shyly, “I’ll just guess. Probably something embarrassing anyway… like the guy who gets hit with rotten tomatoes.”

“No, that’d be Uriel,” Castiel smirks, “He’s the funniest member of our troupe.”

“With a name like Uriel I’m sure he’d need a sense of humor to get by.”

“Good one,” Castiel chortles, slapping Dean’s back, “Keep moving… yeah, so that’s not what I do. You have any other guesses?”

“No, I think I’m good,” Dean tells him, “Besides, we’re almost to the front anyway.” Two people stand in front of them now, and the aroma of the roasting meat waft over towards them. “Thanks,” he says, “For making waiting in line interesting.”

“Well, my job was easier thanks to audience participation,” Castiel says, glancing up-and-down Dean’s face. He feels a blush creep up his neck, and Dean rubs a hand over to hide it.

“I’m glad I could help.”

“In many ways, Dean,” Castiel whispers, “In many ways.”

“Next!”

Dean slowly leaves, walking towards his server. Her brown hair is in braids, and the blouse is the kind of cut Dean would appreciate if his thoughts weren’t otherwise distracted. “One turkey leg please,” he asks, drumming his fingers on the counter. She says something in an accent, ringing a bell, but Dean barely pays attention. His hunger has transformed, and the turkey leg won’t be enough to sate it.

It feels like an eternity before she returns with his food. Dean pays her, leaving the change and hurrying off to the side where those withturkey legs go. However, Castiel is not there. Dean turns and turns, but cannot catch sight of him. He feels his smile deflate, and he gloomily stares at his turkey leg.

“Hey!” Charlie calls him, “What are you doing?”

He jumps, whirling to face her and Sam, slipping into a half-smile. “Oh, nothing, just…” he waves the leg around, “thinking how great this’ll taste.” He finally notices their hair, and nearly loses it. “What happened to you two?”

Sam sighs, touching the petals of the flowers woven into his hair sadly. Charlie, however, beams proudly with her new braids. “We were just made slightly more awesome, that’s what happened!” She grabs for Dean’s hand, pulling him and Sam along, “Now let’s keep going! There’s so much more I want to do.”

“Okay, don’t tear my arm off…” Dean chuckles, taking a bite of his leg. He glances around once more for a sight of Castiel, but finds nothing.

‘Whatever,’ Dean rationalizes, ‘We only talked once, not like I’m missing out on anything.’

More turkey leg helps him not think.

“Whoa, Charlie, you were right. The extra five dollars sure were worth it!” Sam remarks, clapping as the men on the field clash their swords together. Dean agrees, cheering loudly as one of the knights on field kicks away his opponent’s shield. Both he and Sam had questioned the rationality of paying for something that was already free. But VIP tickets meant ‘VIP’ to the people at the Renaissance Fair. They along with all the other ticket-holders were seated as close to the action as they could get. Not only that, but they had a nice view of the nobility on their way in. And vice versa. Dean still feels the dark stare of the queen from behind him.

“It always is,” Charlie agrees, on the edge of her seat as the victor ‘stabs’ his opponent, “But just wait until we get to the jousting! I heard it’s one of the best parts of the fair.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Charlie gushes, “the guy who plays the Black Knight is apparently is the best jouster in the nation.”

“Wonder how they decided that,” Dean snickers, “Was it a voting system, or did they battle it out ‘Contest of Champions’ style?”

Charlie is about to answer, but a boldly dressed man in bells hops his way to the center of the field, interrupting the victor in his celebration. “All cheer the might and glory of Sir Michael of Havenswood!” he cheers, clapping loudly, “Claiming victory over his sworn enemy, Sir Lucifer of the Morning Star! Twas bloody, twas barbarous, twas good family entertainment! Now, please, drag your enemy off the stage.” Michael nods, grabbing Lucifer’s arms and moving him away from the crowd.

“Now as we set up for the main event, I must ask: how are ye good folk doing this fine day?” The crowd cheers loudly. “I thought so. But prepare for it all to get better! Trust your friendly neighbor Jester, Gabriel, to deliver on his promises. I mean I have to seeing as King Charles hasn’t punished me yet. Seriously, the man knows how to make heads roll – a true inspiration to King Henry –“

“Please Jester,” the King calls out, “Enough about me. On with the show!”

“As you wish, sire,” Gabriel bows. He looks behind him, then back at his audience, “In good time, too. As we are now ready… for the joust!” An uproar booms from the stands. “Like I thought. But please, save it for our competitors. Now, let me welcome to the field our challenger. Hailing from the House of Roche, Lord of Thorns – Sir Balthazar. A speckled horse gallops onto the scene, a blond man atop it. He slows to a trot, and Balthazar soaks up the crowd’s attention. To Dean, the guy seems like a glory hound – and can’t wait to see the guy who’s going to knock him off his high horse.

“Ah, a joy as ever. But he is but one half of the show, folks. As our returning champion now enters the field! Legends have it he was born from the tears of the Lady of the Lake at Arthur’s funeral. Others say he emerged from a riverbed with a sword in hand and a stick up his – oh I shouldn’t say. He’s successfully won every match he’s been in, and kills competitors as fiercely as he kills the mood at any party. Please give it up for Sir Emmanuel, our very own Black Knight!” The crowd goes mad as a black mare gallops forth, her rider fierce and focused.

Dean barely cheers, too stunned by Emmanuel – ‘no… Castiel?’

The more Dean follows the path he makes, the more certain he becomes that Emmanuel and Castiel are the same. However, trying to match the easy and relaxed grin from before with the strong frown he sees now was a herculean feat.

“Hey, Earth to Dean. You okay?”

He snaps out of it, turning to a concerned looking Sam. “What?”

“You zoned out man,” Sam tells him, “You good?”

“Course I’m good,” Dean blushes, turning, “I was just… appreciating the horse. Reminds me of Baby… if she was a horse?”

Sam raises a brow, but turns away, muttering a quick, “Weird” under his breath.

The moment quickly passes, and they both return their eyes to the scene. It seems that in the quick conversation between the brothers, both Castiel and Sir Balthazar have dismounted and met in the middle of the set-up.

“So… Balthazar, Emmanuel… anything to say to each other?”

“Just that our famed champion will need a handkerchief by the time our bout is finished,” Sir Balthazar starts, “For the loss of his legacy shall be a sorrowful affair.”

“What bold words!” Gabriel comments, turning to Castiel, “Emmanuel… a response?”

Castiel says nothing, only squinting and tilting his head.

“Please, slow down – I’m not sure the crowd understands you,” Gabriel chuckles. He turns to the audience, “Tis the strong and silent type.”

“Now,” he continues, “Enough chatter – let’s begin!” Gabriel dashes away towards the stands as Castiel and his competitor move back towards their horses. Dean keeps his eyes locked on Castiel, watching him mount his horse, shifting in his seat.

It’s not long before he’s staring into the other man’s blue eyes. Castiel checks his armor when he notices Dean’s presence in the audience. He breaks character slightly – only enough if you’re really looking. His gaze widening and mouth dropping slightly, only to sheepishly shift into a smile before stopping at a frown. Castiel turns towards his page, a young fair-headed boy, and grabs his helmet, shield, and lance.

“You think he’s gonna win?” Sam asks them, “I mean… he can’t win every time right?”

“You’d be surprised, Sam,” Charlie says, “The only way he’d lose is if he was about to quit or be fired. And judging by the crowd… I doubt either is close.”

“Maybe… what do you think, Dean?”

“Hmm… what?”

“You think he’s going to win?”

“Oh… he’s a winner all right.” He leans further up in his seat, playing with his thumbs, “I mean look at that lance…”

The horses pound their hooves into the dirt, sending it flying up, riling the crowd further into frenzy. Castiel and Sir Balthazar sit ready at their posts, waiting for the starting horn. Gabriel doesn’t delay, holding the long instrument up and blowing hard.

The sound drowns out the responding whinnies as the horses gallop forward. The two knights hold their own as their weapons come closer. The blows are quick, but not damaging. Neither man moves from his seat. They and their horses trot over to their starting points once more.

“Remember, no man gets it right on their first try,” Gabriel jokes, “Once more!”

The second attempt ends like the first, except Balthazar’s shield has a nasty scrape on it that wasn’t there before. The two men ready for their third go as Gabriel warms up the crowd once more.

“Third time be-ith the charm, ladies and gentlemen!”

It was.

Castiel and Sir Balthazar meet, but only Castiel finishes on the other side. The other knight rocks on his back, wheezing at the force of the blow, which sent him rocketing off his horse.

Dean jumps up, cheering for Castiel’s win. He picks up his visor, scanning the crowd, spending a few seconds on Dean before moving past. Castiel finds what he needs, motioning his page forward. The young boy brings out a rose, handing it to Castiel in exchange for his helmet.

“What’s he doing?” Dean asks.

“It’s what the winners do,” Charlie tells him, “Get the audience involved… usually handing a ‘fair maiden’ a rose, kissing her hand, playing it up. Y’know… like in Game of Thrones.”

“Oh.”

“What’s this? Seems like our dear Black Knight has a parting token! Well… to the victors go the spoils. Sir Emmanuel, if you must, give that beautiful rose to the lovely lady that’s caught your eye!”

Dean finally tears his eyes away as Castiel trots closer. He doesn’t think he can watch the scene unfold, as some young girl giggles at the offer, or an older woman laughs and kisses his cheek and calls him ‘sweetie’. He’s so lost in his thoughts; he doesn’t notice the crowd go silent.

“Or… handsome fellow,” Gabriel laughs weakly.

“Dean!” Sam needles his elbow into his side, “Look up!”

He does, and comes face to face with Castiel. The other man leans forward from his horse, offering him the rose and a small smile. Dean can’t think, too lost in the fairy tale wonder of it all. His body moves without thought, and the spell is broken as soon as he takes the flower from the other man.

“And the token is accepted!” Gabriel says, recovered from the earlier bout of shock, “What a lovely gesture. As you know, we are an accepting group of people. The Renaissance was an enlightened time, and we fought against ignorance. So please, don’t live in the Dark Ages – embrace the light! Let’s give it up to our Dark Knight!”

The rest of the show blurs before him, Dean too enraptured with the rose to pay attention. By the time Sam manages to wake him from his daze, the audience was half-empty.

“What?”

“You okay there?” Sam starts, talking to him like he would a frightened puppy, “You know… I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean blinks, “What?”

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees, “Maybe he wanted to do something since it’s June or… y’know maybe he liked how the tunic doesn’t leave anything to the imagination?”

“But you don’t have to freak out,” Sam continues, “Or flip on the guy. Probably just meant well –“

“Yeah, it’s not like he could have known you weren’t –“

“Just what are you two going on about?”

“Look, Dean,” Sam sighs, “If he comes over here –“

“Hello.”

They all whip around to gape at Castiel, still in his armor – albeit, missing his gloves.

“Hey – hi,” Dean stutters shyly, “What’s up Cas – or should I say Sir Emmanuel?”

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” Castiel chuckles, shifting nervously on his feet. “Look,” he says, “If the rose was a bit forward –“

“No! No I – I really liked it,” Dean says, ignoring the bizarre expressions on the others’ faces, “If that was your way of saying sorry…”

“I wanted to stay, I did,” Castiel tells him, “But after I got my food Gabriel pulled me away to deal with an emergency. But I’m,” he swallows harshly, “I’m glad you were able to see the match.”

“Well, y’know,” Dean smiles, “I paid good money for my seat.”

“Anyway… I need to head back to my tent, but I wanted to give you this,” Castiel holds a slip of paper out for Dean, “You know… the Fair is here all summer.”

Dean grabs it, clutching it tight against his chest, alongside the rose. “Is it?”

“Yep,” Castiel nods, “However, I don’t know how I should spend my time when I’m not working. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I have a few,” Dean says, “I’ll tell you about them some time.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, then,” Castiel grins, nearly tripping over his feet in his excitement. He blushes deeply, waving at Dean once more before jogging back towards his tent. Dean watches him go with his own red face to deal with, a problem that only gets worse once he remembers Sam and Charlie beside him.

“Heh-heh… heh…” he turns to them, “Well… that was – that sure was… yep…”

“Dean!” Charlie starts, punching him, “How come you didn’t tell me!”

“Ow – it – ow – never really came up – stop it!”

“Never came up?” Sam scoffs, “Dean, this isn’t the kind of stuff that comes up – it usually comes out –“

“Hey –“

“Wait,” Charlie stops him, “Is this why Lisa broke up with you? Because you like guys?”

Dean blanches, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well…”

“Dean! Dean, could you help me out?” Lisa carries the grocery bags into the house, dropping them onto the kitchen table with a sigh. “Thanks Dean!” she sighs, closing the door behind her. She hangs her purse on a nearby coat rack and goes to sort through the mail on the counter. “You better not be sleeping Dean!” she yells, “We have our appointment with Dr. Akopian in an hour – and then Ben wants us to go see that new movie after we pick him up from my mother’s…” She glances towards the stairs. “Dean?”

She huffs, placing the mail back onto the counter before moving up the stairs. “Dean, I’m serious – you remember the last time you went to our session after a nap? It was a waste of one-hundred and fifty dollars and hour, that’s what happened.” She sees that their bedroom’s door is ajar. “Y’know,” she mutters to herself, “Sometimes I don’t think you take this seriously. I mean… all that’s at stake is our relationship.” The closer she gets to the door, the easier it gets to hear a familiar buzzing sound. She raises a brow, “...Dean?”

Lisa barges in, catching Dean at an inappropriate angle. He looks at her from between his open legs and yelps “Lisa-aagh…ooh…”

“Oh my God,” she cries, covering her eyes, “Is that my vibrator!?!”

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #Spn fanfic #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Sam Winchester #Charlie Bradbury

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cedarmoons · 6 years

Text

Written for my fic swap with @dinoswrites featuring her Kai from her awesome role reversal au, where Asra is a fugitive magician wanted for Nadia’s murder. thank you!! 💖

wick

Portia has a garden next to the Rowdy Raven. It’s a community garden, but it’s also Portia’s, and it used to be a dirt alley between the Raven and another building before Portia became the Raven’s proprietor. Now it’s a little better. The apple tree is half-dead, but Portia’s tomatoes and carrots and other vegetables usually don’t have too hard a time coming in, for all that an alley is usually a terrible place to have a community garden.

The bar is also in one of the most crowded parts of the city, architecturally-speaking, and Kai has every intention of using it to lose the guard Lucio had assigned to escort (spy on) her everywhere she goes.

Make sure she’s doing her job, he’d told Trevor. Don’t want the witch getting any ideas, trying to flee the city like that murderous traitor.

When Kai enters with Trevor, the Raven is as busy as it usually is on a Wednesday night. Trevor sticks out like a sore thumb, all gangly and awkward in his ill-fitting guard’s armor, and the quiet conversations all come to a complete halt. Portia, who’d been wiping down the counter, looks up — and her face drains of all color.

“Kai!” she calls out loudly, rounding the bar to approach them, wiping her hands on a cloth tied to her apron. “And... Trevor? When did you join the guard?”

“Few months ago, m’am,” Trevor murmurs, keeping his gaze on the floorboards. Portia’s brow knits in confusion. Her blue eyes glance to Kai, then back to Kai’s crimson-and-gold shadow.

“Does your mom know you’ve joined the guard?” she asks, very quietly, voice pitched so low only Kai and Trevor hear.

“Your mom — how old are you?” Kai asks.

Trevor looks resentful of the question. “Seventeen.”

Seventeen. Kai resists covering her face with her palm. It’s common knowledge that there are very few opportunities for money – the plague had leaked out into the sea, corrupting the fish, and they have to import all their food – and that those who can’t make a trade living often join the guard out of desperation.

But still. Seventeen. He doesn’t even has a beard yet, though, bless him, he’s trying.

“Portia,” Kai interrupts. “I need to talk to you, um, in private. Can we go out into the garden?” She doesn’t look at Trevor. “Alone?”

“No,” Trevor says at once. “The Lord Count says I’m to accompany you wherever you go.”

Out of nowhere, Kai sees Pepi streak across the Raven, disappearing into the back where the garden is. Cinis squirms out of her bag and follows her, ignoring Kai’s cry after him. Trevor jumps at the sudden appearance of her yowling black cat, hand moving immediately to his sword, but Portia smacks him with her dish rag and he lowers his hand, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, m’am.”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t run,” Portia quips.

“Please don’t run,” Trevor says, gaze lowering to the floor again. She doesn’t see his throat move, hidden as it is under the helmet’s chainmail, but she hears his swallow. “I think Lucio might kill me if you do.”

Oh, great. Kai winces, thinking of the guard Lucio had shot between the eyes just yesterday night. Well, now she definitely can’t ditch him.

Maybe...

“I just want to have a talk with Portia,” Kai says. “I promise I won’t leave. You can stay by the back end, if you want, even. If I’m not back in an hour, uh...”

“I’m not letting you leave,” Trevor hisses, more insistently. His eyes are wide. “If His Lordship finds out —”

“He won’t find out,” Portia says, assuring him. “Everyone hates the Count here, trust me. No one will say a word.”

Trevor stares at the both of them. Pepi returns from the garden, mrring as she rubs herself around Portia’s ankles. Portia glances down at her, and the relief that slackens her expression is... interesting. But Kai holds her tongue, unwilling to question her in front of Trevor.

Finally, Trevor sighs, rubbing his palm into his eye. “One hour,” he says. “Or else I get the whole guard to... to...”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Portia says, smiling. “I’d hate to tell your mom you threatened my establishment.”

“Sorry, ma’m,” Trevor says. “Could I... have a drink? Or three?”

“Sure. On the house. Go find yourself a seat, I’ll be with you after I talk to Kai.”

Portia takes Kai outside, and Kai sighs when she sees Cinis in a tree, golden eyes pinned on the entrance to the Rowdy Raven. He mrowls a greeting, tail swinging idly behind him, and Portia shuts the door after looking around. Once they’re alone and in the alley, Kai glances down both sides — clear — and opens her bag, pulling out the scarf full of food she’d taken from the garden behind Asra’s house.

She presses it into Portia’s hands. “Take this,” she says. “I don’t know how much it’ll help, but there’s more, I can get some of it tomorrow if you give me something to hold all the food with —”

Portia unties the scarf and her eyes widen at the sight of the berries and pomegranates and other fruit Kai had stolen. “Where did you get this?” she hisses.

“Doesn’t matter. Can you get this to people who need it? Maybe Sara’s family?”

Portia nods, dumbly, then smiles at Kai, eyes crinkling in the corner. “Come here, you,” she says, pulling Kai into a one-armed hug. Kai pats her back and pulls away a few moments later. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

Kai nods. “There’s so much food,” she says. “I couldn’t believe it.”

Portia’s smile widens. “I’ll get this out to people right away,” she says. “And please don’t try to ditch Trevor — you know Ilya saved his sister, right? Or... well, she’s still alive because of him, at least.”

Kai hadn’t known that. But she nods, watches Portia disappear back into the Raven with absconded food in hand, and turns around to Cinis in the tree. She can barely make him out in the darkness, but she opens her bag and goes under the tree. “All right,” she says, “come on, you, it’s time to go —”

Kai! a familiar voice says, and a purple snake drops out of the branches.

Kai starts and backtracks so quickly she loses her footing, tripping over her own feet. She crashes into someone behind her, someone warm and soft, someone who steadies her with a gentle, familiar laugh and a quiet “Easy, there.”

Kai whips around and sees Asra smiling at her, his scarf looped around his neck, exposing his face. Her heart races despite herself, and she tells herself it’s because she’s in an abandoned alley-garden with a murderer and a magician.

Though that’s... less concerning than it had been, before. She looks at him and thinks less he destroyed the Countess’s life force with magic and more he collected fossilized honey from an extinct bee species for... who knows, honestly.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she says before he can speak, and Asra laughs, cheeks dimpling.

“Like how?”

She flushes, despite herself. “Like — me. Running into you. Literally.”

“I don’t mind,” Asra says, smirking. He reaches out, and she inhales, tensing, but his arm only hovers above her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Faust slide from her hiding place onto Asra’s arm. He guides her to hide in the folds of his dark clothing. “Were you making friends, Faust?” Asra murmurs, not moving his gaze away from her.

In the apple tree, Cinis hisses. Kai looks up at him — and realizes, with a jolt, that the apple tree is thriving. It isn’t half dead anymore. It’s fully alive, leaves green and full, branches heavy with ripe green apples. Entranced, Kai reaches up and picks one. She looks from the apple in her hand to Asra, who hasn’t moved, who hasn’t looked away from her once.

Why does he look at her like that? All... fond, and soft?

“Did... did you do this?” she asks. She can’t keep the awe out of her voice. For months, she’d watched Portia struggle to keep this garden growing and vibrant — she’d watched others do the same, with the little squares they’d managed to reclaim from the ruin that was Vesuvia — and here Asra was, making this garden... grow.

“Mhm.” Asra’s small smile widens. It is, she has to admit, a very... pretty smile. It suits his face. Nice, Kai, she thinks, wrinkling her nose. “Magic’s meant to help people, Kai. At least, that’s what I’ve always believed. This garden was already wick.”

“Wick?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

He laughs, sounding self-conscious, and glances aside. She can’t quite tell in this light, but she thinks he’s blushing. “It’s, um, something a friend taught me, a while ago. Wick means... well, it means it has the potential for growth. For life. If something’s wick, it may look dead, but there’s still a spark of light inside. There’s still hope.”

Asra smiles at her. After a moment, he steps closer, and for all she half wants to step back, to put more distance between them (she’s heard the rumors of the Countess’s death, her very essence and soul rent to ribbons, destroyed in the most painful way possible) she doesn’t. He gestures to the garden. As she looks around, she sees that his magic hasn’t just affected the apple tree — it’s affected all of Portia’s plants.

“You could do this, too, you know,” he tells her, lowly. “If you wanted.”

“With magic,” Kai says, flatly.

“Mhm. Look, I know what you told me yesterday. But there’s no need to be scared of magic. You read the tarot book, right?” Asra asks. He hums, still smiling. “I bet you finished it in an hour.”

He doesn’t even bother to lower his voice. She sputters, looking back down either side of the alley, but the garden is empty and dark. They’re alone. She looks back at Asra. “That doesn’t,” she starts, keeping her voice low, “that doesn’t mean I want to, to learn — to learn magic. I’m already in enough trouble, thanks.”

Asra’s smile disappears. “I heard,” he says, looking worried. His brows crease. “Lucio’s making you look for me. Did he... did he threaten you? Are you in danger?”

Kai stares at him. “I mean, no more than I am now, since I’ve been officially charged with witchcraft. Which. Is a capital crime.” She glances away. “Honestly, once, well, if, Lucio finds you, I’ll probably be executed because... well. Because.”

“I won’t let him touch you.”

The fury in his low voice, the fervency of that unexpected promise, takes her aback. She looks back to him to see his scowl, a dark expression that she’s never seen before. She doesn’t know what her face looks like, but Asra sees it and exhales, expression smoothing over into a slight smile. “I won’t let anything happen to you because of me,” Asra promises. “I know how to be careful.”

He steps back, toward the door to the Rowdy Raven. “D’you think Portia has tea? I have some more books in my bag, if you’re interested in more reading. We can go inside, grab a table, continue this conversation.” He catches himself. “I mean, if you want.”

“Uh,” Kai says. “I thought you just said you knew how to be careful. You know there’s a guard watching my every step, right?”

Asra smiles, and distantly, she thinks it is a very nice smile. “They wouldn’t see me, Kai.”

“You — who would they see, then?”

Asra goes to one of the darkened windows, which is clear enough to show his reflection. Kai can just see an amber-haired figure with thick braided hair full of silver toggles, mossy eyes, and dark skin wrinkled with smile lines. She stands beside Asra, unable to help herself. Her reflection is just as it always has been.

And, despite everything — despite her fear, and her wariness, and the fact that Asra is (supposedly) a vicious murderer — she finds herself wondering if Asra could teach her how to do this, too. If she could change her appearance, she could escape Lucio’s iron grip much more easily.

“What do you think?” Asra asks, smiling at her. “I was aiming for jovial traveler.”

Pretty! comes a faint voice. Asra laughs and thanks Faust, rubbing at his clothing in a way that makes Kai think he’s stroking her head.

Kai looks at him. “You didn’t kill the Countess, did you?”

Asra’s smile fades. He looks away, looking grieved. “No. I didn’t. But I don’t know who did, and I... I’m going to find out. I owe her that much.”

“I’ll help,” Kai volunteers, softly. She catches herself, looking away, but it’s too late. The words have already been spoken.

Damn. Julian’s usually the one who speaks before he thinks, always promising cures or help even if their stock is low or they’re stretched thin. She’s the pragmatic one, and there is nothing pragmatic about this — helping the magician she’s supposed to be hunting.

But Asra grins at her, cheeks dimpling, and her heart flips. He half-bows to her, his hand pressing against his heart. It’s a gesture that reminds her of Julian’s dramatics, and she smiles, huffing a laugh through her nose.

“I would appreciate that,” Asra says, softly. “Two is always better than one.”

“Will your... spell, or whatever it is, will it hold?” Kai asks. “In the Rowdy Raven, I mean.”

Asra nods, opening the door for her. Behind her, Cinis jumps out of the tree with a yowl, landing on his feet. Kai half-turns and sees him streak past her, back into the Rowdy Raven. A patron inside swears.

“After you,” Asra says. “We have a lot to talk about, I imagine.”

#the arcana #playwithdinos #asra x mc #fic

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lumiolivier · 7 years

Text

Chapter Twenty-Six: Serving My Nickel

Word Count: 6174

Chapter No. 26/?

Notes: I was going to have this up earlier, but an anxiety fit and a depression spell fucked that up for you. I’m sorry. Also, there’s a bit of violence in this chapter. Just so you know. Also! There’s a little bit of fan fiction in this chapter, too! For Free!. A part two of the first part that you can find here.

Chapter Twenty Five: Hello Kitty

I’m up way too damn early…and empty. Five o'clock, how I hate you so. I’m not even working at the café anymore! Come on, body…But I didn’t really have much of a problem with it. I knew what was waiting for me down the road. I didn’t even bother with a shower yet. Instead, I threw my clothes in an overnight bag and took off for Julian’s. I opened his front door and threw my bag on his couch. When I peeked into his bedroom, Julian was nowhere to be found. Where the hell did he disappear to?

Oh well. I pulled his blankets over me and made myself comfortable. He’s still here. His car was anyway. His keys, phone, and wallet were still on his nightstand. I did hear the shower turn on. At least someone didn’t come and steal him in the middle of the night, so that’s a plus. I rolled over and shut my eyes for maybe a minute or two. Next thing I knew, a warm body pressed up against my back.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” a pair of lips grazed my temple.

“Good morning,” I rolled into Julian’s chest, “Tell Griffin to fuck off and stay with me.”

“I’d love to,” he assured, “Believe me. But I can’t do that. You know better. I’d like to keep my Crunchyroll premium account and the couple of subscription boxes I get once in a while. Not to mention, I got a thing tomorrow.”

“Friday already?” I groaned.

“It is,” Julian held me tight, “And I can’t wait for you to see what tomorrow holds.”

“You could just tell me now,” I suggested.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he poked at me, “I’d love to stick around and cuddle, but I have to go do your old babysitting job.”

“I do not miss that,” I drawled, “Kyle being a pain in my ass is no longer my problem.”

“No,” Julian grumbled, “It’s mine. I’ll see you when I get off, ok?”

“Ok,” I sighed out as he pulled the blankets back over me.

“Might not have gotten to tuck you in last night,” he gave me one last kiss, “But I’ll be damned if I don’t get to now.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I whined.

“Positive,” Julian cradled my face in his hand, “Go back to sleep. And when you wake up, get some work done. I want a notification in my email saying you updated today.”

“I will,” I shut my eyes again.

“I love you, Mimi.”

“Love you, too,” I fell back to sleep. Sleepy time. Nighty night.

I fully believed Julian’s bed had magical powers. No one could convince me otherwise. Never have I ever slept so hard and so soundly since I started sleeping here. Five stars on Yelp. However, when I woke up, I had to knock that rating down a star. Woke up alone. Dislike. Four stars. Until I walked into the living room. Three stars. Can’t tell Julian and Paul were playing last night. Controllers thrown haphazardly on the living room floor. Dorito crumbs and empty soda cans everywhere.

How did I not see this when I came in? In my defense, I was still half dead when I came in, but still, this was ridiculous. I love Julian with all my heart and Paul was getting there, but I never would’ve guessed two adult men were playing video games in here last night. I couldn’t leave it like this. I had an update to work on, but there was no way I could do anything in a painfully and unnecessarily cluttered workspace. And I’m starting with these damn cans.

I busted the tabs off and threw them in the key bowl. One never knows when these come in handy. I’ve heard of cosplayers using them for chainmail. Although, the average person uses them for hangers. That’s the beauty of being a creature like myself, like Julian. One learns to MacGyver like a machine. Once the cans were taken care of, I swept the Doritos in the living room. At least there’s no carpet to contend with.

I put the controllers in the drawer of Julian’s entertainment center and was finally left to create. All I needed was a quick booting of Julian’s laptop. I’m sure he didn’t mind. I just wish I had saved the beginning of the Free! fic on the site. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that much foresight. When I started writing it, I didn’t think I’d start dating someone. Let alone a Julian.

I could do this. I had to post this one-shot today. If I didn’t, I’d self-flagellate to atone for the great sin that would be. It had been so long since I worked on it, I didn’t even remember what was happening. I knew the mermaid was in Rin’s bathtub. Haru had a shit fit about getting a mermaid tail. Rin yelled at him for being weird. Maybe I’ll skip to the part with Rin’s sister Gou.

“We can’t leave her here, Rin,” Haru pouted, “You think we should take her to the pool?”

“Because taking her into public would be a great idea?” Rin sassed, “No. We’re not taking her to the pool or anywhere until she gets her land legs.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi apologized with such a sadness in her voice, “I didn’t want to be this much trouble. Maybe my father was right and I should’ve stayed in the water.”

“Your old man sounds like a smart guy,” Haru grumbled.

“Haru,” Rin snapped back.

“I’ve always dreamed of the surface,” Naomi sighed dreamily, “I heard of my older sisters coming up when they came of age. They’d meet people and fall in love. One of my sisters married a human and never found water again. I miss her…”

“What’s her name?” he tried to comfort her.

“Elizabeth,” she smiled a little, “She and I were quite close when she was under the water. Our mother got caught in a fishing boat when we were young, so Elizabeth practically raised me. I’d give anything to see her again.”

“Anything?” Haru grinned darkly, “Would you give your tail for it?”

“Haru,” Rin gave him a swat upside his head, “We talked about this.”

“But he’s right, Rin,” Naomi admitted, “I’d give my tail to see Elizabeth again. I’d rather have my legs, so she and I could never be apart again. I could meet her husband. Maybe she has children. I’d love to meet them, too.”

“Maybe,” Rin took her hand, “Haru, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” Haru looked over at him with great skepticism.

“I need you to call Gou,” he begged, “I’m sure she could help.”

“Gou?” Haru whined, “I can’t call Gou. She’d get a nosebleed. You know she’s nuts for me.”

“Please?”

“Dammit!” Haru stormed out of the bathroom, already dialing Gou’s number.

“Um, Rin,” Naomi chimed in, “Who’s Gou?”

“My sister,” Rin settled her, “Once you make it out of my bathtub, you’ll have to blend in with regular humans. And we still have to find Elizabeth, right?”

“That’s right,” her face lit up, “Maybe she’s around here. You found me on these shores. Maybe Elizabeth is here, too.”

“How can we tell humans from mermaids?” Rin asked, “Is there a way?”

“A mermaid can sense another mermaid,” Naomi told him, “I can tell you who’s naturally born human and who isn’t.”

“Ok,” he still tried wrapping his head around everything that’s happened, “We should get you a wheelchair, though. At least while you have your tail. You can’t walk yet.”

“I haven’t tried,” she slapped her tail on the side of the tub, “I washed up on the beach and you’ve carried me everywhere. Maybe if I try…”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Naomi,” Rin stopped her, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Gou’s on her way,” Haru came back into the bathroom, “I didn’t tell her Naomi was a mermaid. All she knows is your girlfriend needed some clothes.”

“You told Gou she was my girlfriend?!”

“I had to get her off my back somehow!”

“Please,” Naomi shut them up, “Don’t fight.”

“Thanks, Haru,” Rin scoffed, “Now, I have to deal with that fallout.”

“Rin!” Gou squealed through her brother’s apartment, “Where are you?”

“That was quick,” Haru chuckled under his breath.

“Rin!” her voice sang.

“Play nice,” Rin shoved his finger in Haru’s face, leaving the bathroom to contend with his sister, “Hey, Gou.”

“When did you get a girlfriend?” Gou freaked, “I thought you were doing the whole unattached thing.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Rin clarified, “She’s this girl I rescued on the beach this morning. It’s been a long, taxing day.”

“Haru!” she squealed, “You’re so mean! You lied to me!”

“A little secret between you and me,” Rin smirked, getting his revenge, “That’s almost like him telling you he loves you.”

“What?” Gou’s heart stopped, “Really? You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“No,” he assured, “That’s the way Haru is.”

“Where is he?” Gou asked.

“In the bathroom with her.”

“Haruka!” Gou snarled, storming to the bathroom, “You two timer! You can’t be with a girl in the bathroom! That’s just weird! What the hell is going on in here?!

“I probably should’ve told you,” Rin braced himself, “Gou, this is Naomi. She’s a mermaid.”

“Hi,” Naomi smiled sweetly, “You’re Rin’s sister?”

“Yeah,” Gou gave her a mistrusting look, “Of course he’s cheating on me with a mermaid.”

“Cheating on you?” Haru worried, “We’re not together, Gou. No matter what Rin said.”

“Sure,” she nodded in disbelief, “Our love life can take a backseat for now. Rin, how do you end up with a mermaid?”

“She washed up on the beach,” Rin explained, “She’s looking to find her sister.”

“She can’t walk on land, though,” Gou pointed out, “She’s got a tail where her legs should be!”

“Rin,” Naomi interrupted, “I really want to try walking.”

“You think you can?” Rin wondered, a little nervous.

“I can try,” she shrugged, “Maybe you could help me out of the tub first?”

“Sure,” Rin took her hand and sat her on the edge, “Are you ready?”

“I just move one side of my tail like…this…” Naomi twitched her tailfin, “And this one goes like this…”

The scales on her bottom half started fading away and her tail split in two. Rin held Naomi’s hands, helping her walk, “You got it. Just keep moving.”

“Is this walking?” she wondered, her legs taking shape and her fins becoming feet.

“This is walking,” Rin beamed. He couldn’t have been prouder, “You may want to take it easy your first time out of the gate.”

“Does this mean you’ve lost your tail?” Haru sounded so disappointed.

“Not permanently,” Naomi promised, “All I need to do is jump back into seawater again and my tail comes back. Then, once I return to land, I’ll have my legs. I guess it took me a minute to get mine. Let’s go outside. I want to feel the sun on my skin and see so many new things.”

“Sure,” he agreed, “We can go outside.”

“And we can look for Elizabeth?” she hoped.

“Of course,” Rin nodded, “One step at a time, ok?”

“Ok…”

I’d say that’s pretty sufficient for a day’s work. A good cliffhanger to pick up with another one. Dammit. I wanted this to be a one-shot. Looks like it’s having multiple chapters. I needed to get back to my house and put the first half on my flash drive. That way, I can upload today. My numbers were starting to fall a bit. Although, before I do that, I should probably write a proper send-off.

Author’s Note: Hi, guys! This is going to be a multiple chapter series. In all honesty, I wanted to see Rin with a mermaid. Next chapter, I’m sure we’ll have more hijinks and shenanigans. I’m sorry this wasn’t up sooner, but things have been a whirlwind lately. I’m sure you’ll see soon enough. See you later!

That should be good and vague enough to get the reviews in. Although, my viewers were pretty good about my privacy. Just like how I was with theirs. If they wanted to come to me with their problems, I kept them to myself. I loved each and every one of my fans like they were my own. On Mother’s Day last year, I had people telling me I was more of a mother to them than their own. So, I had to satisfy the masses. And if I were to quit now, I think that’d crush them all. That’s why I keep going.

I’ve thought about giving up the fan fiction racket so many times. Mostly because it wasn’t getting me anywhere and it was a waste of time. But I was venting these things to a fan of mine once that I had gotten pretty close with. She told me to write one more chapter. Just one. Like it was going to be my last. That so-called final chapter intended to be my swan song ended up spawning a million other ideas for it. And I never looked back.

I ran back to my house to set up my flash drive, keeping my fingers crossed no one was home early. Julian’s right. He’s my mistress. Only instead of worrying about my husband, I was more scared shitless of my parents pulling in at the wrong time. They thought I gave this up. They didn’t know I was still writing fic or cosplaying or obsessively watching anime or ordering figurines on Amazon at two in the morning because I couldn’t sleep. Hell, they thought I got involved with children’s community theatre! They still thought I had a job! But here I was. I got the first half of “Heart of the Ocean” off my computer and went back to Julian’s.

Part one, successfully uploaded. Not even three o'clock. Good for me. In that case, I should probably shower and get dressed today. I wasn’t even sure who I grabbed before I left this morning. I checked my overnight bag and pulled out a purple tank top. Already loving it. Black leggings. Promising. A beaded bracelet in various shaded of blue. Alright. And a light blue hoody! I grabbed Haru! Perfect! And a little silver dolphin to go around my neck. Cute and comfortable. And I had a short, black wig, too! I really could go full Haru.

I got in and out of Julian’s shower and went on a walk. What’s with me visiting the boyfriend at work lately? Then again, it was a Friday afternoon. I had an outstanding date with a young lady on a regular basis. Like Julian tucking me back in bed this morning, I’ll be damned if I miss that just because I didn’t work there anymore.

I walked into the café like I owned the place again and stood at the counter, waiting my turn like a civilian. Once I got to the front of the line, Julian stood behind the register, “Hi. What can I get for you?”

“I only get one thing, Julian,” I smiled, “What do you think that is?”

“Oh, shit,” he put two and two together, “The hair threw me off. I’m sorry, baby. Green tea? Honey?”

“Please.”

“So,” Julian looked me over, “Haru?”

“Yep,” I nodded, feeling my wig slip a little. I thought I had pinned it better between the netting on the wig and my wig cap, “You get your email yet?”

“Did you post?”

“Yes, I did,” I beamed, “I’m proud of me.”

“I’m proud of you,” he awed, “Do you want anything else?”

“No, I’m good,” I sipped on my straw, “I haven’t missed her yet, have I?”

“No,” Julian eyed the door, “But throw your hood up, keep your head down. Griffin’s coming.”

“Good call,” I did as I was told. I’d rather swallow thumbtacks than see Griffin. At least I was a little unrecognizable. Thank you, Haruka Nanase. I grabbed the register table and watched the shit show unfold.

“Russell!” Griffin chimed, “How are things?”

“Super,” Julian matched his enthusiasm, “Same old, same old, Mr. Griffin. Nothing exciting.”

“Not with that kind of attitude,” Griffin scolded, “What’s with you being so negative?”

“I’m sorry,” he slapped a fake smile on his face. I could see the vein sticking out in his neck, “I’ll be better.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Griffin wondered, “Has Mimi been back in here?”

“No, sir,” Julian shook his head, “Haven’t seen her since Tuesday.”

“She said she was moving,” he rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Maybe from her parents’ house to a box.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Julian stopped him while I set up the video camera on my phone. Something in my gut told me that things weren’t about to get pretty, “But that’s selling her a little short, don’t you think?”

“That’s going to be the next step,” Griffin went on, “There are a few strip clubs in Kansas City. Maybe I should stop by one of them and visit her at work.”

“At least she’s making money,” Julian grabbed a hold of the counter, keeping his anger under control. He wanted to call Griffin every name in the book in as many languages as he could. And I couldn’t blame him! This asshole thought I was stripping! Even if I was, there’s no way in hell I’m giving him a dance, “A job’s a job.”

“But one so unsavory?” he cringed, “Besides, she doesn’t have the body for that.”

“I don’t know,” Julian gritted his teeth, “I always thought she was pretty cute.”

“Oh, yeah,” Griffin confirmed, “She’s got a pretty face, but that’s about it. But if the opportunity arose, I wouldn’t say no to her in the car broke down, needs to use the phone sense.”

“With all due respect,” Julian’s lid was about to blow and I was about to throw up, “I really don’t appreciate you talking about her like that. I’m sure I’m not the only one. Probably not even the only one in this café.”

“Everyone’s entitled to an opinion,” Griffin shrugged. But people seem to forget there’s a difference between having an opinion and being a dick on purpose, “Besides, there are three people in here. What are the odds that one of them cares enough about her?”

“One in three,” Julian glanced over at me from the corner of his eye, “I’m pretty sure this particular customer wouldn’t appreciate it either. Aside from me, of course.”

“Who are you?” Griffin looked over at me, making my skin crawl.

“Who else?” I threw my hood down and peeled my wig off, “You really think I have that low of self-esteem?”

“Well, well, well,” Griffin sounded like a shitty movie villain, “Look who came crawling back. Ready to apologize and beg me for your job back?”

“I didn’t come crawling back to anyone,” I snarled, “And I’m not the one that needs to apologize. I was completely in the right. Did you see me grabbing all over you?”

“Excuse me?” Julian chimed in, “He was doing what now?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I’m not apologizing for anything. I could yell so many different things at you at the top of my lungs, but quite frankly, you’re not worth it. So, no. I’m not begging you for squat. I have one that I love very much and I’m loved for more than my body. Which is perfect the way it is, thank you very much.

“Really?” Griffin chuckled, “You have the audacity to come in here and say that to me?”

“Is it true that I quit Tuesday?”

“No,” he hushed me, knowing damn well I did, “I fired you.”

“I told you I was quitting because of a better opportunity,” I explained, “You told me I wasn’t going anywhere. True or false?”

“You weren’t going anywhere.”

“You,” I pointed toward Julian, “Did I get a better opportunity?”

“Yes, you did,” Julian confirmed.

“Did I not have plans to move?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Sure,” Griffin rolled his eyes, “Take her side.”

“The right side,” I defended.

“You don’t even have the right to be here,” he snapped, “If you quit, then why would you want to come back here so bad?”

“Because it’s a small town and I’m short on options,” I argued, “I have the same right as anyone else.”

“I picked a bad time to come in here, didn’t I?” Veronica…Dammit. She didn’t need to be here.

“Go back to class, Roni,” I demanded.

“How cute,” Griffin awed sarcastically, “You’re trying to protect her.”

“Of course I am,” I said, “I care about her and her well-being and she doesn’t need to see this.”

“What?” he chuckled, “You being the bitch you are? Trying to be all tough? Trying to stand up for yourself? Adorable. I should throw you out on your ass right now. If you were my kid, I’d be slapping the shit out of you right now.”

“Was that a threat?” I asked.

“It was a certainty,” Griffin promised, “You asked for it, sweetheart.”

I sent Veronica some mental telepathy to grab my phone while Griffin pulled his hand back. As much as I didn’t want this to happen, I let Griffin whip my hand across my cheek. Damn. Mother fucker had a mean swing. I saw Julian jump across the counter as I dropped to my knees, but I stopped him, “No.”

“No?!” he squeaked.

“No,” I gave him my Haru wig, fighting the sting on my face, “Hold my flower.”

“You sure?” Julian worried.

“I’m sure,” I got back on my feet, “Trust me.”

“Alright,” he let me go, “Kick his ass, baby. I got your flower.”

“What did I walk in on?” Veronica freaked a little.

“Justice,” Julian assured, keeping her back, “Tap me in if need be.”

“I got this,” I threw a heavy fisted right hook to Griffin’s jaw, letting out all the aggression I’ve kept inside for way too long.

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Griffin screeched as I got on top of him, “Someone call the cops!”

“I’m not your princess,” I threw another few blows to his face, “I’m not your girl. I’m not your anything. You didn’t deserve me and you’re a sad, miserable man. The hatred I have for you would be enough to put me in an early grave, but you’re not worth it. You sicken me.”

I got up and spat at his feet. As soon as I walked outside, two nice police officers waited at the door to put some shiny bracelets on my wrists and in the back of a squad car. I guess someone did call the cops, but I wasn’t worried. Little did Griffin know, not only did I have a support system to bail me out, but I had evidence and witnesses. If he was smart, which God knows he isn’t, he’s not pressing charges.

“Ms. Shepherd,” one of the younger cops came into the interrogation room.

“That’s me,” I chirped like nothing was wrong. Just had been served, “But you can call me Mimi.”

“Hold on,” he looked me over, “Mimi Shepherd?”

“Yeah.”

“I think we went to high school together,” he assumed, “Are you from Lenexa?”

“Born and raised.”

“Yeah!” he sang, “You were dating Miles Mills, weren’t you?”

“Were,” I cringed, “But yeah. What’s your name?”

“Robbie Day,” he told me, “I hung out with Miles a lot.”

“Robbie!” I remembered him. Out of all of Miles’ friends, he was the one I wanted to punch less, “Hi, honey! It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has!” I’ve never been so relieved in my life “I know I should be asking about the café incident, but how’ve you been?”

“I worked the café,” I explained, “But my boss is a sexist pig and I got a better job, so I quit.”

“Do you have any proof he’s a sexist pig?” Robbie asked.

“My phone,” I pointed out, “As soon as I knew he was coming in, I turned the video camera on. I also have two witnesses that saw Griffin hit me first along with a threat before the actual hit. Not only that, but I have in the same recording some lewd and disgusting remarks he made about me.”

“Do you know where your phone is now?”

“Either Veronica or Julian’s got it,” I figured.

“I need full names.”

“Either Julian Cooke Or Veronica Masterson has it,” I clarified, “Julian was also a witness to the atrocities that happened to me.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “I’m in your corner, Mimi, but unfortunately, we’re still going to put you in a cell for a bit.”

“Day,” another cop came in. One that I knew. Craig Ford was a good dude. He’s known me since I was in the womb, “She’s made bail.”

“Already,” I gasped, “That was quick.”

“You got someone you can call, Mimi?” he asked, “A friend? Your parents?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I got someone.”

“Go take care of her paperwork, Day,” he let Robbie go.

“But sir,” Robbie stood, “She was acting in self-defense!”

“Robbie,” Craig gestured to the door, “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her. Go run paperwork.”

“Yes, sir,” Robbie followed orders, “It was good seeing you again, Mimi. Despite the circumstances.”

“Thanks, Robbie,” I smiled.

“You don’t strike me as the violent type, Mimi,” Craig sat across from me, “When my guys told me they brought you in, I thought they were screwing with me. What happened, peanut?”

“Jeffrey Griffin is a disgusting human being,” I snarled, “He backhanded me, so I fought back.”

“He did what?” Craig’s eyes turned red.

“Is the red mark proof enough for you?” I wondered, “It still feels pretty warm, too.”

“You want me get you some ice?” he offered.

“No,” I brushed him off, “I’m fine. Sure, it hurt like hell, but I’ll live. You should see the other guy.”

“I did,” Craig told, “Black eye and a couple chipped teeth.”

“Damn,” I grumbled, “I was going for broken nose, but I guess chipped teeth will do.”

“This is serious, Mimi,” he giggled a bit.

“Sorry,” I joined him, “I had to make light of a dark situation.”

“Hey,” Craig gave me the biggest hug, “It’s alright now. We’ll take care of it, ok? Come on. I’ll walk you to your cell.”

“Such a gentleman,” I reveled in his embrace. Craig was practically family. If getting Robbie as my interrogating officer and Craig taking care of me wasn’t a good enough sign that things would be ok, nothing would be.

However, I still had to spend time behind bars. Because of one asshole that wasn’t worth the hassle. At least it was only me in here. Yet, no one gave me a harmonica. I feel so let down. My image of sitting in jail was forever shattered. But I sat and twiddled my thumbs, waiting for someone to come and pick me up. Come on, Julian. I know you’re the one that paid my bail.

“Mimi,” Robbie came and got me, “Ride’s here.”

“Awesome,” I got up, “Is it either my mom or my dad?”

“No.”

“Dark hair, pretty eyes, glasses?” I assumed.

“Yep!” Awesome. Robbie led me out to reception. I was about to walk out of here a free woman and with a well-deserved sense of justice.

“I’m in town for two whole hours and I have to bail you out of jail?” a familiar voice chastised, “Honestly, Mimi. Glad I got off the crazy train before this happened.”

That voice…I knew that voice. That voice sent my stomach into instant knots. I spend maybe forty-five minutes in jail and kicked the shit out of Griffin. I didn’t even have an adrenaline buzz anymore. But just one voice was enough to make me want to throw up violently. And it was his.

“There you are,” Julian pulled me into his arms, protecting me from…That, “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I buried my face in Julian’s chest, “What are you doing here?”

“Who do you think paid your bail?”

“Julian?” I looked up at my boyfriend, my heart in my throat, “You didn’t take care of that?”

“When I got here,” Julian told me, “I had the money to get you out, but they told me it was taken care of.”

“You forget who the chief is? Your name came up on the scanner.”

I was ready to punch another face in, “I appreciate it, but please…Leave me alone.”

“I came back to see you. You can’t even bother to say hi?”

“Mimi,” Julian asked, “Who is he?”

“He’s my Roxanne,” I kept my voice down, “That’s Miles.”

“Oh!” he chimed, “You’re her ex-boyfriend!”

“Guilty,” Miles shrugged. I didn’t want to see Griffin today, but out of everyone in the world I didn’t want to see, Miles was at the top of the list. If I never saw him again, it’d be too soon, “Mimi, who is this guy?”

“I’m Julian,” he held me a little tighter, “I’m her current boyfriend. I’ve heard about you.”

“Julian,” I stopped him, “Please don’t.”

“What?” Julian chirped, “I’m sure he’s a good dude.”

“Yeah,” Miles nodded, “I’m a pretty decent person. What have you heard?”

“Just the way you ended things,” Julian threw his arm around me while the three of us left the station, “What was that reason again?”

“She wasn’t the girl I thought she was,” Miles explained, “It was a little much for me to handle. Have you seen her body pillow?”

“Body pillow?” Julian toyed with him, “What body pillow?”

“Did you get rid of your weird body pillow?” Miles shot me a look, “Congratulations, Mimi. She used to have this body pillow.”

“Miles…” I winced.

“She’d sleep with it every night,” he went on, ignoring me completely, “Some guy half naked, pulling a glove off with his teeth. It’s forever burned in my brain and just...weird…Then, I saw the stuff in the closet and I wasn’t having it, so I left.”

“Her little quirks like that made you leave?” Julian asked.

“You two must not have been dating long,” Miles figured, “Wait until you go to her house. Check under the mattress and the closet. Unless that’s all gone, Mimi.”

“Miles,” I repeated myself, “Please stop.”

“Just saving him time.”

“It’s funny,” Julian giggled a little, “We’ve been dating almost a month. I’ve been to her house. Hell, even stayed the night once or twice. I’ve seen her costumes and Sebastian. All her little quirks are what I love most about her.”

“Good for you, man,” Miles gave a sarcastic thumbs up, “You want a medal?”

“No,” Julian let out a little sigh, “I already got my trophy. She used to be yours. You wanted to get out of here, right, baby?”

“Yes, please,” I begged, almost desperate at this point, “It was nice seeing you, Miles.”

“You, too,” he parroted, “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Those five words hit me harder than I thought. A year and a half I don’t see Miles and the first thing he does is pay my bail? Maybe he was hoping I had changed and came around to the thought of the silver spoon life. Miles’ dad was the chief of the Lenexa Police Department, but his mom was born into old money. His dad took the cop job for something to do. While we were together, Miles wouldn’t hesitate to spoil me. It was like having my own personal member of the Ouran Host Club. Only Miles couldn’t even aspire to be like them.

“Well,” Julian broke the uncomfortable silence, “Since my little hardened criminal has served her nickel, you want to into Kansas City and get dinner?”

“I’m not a hardened criminal,” I giggled, rolling my eyes at him, “I spent an hour and a half there. I wouldn’t call myself a hardened criminal. Think you still have a job?”

“Doubtful,” Julian shrugged, getting off on the interstate, “I’m sorry. I never got an answer out of you. Just assumed it’d be a yes.”

“Yeah,” I let him go, “I could stand the road trip.”

“Here,” he rolled his windows down, “Something tells me you could use a jam.”

“God yes,” I confirmed, “Loud music and some time to forget the world.”

“Well then,” Julian gave me his phone, “Take your pick.”

“Ok,” I scrolled through his music.

Wow. Julian’s playlist was pretty diverse. A lot of anime themes. Surprise, surprise. Miku’s entire catalog. Yet another shock. A lot of the other vocaloids. But then, he had a lot of normal shit, too. A lot of Death Cab for Cutie. A little Postal Service. Some Owl City and Jack’s Mannequin. Some of Andrew McMahon’s solo stuff. A few harder bands, both old and new. Then again, there were also a few video game soundtracks and the Studio Ghibli soundtracks. Too much to pick from. Let’s pick one we’ve never heard before, “This one.”

It started with a weird mix of banjo and guitar. Ok. It sounded kind of weird, but I liked it. Julian looked over at me with a little smile on his face, “Excellent choice. You don’t strike me as the City and Colour type, though.”

“I’ve never heard it before,” I admitted.

“Listen closely,” he took my hand.

“I wish I could do better by you ‘cause that’s what you deserve,” the singer melted out of Julian’s speakers, “You sacrifice so much of your life in order for this to work. While I’m off chasing my own dreams, sailing around the world. Please know that I’m yours to keep, my beautiful girl.”

In that sweet, heartwarming moment, I wanted to cry. And it only got worse as the song went on, “What was this called again?”

“It’s ‘The Girl’ by City and Colour,” Julian gushed, “I love this song. Just wait, though. It’ll pick up and be a little less melancholy. I found it about three months ago. I was in a bar in Nashville, Tennessee, of all places. This came on and I fell in love with it. And with the band. They’re not bad. Most of their stuff is acoustic like this, but this song? I told myself if I ever decided to get married again, I’d want it played at our wedding. First dance.”

“If that’s going to be me,” I caught myself, “Not saying we’re NEARLY ready for that yet, but I’m just saying if it’s our wedding, I had something else in mind.”

“Oh?” I had his interest, “And what would that be?”

“Really?” I smiled, “You have to ask?”

“Is it the theme to Fruits Basket?” he assumed.

“Right church, wrong pew,” I corrected him, “Anymore guesses?”

“I’ll get this one,” Julian thought a little harder, “Monochrome Kiss?”

“No,” I shook my head, “I don’t want to be thinking about demons and earls making deals during our first dance at our wedding.”

“Alright,” he guessed again, “I got this. It’s an orchestrated version of ‘Again’ by YUI.”

“No,” I was ready to beat him with a wrench, “Not the Fullmetal theme either.”

“Well, shit, baby!” Julian whined, “I got nothing. Is it from an anime?”

“Yes,” I nodded, scrolling through his Ghibli collection, “But it’s not from a series.”

“I got nothing,” he gave up, “What is it?”

“This one,” I started playing the theme to Howl’s Moving Castle, ‘The Merry-Go-Round of Life’. It had been my favorite Ghibli theme for as long as I could remember. I just thought of Howl and Sophie in an abandoned ballroom, walking through the air, dancing the most beautiful waltz on the ceiling. And it made my heart feel so full.

“Oh my god,” Julian smacked his forehead on his steering wheel, “I feel so stupid. Howl’s Moving Castle, though? Really?”

“Yeah,” I beamed as Joe Hisaishi’s glorious creation played around us, “You can’t tell me it’s not a beautiful song because I’d break up with you over that.”

“It is,” he agreed with me, “It’s a beautiful piece of music. There’s no doubt. First dance, though?”

“Yes,” I put my foot down, “If it’s not ‘The Merry-Go-Round of Life’, I swear to God, Julian, I will raise hell.”

“Alright,” Julian settled me, “That’s fine with me. But ‘The Girl’ will happen. Sometime in the night. It will happen.”

“Fine,” I agreed, “I’m glad we got that out of the way now before it actually mattered.”

“And if we do end up getting married,” Julian teased, “We can look back on this moment with fond nostalgia. The day you got arrested for punching your former boss. Maybe even our former boss.”

“How romantic,” I giggled, laying my head on his shoulder, “Thank you, Julian.”

“For what, koibito?” he wondered, pulling into the Haven Tavern parking lot.

“For taking care of me,” I wrapped my arms around his.

“My pleasure,” Julian stole a quick kiss. Dinner?”

“Starved.”

#Sorry for Being a Closet Otaku #nanowrimo 2016

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wevegotworktodo · 8 years

Text

The Phallic Title Debacle(Damsel in Distress 4)

Pairing: Dean x Reader X Sam

Word count : 2634

Warnings: language, smut, crack!!!!

Summary: The three of you are on the hunt for the demon with the yellow eyes. Things happen... Just read the shit.

Winchester is bustling as you pass through the city square. There’s no King’s guard, no advisors, no servants at your side. You're threesome has become a foursome as Father Castiel leads the way through the winding narrow road. The fresh stench of shit fills the air as a chamber pot is emptied from a second story window, narrowly missing Dean’s head.

He shakes a piece of poop from his the toe of his shoe, “Uh, no offense here Padre, but the Royal Court has its own castle blacksmith.” The three of you wait just under the eave of the open air hut.

“Yes, your Grace…but this one is Kurdish.” The Smith presents Castiel with the blade which he had commissioned, receiving his seal of approval with a nod.

You await the unveiling of the cutlery seemingly important enough to drag the royalty of Winchester through puddles of feces to make its acquaintance. Castiel holds out both hands to display the blade to the lot of you. It's but a knife; simple handle made of antler, the blade eight inches of cold steel, strong and jagged. There's an inscription along the blade, definitely the language of the Kurds, but a subject you're not very familiar with.

“This blade will kill your yellow eyed demon, bring you the revenge and justice you have been seeking.” The boys’ eyes are wide with disbelief, distracted, at the revelation brought forth.

It's maybe a sixth sense, a blessing or a curse from the years of hunting, but you feel the presence behind you. You turn as he draws a small knife, advancing on your King. Drawing your sword you shove Sam to the side, he topples, falls in the urine slick mud. With one quick swing the arm holding the knife is severed. You throw your weapon to the ground as you snatch the new blade from Cas’s hands, plunge it into the abdomen of the still stunned attacker. His face lights with an orange glow, flickering, as the demon is eradicated.

“Blade works.” You say very matter of factly, passing it back to Cas before helping Sam to his feet. “We need to pack, get ready t’send this yellow eyed son of a bitch back to hell.”

“She's right, we need to leave tonight before the trail goes cold.” Dean takes the knife from Castiel. “I'll just hold onto this.” He sniggers.

“Really? You think you're the most capable here? The one who should be in charge of the most important weapon Winchester has ever seen?”

Sam pulls the blade from Dean’s hands. “I'm the King, I'll be in charge of it.”

You turn on Sam, “You? Mr. Almost got stabbed in the back? Mr. Pee Pee Pants?”

“That was so not my fault.”

“Just because it's not your piss doesn't displace the blame. Stay on your feet next time.” You regain possession of the weapon, giving Sam a formal bow, “Your Grace.” It's pure sarcasm and Sam knows it.

Castiel clears his throat before anymore bickering ensues. “He was only the first. Word travels fast. With a weapon like this there will be more, you'll be the hunted.”

*********

You had been the one who chose not to fly the King’s banners. Figured it'd be easier to protect him if he wasn't flaunting who he was while on this mission. Sam was dressed quite plainly, much like Dean, chainmaille concealed under a leather shirt, brown pants to match. Any ordinary peasant wouldn't know he’s royalty unless he were to have to draw his huge sword, or his weapon.

It'd been a seemingly endless ride, a good twelve hours in the saddle-- nervous, thoughts racing, stomach churning with both apprehension and excitement to finally face this bastard head on. The three of you decide to bed down for the night, a small clearing just off the beaten path will do just fine.

Dean still can't let go of the fact that you're the one in possession of the demon killing blade, “You know... I'm responsible, I held Excalibur once.”

You're already smiling,“Do I dare ask?”

“Ask what?” Dean claims a seat by the fire.

“You're aware that King Arthur also calls his prick Excalibur? So which one did he let ya hold, Dean?”

Sam is wholeheartedly laughing, loves the way you can ruffle his brother’s feathers.

Dean stands,“Fuck you both,” begins to swing an imaginary blade through the air, “That sword is enormous, rare steel, perfectly weighted.”

“Yes, and men who carry such large and extravagant weapons are generally overcompensating for somethin’.” You hold a sausage up, skewer it with a stick before holding it over the crackling fire.

“Like what?”

“Let's just say you're not the only one who’s ‘held’ Excalibur, and it wasn't that great.”

“Since when?”

“Since a couple a years ago when I took down a pack of werewolves for ‘em. Oddly enough at that time he was traveling with only a squire who kept banging together two coconuts. Ugh, that sound is forever etched in my brain.” You rub your temples as you gaze into the flames, “Anyway, he was...um…grateful.”

Sam quickly changes the subject, challenging your before mentioned assumption. “My python is by far the largest in the land and I still carry a big sword.”

“Ah, but your reputation precedes you. People across the great seas are aware of the slut slayer in your pants. You could carry a sword twice the size of any other king’s and no one would doubt you.”

Dean’s fed up, jealousy boiling in his veins. “Let's get some sleep, got a long ride in the mornin’.”

**********

“Excalibur, pfft,that's a shitty name anyway. Who names their bratwurst Excalibur?” Dean’s riding in the back, still hung up on last night’s conversation. “I'm going to name mine something way cooler than Excalibur. How about…” He thinks for a moment, “...Winchestibur?”

“No!” both you and Sam say in unison.

“Ok, ok. Win-dicks-i-bur?”

You stop your horse in its tracks, “Oh for fuck’s sake, you're just making shit up.”

“So? You don't think it's deserving of a name then?” He asks, trotting off ahead with Sam.

“Sure. Why don't both of you find a name for your albino cave dweller.” Letting out a deep sigh and rolling your eyes, you mumble under your breath, “It’s gonna be a long day.”

******

Both you and Dean try to convince him it's absurd but Sam quickly settles on ‘King Cocksbury’ enticing a huge, much needed, laugh. Maybe this ridiculousness is exactly what’s required to lighten the mood when- until now- thoughts your family’s death (at the hands of a being with yellow eyes) have been weighing heavy.

“Hmmm, a good title for the bologna pony?” Dean rubs his hand across his three day stubble.

“Hell. Dean’s thinking again. If steam starts coming out of his ears Y/N turn him over, we can cook dinner tonight without building a fire.”

“Ooo, King Cocksbury himself making jokes, you’re hilarious little brother.”

Sam reaches over and gives Dean a good shove in the shoulder, nearly pushing him off Baby. Dean in turn shoves him back which turns into a slap fight between two grown ass men.

As hilarious as this is you have a mission to complete and need to move on, “Ladies, ladies! Break it up before you resort to hair pulling!” They stop but glare at each other. “I'm not sure what's worse, hunting alone- praying to become a knight one day, or actually being one- sworn to protect the two sexiest but childish morons I've ever met.”

There's a roadside pub just ahead, a small stone building with a thatched roof. “It's just brotherly love.” Sam proclaims dismounting first.

“It's annoying.” You mumble as you swing your leg over the saddle, pull your foot from the stirrup.

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Annoyingly sexy,” then winks as pulls you into his arms. You hesitate as he leans in, breath hitches, but you can't seem to resist- letting your eyes fall closed.

Sam crinkles his nose, “I'm going to fill our costrels for the road. You two want anything?”

Dean pulls from your lips long enough to mumble, “See if they got any pie.” Motioning for Sam to go on inside.

You break- suddenly aware of what you're doing, who you're doing it with, and who saw you do it. “We...we can't--S-Sam.”

“Don't worry bout Sammy. We talked... he's ok with sharin’ until you're married to ‘em, then you're off limits,” he does a reach around, fills both hands with your ass and squeezes. “I plan on making the most of it ‘til then.”

You relax a little, “make the most of it fast then, he won't be but a minute.”

You're both hurriedly looking for a place that isn't so out in the open, some sort of cover. Dean grabs his bed roll, takes your hand and half leads, half drags you behind the building. There's a few large pines just to the side, only one of the pub’s windows visible from here so you figure it's as good a place as any. You give the blanket a shake, laying it out in a bed of pine needles while Dean over anxiously jerks his pants to his ankles. You've dropped your sword, beginning to unlace your own pants when he steps forward, cradles your face and dips his head again. Your eyes flutter, close, then spring open again. You’d caught a glimpse, a flash, of bluish white light inside.

“Fuck, Sam!”

Dean’s peppering kisses down your neck, reassuring you between them, “M’told you...he’s ok...with...this.”

You shove him back, pants around his ankles he stumbles- doesn't fall, looks at you inquisitively as you pick up your sheathed weapon. “Somethin’s wrong,” you say kicking his sword closer to his feet, “com’on.”

Entering cautiously, weapons drawn, you study the room. There's no activity, several dead highwaymen strewn about, their throats slit ear to ear.

No Sam.

Oh shit- No Sam.

You begin to panic, heart’s pounding, palms are sweating, breathing is a little erratic. You let the goddamn freaking King, whom you're sworn to protect, out of your sights to ride the steamin’ semen highway and now he's fucking disappeared. “Knew I shouldn't have let him come in by himself, son of a bitch!”

Dean’s at your side, “Well, there is a silver lining.”

“Aaand what is that?”

“Now we can bump uglies anytime we want.” He waits for your reaction expecting bitchface. He gets bitchface alright, along with a slap right across his. Your palm stings and for a second you regret the slap- think you should've punched him instead. “Jeez Y/N, it was a joke,” Dean rubs his cheek, reddened and angry, “S’riously though, Sam's not here. That's a good thing, means he's probably still alive.”

You let out a deep breath, “You're prob’ly right. Grab our stuff, I'll get the horses. They can't be far.” Turning to head out the door you notice a powder-like substance in the windowsill, you rub it between your fingers, smell it, “D, it's sulfur.”

*****

Turns out Castiel was right. Regardless of your efforts you'd been attacked numerous times in the past twenty four hours, managing to literally carve some information from the last demon, obtaining an exact location and description of the one you seek…

You're crouched in a thicket at the edge of the demon’s camp, there's no sign yet of Sam but he has to be here.

“Baron Von Boner?”

“You're going to do this now?” You whisper.

“Might as well be productive.” He says, louder than necessary.

“Shhhhh, damn it, you're gonna get us caught.”

“Knight of the Schlong Table?”

The look on your face was enough for Dean to gesture closing the zipper over his mouth, locking it and throwing away the key.

Only observing for now, you're getting a plan together before rushing in. Obviously outnumbered -three, maybe four, to one- you'd be lucky if any of you make it out alive.

The decision was made to strike at first light.

That leaves fourteen or so odd hours to prepare for battle, or to keep yourselves busy ‘til then.

*****

It's a chilly night, but the blanket is just too warm. You toss it back, welcoming the cool air on your sweat soaked skin. Dean moans and you're not sure if it's because of the cold or that thing you did with your hips.

So, you do it again...

“Mmm Y/N, I swear to…”

And again. “...g-aaad,” he grunts out.

Yep, definitely the hips.

You straighten your back, lock your feet around Dean’s calves as you grind down onto him. His hands slide up your torso, fingers teasing at your breasts. You brush your hair out of your face, peeling a few pieces back that are plastered to your forehead from the perspiration.

Rocking back you place your palm on his chest and when you rock forward it slides up a bit, your thumb grazing across his nipple. He groans again, can barely get it out before it's broken, as you push backward taking him to the hilt.

Dean’s eyes are closed, hands splayed across the tops of your thighs. You let your own eyes fall shut, begin to get lost in the feel of it all-- the smooth flesh of Dean’s chest, the stark contrast of the calluses on his palms traveling across your skin, the bead of sweat slowly trickling down between your breasts.

The fullness.

The grunts and moans.

The snapping of the twig behind you.

The snapping of the twig behind you…

You jump up, pulling the knife from under your bed roll as you move. The demon is dead before the night breeze can dry the coochie juice off Dean’s womb raider.

He sits up on his elbows. “Mmm, I like it when you fight naked. Now get back over here.” You glance over your shoulder at the body laying not 10 feet away, shrug your shoulders.

You plant one foot on each side of his hips, bend over and tuck the blade back under the edge of your pack. “I swear to god I should let you get blue balls.”

“Come on, you wouldn't mistreat Vlad the Impaler would you?”

“If you ever call it that again I'm going to cut it off.” You reach for the handle of the blade.

“Ok, ok.” He holds both hands in the air in submission. “Just fuck me already,” his fingertips graze at your calves, featherlight across your sensitive flesh.

You stand up straight, bend at the knees, sink straight down onto his sperminator until he's bottomed out. Your fingertips are white as you grip his shoulders for leverage, squatted on top of him, raising up to the tip, plummeting until he's balls deep.

His hands have moved to your ass, helping you with the extension, guiding and lifting you as far as possible without sliding out of the sausage wallet. You're able to set a torturing pace, thighs burning, knees tingling, the pins and needles radiating to your core where they're actually welcome. Parts of your body want to give up but you're chasing that release, and it's so close…

You're studying Dean’s features, the lines in the corners of his eyes, how his tongue darts out to moisten his lips just before he pulls the bottom one in between his teeth. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back his growls. How his face is subtly starting to distort into the expression he always has when he cums.

He's crouched just beside Dean’s shoulder when he materializes. He's middle aged, face worn. Looks you straight in the eye and smiles disturbingly, “Nice tits.”

His eyes flash a golden yellow, and with a snap of his fingers they're both gone.

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