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wendimydarling · 4 years

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The Hammer and The Widow

Title: The Hammer and The Widow

Summary: August decides he needs more than just sleep the night before they collect Lane.

Pairing: August Walker x Alanna Mitsopolis (The White Widow)

Word Count: 2709

Warnings: nudity, oral sex, sex.

A/N: Well folks, this little present for @littlefreya has been in the works for months. But finally, finally my words are back, and it’s here. It is also Song Drabble #20, “Earned It” by the Weekend, submitted by two anons. I use the word “drabble” loosely, as it’s nearly 3k words. Whoops. Fan Club tag in the reblog. Please enjoy!!

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“Right… Sleep well everyone. Busy day tomorrow.”

August watched her exit the room, her sheer white robe flowing behind her as if it hadn’t immediately realized she was moving. The contrast of pure white silk against the Widow’s cold black heart stirred the heat rapidly pooling in his belly, and August knew without question he would have her tonight. He needed it, adrenaline and rage had been surging through his body since he’d jumped out of the plane. She was everything he desired in a woman and more; she carried herself with grace and poise, an innocent affront that he knew hid a well-groomed hunger for power.

Ethan turned and signaled that it was time to go, but Walker grabbed his arm.

“Someone should stay here. Something about this just doesn’t feel right; I don’t trust her. Perhaps I can get her to reveal more information.”

Ethan eyed him warily, looking around the room at the men fixing weapons. He needed to formulate a plan; he didn’t want anyone to die. August might be right, an inside man would help, and would keep their cover.

“Don’t give them the option of saying no,” Ethan admonished, and left with everyone else. August sighed and circled the table, pretending to be interested in the plans for the extraction while making sure he was still within earshot of the room Alanna had disappeared to. He was a patient man when he needed to be, but fortunately he didn’t have to wait long.

The White Widow reentered the living room, expecting to find it empty, so when she saw Walker standing there she was taken aback, though intrigue instead of alarm fell over her features.

“I’d thought everyone had left,” she stated calmly, brushing past August to pour herself a drink from the small bar in the corner. A devilish smirk turned up the corner of his mouth.

“Lark and I thought it would be best that one of us remain here,” he murmured just as calmly, turning around and leaning against the table, crossing his arms across his chest as he watched her move. She’d removed her robe in her absence and the low light glinted off her skin, mimicking the shimmer of her nightgown with each deliberate action of her hands. The gown itself left little to the imagination, and August couldn’t help but picture how the soft, pert little nipples that hid underneath would taste.

“And by ‘Lark and I’, you mean you?” The Widow’s voice distracted August and his eyes snapped to her face, her expression indicating his thoughts were clearly not his own. He spoke as much out loud, coming over to stand behind her.

“Don’t you think,” he spoke softly, running his knuckles along the skin he’d been so intently staring at, “The night would be better spent with someone after the evening we had?”

“Why yes, Mr. Walker, I do believe you’re right.”

Alanna turned her head to the side, looking at his fingers rather than his face. She closed her eyes softly as August made his way up to her neck, sweeping her hair to the side and ever so lightly skimming his fingertips against her shoulder. She sighed contentedly, leaning her head back against his chest and offering her neck to the beast in her chamber.

August hooked a finger underneath the strap of the Widow’s gown, letting it slip down on his hand to hang gracefully off her shoulder. His lips connected with the woven lace of her delicate skin, small wet patches from his caress left in his wake as he traveled from her clavicle to the paper thin dermis protecting the pulse beneath her ear. He took his time, savoring the way she tasted and every sharp intake of air that Alanna drew in, soft little mewls escaping each time she exhaled. Yes, he would have her. But it would be slow.

His fingers fisted in her hair as August took control, tilting her this way and that as he pleased. It was as if Alanna’s head was unhinged, her consent clear as she let him manipulate her. August turned her head to face him, his large hand covering her jaw and most of her neck as he ducked down for a kiss. Deep and probing, exploring her mouth with a sense of urgency, August dropped the other strap of her nightgown and let the pale silk fall to the floor.

Alanna pulled away and opened her eyes, ever the mystery as she stared stoically into his soul. It took August by surprise and he searched her face intently, looking for the meaning behind her gaze. He couldn’t find it, and that frustrated him.

“On your knees,” he whispered, authority dripping from his tone. The corner of the Widow’s mouth turned up slightly, and she raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

This caught August off guard. His grasp on her hair loosened and Alanna stepped out of the gown, walking toward the bedroom and only glancing back once at the stunned man she’d left behind. August quickly regained his composure and followed her into her lair. There she lay propped on her elbows in the center of her bed, an intricate web he was certain had trapped more than one man. Alanna lifted her chin proudly.

“If you want your prize,” she challenged him, “You’ll have to earn it.”

The Widow spread her legs on the last words to emphasize her point, and it was August’s turn to grin. He removed his tie slowly, followed shortly by the government-issued disguise that he was forced to wear daily. Alanna watched him intently as he peeled back the layers of cotton, all muscle and sinew and sinful flesh lurking beneath the mask of his job. August noted the darkening of her eyes, the scent of her arousal at the sight of his naked body beginning to permeate the air. He knew she could sense the danger that lay dormant beneath his charming and practical demeanor, and he knew that it thrilled her to her core.

August knelt on the bed and slid his hands over Alanna’s legs, starting at her ankles and working his way up until he reached her thighs. He grasped the backs of them firmly and split her open, diving into her depths with fervor and need. The moment his tongue tasted her honey he knew he was lost, ensnared in the same web so many men before had succumbed to. She was just as dangerous as he, and he knew that should she choose to, The Widow would eat him alive when she’d had her fill. August intended to give her a reason to keep him around.

Elation overtook him as August drank her in, sucking the nectar from deep within her walls. Alanna’s gasps grew louder, closer; her hands tangled in the sheets above her head and her back arched in calculated movements, each one chasing the high that she had grown accustomed to. Again, this frustrated August. He wasn’t like other men; he was The Hammer. Every fiber of his existence in this moment alone rested entirely on leaving such a mark that she would remember the way he felt deep inside of her for the rest of her life.

August growled, hooking two fingers inside of the Widow and yanking her towards him. Her eyes shot open and her head snapped to her chest, staring at him in awe as his mouth pillaged the secret lair that hid between her legs. Alanna’s hands left their comfortable perch to grasp in his curls, attempting to pull him away from her delicate organ. But August refused to cave in to her will this time, wrapping his strong arms around her thighs instead and grasping her wrists firmly in his hands, sinking even deeper into her cave as her legs began to shake.

“August…” Alanna uttered breathlessly, which was followed quickly by orgasmic moans as her voice caught in her throat, consumed by pleasure. Her cries filled the room and her body trembled but August kept her legs wide, mercilessly eating his fill. The Widow was now trapped in her own web, and he didn’t slow as she came down, simply altered his movements and focused on the newly sensitized bundle of nerves now swollen and visible from within her folds.

The Widow arched her back again, but this time it wasn’t on purpose. August could sense it all, the smell of her desire, the sound of her delight, the taste of her need dripping from her entrance; it fueled his fury, his own need to have her quickly surmounting any other thought in his mind. But he wanted that hard shell of hers to come down first. He wanted the Widow to remove her exoskeleton, to take down those walls, to let him into her most intimate of places. August wanted her to beg.

Alanna writhed beneath him, unable to escape his expert touch. She keened as another orgasm quickly mounted, rocking through her while August tortured her swollen nub.

“I’d suggest you fuck me now, Walker,” she commanded, trying without success to regain the lead. August smirked.

“No.”

The Widow threw her head back and groaned, whimpering profusely. August latched both of her wrists in one hand and brought his free fingers down to her slick folds to play, easily sliding two digits in only knuckle deep while he licked her clit softly.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck!” Alanna cried, decorum be damned. The lady that men saw outwardly was gone, reduced to nothing more than a quivering mess of a whore, desperate to be filled. She was nearly laughing at the surprising switch of power, struggling in vain against the iron vice of the Hammer. All pleasure had been removed and August granted her nothing but the agonizing edge, knowing full well that one skilled stroke would send her plummeting into the deep. He could see the struggle on her face, her realization that she’d never met her match until now. If she gave in to what he wanted, the Widow gave up control, a position she’d never been in before.

August picked up the pace by slowing down, his tongue drawing long, languid strokes from his fingers to her mound as he fucked her just as slow, burying his fingers to the hilt before dragging them from her core. The Widow snapped, all sense of self-preservation flying out the window as need overtook her.

“More,” she begged him, “August… I need more. Oh, for the love of god, give me more!”

“Aw, you want me to fuck you, pet?” August grinned, not stopping.

“YES!” Alanna exclaimed, squirming in agony as her needs were left unsatisfied. She was now the prey, the fly tangled in a web of lust and sin, and August liked playing with his food. In tandem, he released her hands to grab her throat and slammed his fingers into her center, circling her neck to grab her hair and draw her up on her knees in front of him to meet his gaze.

“If you want your prize,” he mimicked her, “You’ll have to earn it.”

To emphasize his point, August withdrew his fingers from her pussy and placed them on her lips, indicating with his eyebrow that she should suck. The Widow took to the task at once, cleaning the sharp sweetness of her need from his skin with reverent care as her hands traced gentle patterns on his hips and ass. August watched intently, picturing those full lips around his cock and how pretty she would look if he chose to fuck her face. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought away; there would be plenty of time for that during the next round.

August flipped Alanna suddenly, keeping a firm grasp on her hair as he pulled her flush against him, folding the rest of his body around hers in a strangely intimate gesture of protection. His cock entered her slick heat and his neurons erupted at the sudden sensation; Alanna’s outward cries echoed the pleasurable sentiment his body was screaming at him and August growled in her ear.

“Go ahead, pet… earn it.”

The Widow didn’t need any further encouragement, rutting against him with fervor. August guided her almost imperceptibly, allowing her to think she was in control of the actions of her body when in reality he was moving her where and how he wanted. She fucked him with surprising strength though, her walls tightening around his thick shaft as the orgasm she sought neared her.

“Ah ah ah, pet, not yet,” August chided, cupping her chin skyward so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye.

“You haven’t earned it yet.”

The Widow wailed as she closed her eyes and thrust harder, desiring nothing more than the rich imprint of release to be engraved into her skin. Every muscle in August’s being rippled with power, drunk on her near submission to his will. The wanton noises she made only fanned the flame and his entire body ached with hunger, with a raw craving to take her for his own. He watched his hard length slide in and out of Alanna’s body, her tempting ass pressing against his abdomen with each of her thrusts as if daring his hand to smack it. He could sense her exhaustion, her fear that she wouldn’t be able to earn the pleasure that lay just out of reach, and her determination to prove just how worthy she was of receiving it. But still August waited; he wanted that last piece of submission.

August finally heard it fall softly from her lips, one word that gave up any amount of control she had left, and it thrilled him to his core.

“Please.”

A low hum emitted from his chest; pride and thirst melting into one. August’s hands became soft as he whispered in Alanna’s ear.

“Come for me, Kitten… and don’t you dare stop until I say so.”

He maneuvered Alanna onto her belly, grasping her hips and showing her the true reason for the title of ‘Hammer’. August fucked her relentlessly, his grunts of pleasure creating a harmonic undertone to the Widow’s cries of bliss. Frantically he chased his release, intent on filling her with every ounce of his seed; a blaze filled his mind and curses poured from his lips, swept from his body as at last he fell into darkness, surrounded by the treasure of euphoria and the warmth of her carnal embrace. He collapsed on top of her and together they drank from the holy grail of passionate communion, drowning in waves of ecstasy and sin, only surfacing for air when the need for it outweighed the feeling of rapture.

August shifted so that he was lying next to Alanna, still sheathed within her walls but no longer restricting her lungs. Her body was shaking, aftershocks travelling through her nervous system as she came down from the high. He slipped his hand into hers and she opened her eyes to stare at him; August could see the walls she so carefully guarded had been removed, granting him unspoken permission to view the sacred vulnerability that lay hidden beneath. He kissed her shoulder, stroking her hair and enjoying the sudden softness in the room that could only be achieved through the atmosphere of post-coital afterglow.

“Well done, Hammer,” Alanna mused, a shy smile turning up the corner of her mouth as she kissed his fingertips. August chuckled quietly, watching her work, drinking in her contentment. The thought of tomorrow drifted into the forefront of his mind and he pushed it away angrily, refusing to let it ruin the moment.

His face must have revealed his displeasure though, for the Widow was staring at him again with those big eyes. August captured her lips in his, half to distract and half because he wanted to taste her again. There was more to her than he had realized, and now one night just didn’t feel like it would be enough. She was marked; she was his.

No other man would share her bed ever again. No other man would fall prey to the Widow.

No other man but him.

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fuckyeahharryhart · 3 years

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PART 3 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART 3

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,000

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gwendolyn, having played her last card, shares a drink with Harry and Eggsy while she tells them who she is, where she came from and why she was spying on them.

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The Black Prince Public House stood on a quiet corner in South London’s, Kensington. The pub dated back to the early 20th century and its name referred to the road where it stood. The wall were painted a dark forest green with black trim. Its name was displayed in gold. It was the place to go, its sign stated, for FINE ALES AND STOUT, but the three patrons inside, seated at one of the booths at the rear, decided that something a little stronger was appropriate after the evening’s turn of events.

Gwendolyn decided this was a drink she was waiting for her whole life and, therefore, if she was going to “celebrate”, was not the right word, perhaps “commemorate the occasion” was a better term, she was going to do it properly. She had acquired a taste for fine scotch and chose accordingly. She was quite sure the two men were slightly taken aback when she ordered three The Macallan 25’s, neat, for the table. She was fairly certain that this warm, friendly, unassuming neighbourhood pub would not carry The Maccallan M Edition, or the Silver Jubilee, or the Dalmore 64. so she didn’t inquire, but even the cost of the three glasses would be relatively extravagant. The price wasn’t a concern of hers and she was sure it wasn’t a concern of the Kingsman, whose coffers went deep. She wasn’t beyond offending any gentlemanly sensibilities this evening. They were beyond chivalry. And she wasn’t about to tolerate either of them possibly ordering for her.

The two men regarded her if she were a new species of female. She probably was. There were female Kingsman agents, but they too, followed Kingsman protocol, regardless of gender. The behaviour, actions, mannerisms of all Kingsman were consistent, familiar, reliable, while she was under no such constraints. If her behaviour this evening was unseemly, “unladylike”, she really couldn’t give a rat’s arse. She was here for a reason and her methods got her job done. Perhaps with less grace and finesse than she was hoping for, but she got her results.

The three short tumblrs of scotch were placed in front of them. It had been a very long time since The Black Black Prince had poured not one, but three from that particular bottle. As it was custom that the host, or hostess for this matter, make a toast and she didn’t yet make a move toward her glass, the two men waited to follow her lead. So now they decide to be polite, she thought.

“Well, then.” she began. She was slightly irritated at their seemingly perfect presentation, at least on Harry’s part. Eggsy was not beyond taking a more relaxed shape and leaned back into the booth. His tie was loosened and his suit coat unbuttoned. His hair slightly mused even though he did not participate in any of the more physical aspects of their evening, as if that was its natural state. He would have shrugged out of his jacket if it weren’t for his shoulder holster.

Harry Hart, returned back to his gentlemanly demeanour, sat straight, but comfortably, his suit and tie still perfectly in place. Even his hair had somehow returned to its initial state, smooth waves brushed back into shape. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable to see him so poised after the physical contact they had made. She had flipped him over her head, had a knife to his throat, kicked him fairly hard in the shin, and he looked none the worse for wear. Only his expression, equal parts indignant, concerned, and vaguely offended, revealed that anything of interest had occurred.

In contrast, even turning toward him was likely to throw her off balance. A feeling she did not enjoy one bit. Just her quick glance in his direction and she could feel him behind her again, pressing against her, the long line of his legs, the broadness of his chest across her back, the sheer size of him, the smell of his wool suit and the cologne, soap or whatever made him smell so good and she felt a rush of blood rise up to her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and flushed. She was hoping that they would take it for her high emotional state after their confrontation, not the fact that she found herself neatly attracted to a man she only just met and almost twice her age.

His refined manner only made her that much more aware of her own disheveled state. Her hair, a black cloud that had been blown all over, her pedestrian attire, though not unattractive, in no way matched the elegance of their Kingsman suits. No cosmetics, no adornment, not that those elements of her outward appearance were particularly important to her, in the face of their stately masculinity, she felt decidedly unfeminine. And regardless of her feelings, she knew that her looks were as much of a tool for a spy as her words or actions. She convinced herself she wasn’t concerned just because she wanted Harry to find her attractive.

Her personal feelings seeped into her professional persona. She reeled back her thoughts and replaced them with a cool, calm, collected mindset with a specific objective. If she kept her personal feelings at bay now, she could let it all out after her mission was accomplished. She drilled into her brain, be smart now, feel later.

Until she felt differently, she approached this as she would any other meeting of an asset or target. What she needed from the relationship and how could she get them to do what she wanted was just as much about finding out what they needed, and how to make it seem she was giving them what they wanted. Almost every relationship was based on a desire to be heard and understood. Wants and needs were always self-revealed, unwittingly or intently. She just had to listen.

Unfortunately, for this first meeting, she would be the one doing most of the talking. She knew being genuine, sincere, and honest, would be in her best interest. The more and better we are heard and understood, she thought, the more we are willing to and want to engage and respond. The sensation of being listened to was a powerful motivator and feeling enhancer to all people, it was human nature. It was why we befriended those that listened to us, worked for those that heard us, and fell in love with those that understood us.

——

“Well” she repeated, refocusing. She shifted her posture, drew her shoulders back, lifted her head a little higher, and held the space around her. Composing herself just as she would with any new asset would put her back on target. Remember your training.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” She opened up the table.

Harry, as direct as she, got right to the point.

“How are we to trust that you are really Merlin’s daughter? He never spoke of family.”

He folded his hands together, looking stern with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his brow with just a hint of a furrow.

Harry’s eyes roved over her, her posture, hands, the angles of her face. He listened to the inflections of her voice, searching for any tells that might indicate she was being less than honest. He looked for any hint of the tall Scotsman in this young woman. The loss of Merlin was still a wound that was raw. For both he and Eggsy. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his death as an excuse, no matter the reason, but especially if it was a false one.

“He wouldn’t have.” She replied bluntly. “

“ How much did you know of Hamish?” She asked.

She emphasised the pronunciation of his given name. Hay-mish.

“That is, before he came to Kingsman.”

The two men glanced at each other, but did not speak. Admittedly, they did not know of Merlin’s past. He never offered, and as gentleman, they never asked. They both knew that spies usually became spies because of something dark and fucked up from their past, and Harry had no doubt this was the same for Merlin. Hence, he never questioned his unwillingness to disclose his life prior to Kingsman. Harry was the same, just as unwilling to divulge his own personal information.

Eggsy, “That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can say that.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, emphasising the importance of his words. They were low and sharp.

“If you really are who you say you are, then you know that his loss is one that we still feel every day.”

He shot a glance toward Eggsy, who more than anyone, felt the weight of his death.

“We will not condone anyone using his name for their own motives. Have you proof?”

She surveyed them for a moment. She considered her words and chose them with care. Her words were all she had and they carried a heavy weight. They had to be strong enough to deliver the message she was about to send. He eyes moved to her drink, still untouched. Mindfulness was key. As was paying attention to their responses, observing them with the intent to understand. Through her words, she would see how they felt, what they were thinking, and most of all, what they wanted or needed.

She cleared her throat. She met one pair of eyes and then the other. She poised herself to say something that, to her, held the utmost honour and importance. She took a deep breath in. At the end of her exhalation, she spoke. Her voice was low as well. Her words were even more powerful for her lack of emotion.

“My father’s favorite song was ‘Country Roads.’ by John Denver.”

The entire room seemed to suddenly quiet with stupefaction.

“My father was singing it, when he stepped off of a land mine to save both of your lives. And to save your mission. For my father, the mission always came first.”

For the two men, this was an impossible statement. No one, set aside Eggsy and himself had that knowledge. Not even other Kingsman.

Harry spoke, this time with frank disbelief. He wasn’t even questioning her. He was asking himself. Out loud. Without his familiar strength and surety.

“That is impossible. There is no possible way you could know that.”

With the same poise, the same simplicity, she explained.

“I was there when he died.” Observing their state of bewilderment, she clarified. “Via satellite and reconnaissance drones.” Which didn’t ease their confusion.

“If you worked with my father, you knew he was a brilliant strategist. He wasn’t merely good, he was gifted. He had the talent of an artist. Some of that talent filtered down to me. I’ll never be as good as he was, but I was good enough to hack the communication band that Statesman had in place for reconnaissance and I had access to audio and visual of the events that led to, and after his death.”

Impossible would never have the same meaning for them again. Because this young woman’s story was utterly impossible. Yet, here it was, an impossible situation.

She turned slightly toward Eggsy and held his blue eyes with her grey. Her voice took on an undefinable emotion, “I know that he took your place on a land mine, Eggsy.”

And with that confession, he was forced to drop his gaze. Is this how Harry felt when he had to tell him that it was due to Harry’s own mistake that Eggy’s father died? Guilt was physical. It was a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I know that he died in the way that he wanted.”

She added with a note of empathy and understanding to slightly ease their guilt and their shock.

“He was able to give his life for those close to him.”

Neither of the men could think of anything to say. Harry Hart, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unable to find a single word that would be appropriate for a time and situation like this.

Gwendolyn sighed internally. At least now she had their full attention. She was quite certain that she would not be interrupted this time around.

“Perhaps,” she said. Her voice now carried a softer note. It was not the voice of an agent. It was the voice of a daughter.

“Perhaps, I should start at the beginning”.

“But first.” she paused and picked up her glass, holding her arm out toward the men, the glass in her hand.

Harry and Eggsy, first exchanging a look in the other’s direction, followed suit. Each man took a glass and waited, with the warm golden liquid breaking up the lines of dim light that hovered over their table.

She suddenly felt overcome once more, as she had been when she first stepped off the train and onto the concourse on her arrival. She channeled that emotion into her toast, which was brief and heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Holding up her glass, “To my father, Hamish Mycroft.” She paused. “And to Merlin.”

Each of them held the gaze of the other two as their glasses touched with a light, crisp ring. Each drank back its contents.

——

As three glasses hit the hardwood of the table. Gwendolyn began to speak. Her story was a long and complicated one. And unfortunately, the two men could tell, it would be a sad one. An unknown daughter of a colleague that you’ve known for most of your adult life doesn’t suddenly appear after his death with good news.

“My father, whose given name was Hamish Mycroft, was married. He had three children. Two boys and a girl. I was the youngest.”

The slightly blank, yet confused faces made it seem like she had already given them more information than they could process. She paused, gestured to the barkeep for another round. The scotch would do good to kick in soon, because her story was not going to get any easier.

“Before he had a family, he worked with far east intelligence, recruited after his time in the army, where he had been stationed in Tibet, Bhutan, and other East Asian territories.”

She nodded her thanks to the barman, who delivered their second round of drinks. The scotch should have been savoured, but she felt at the time, a tip back for her father was right, even though he would have been horrified to see her shoot back a scotch of such high quality. This one however, she would sip.

“While he was working as a field operative at the station in Bhutan, he met a very beautiful Bhutanese woman, Evelyn, my mother, who was also working intelligence, but as a handler. Based on their skill assessment, they were assigned to work as a team. They would run missions together. My father as the operative. My mother, his handler. Hence, I myself am half Scottish, half Bhutanese. If you’ve had difficulty pinpointing my ethnicity. It’s not a common pairing.”

“Even though the agency opposed ‘close and continuing’, inter-agency relationships and relationships in general, Hamish believed that he could live a normal life. That he could have a wife and family despite working in intelligence. They were an example of having a successful home life in addition to a successful career and they were very happy for a long time.”

Merlin as a husband and father were the farthest roles that Harry and Eggsy could imagine him in. The brusk, often testy, disagreeable scotsman, with all the warmth of a potato, with a wife and children.

Gwendolyn continued with her story. Pausing after a long stretch for a sip of her scotch, but for the most part, continuously and without any interruption from the two men. They were both a bit stupefied that one of their closest, most respected and trusted colleagues had an entire past of which they had no knowledge.

—

Hamish was smitten at first glance. On Evelyn’s side, it was more appropriate to say that she tolerated his presence . And even that was putting things kindly. Eventually, he was able to win her over with his rough Scottish brogue, his biting sense of humour and dry wit. Underneath the sarcasm and abrupt, even gruff personality, she sensed a very kind soul who possessed a good heart. It was simply being protected by a shield designed to keep people at arms length.

Though as handler and operative, there could be no shields. There could not be even a hairs breadth distance between a team, let alone an arms length. The operative’s life was literally in the hands of the handler. If they weren’t working, existing, breathing as one, it would be only a matter of time until the operative would find himself in a position where he needed his handler, but the handler wouldn’t be able to provide. Or the agent, not fully trusting his handler, withheld crucial information, therefore setting up his handler to fail in the case where he needs life threatening assistance. These relationships often ended in the death of the operative, as he had to fully entrust not only the capability of his handler, but also fully trust the person behind his earpiece. The relationship had to be based, on not only on professional compatibility, but on a personal and emotional connection as well. Whatever jesting nature, or standoffish front either of them first presented to each other dissolved when they were on mission. The trust was profound. It was scary to know the circumstances they had been through together and how much each of them put their lives in the hands of the other.

Their relationship was highly personal, intense, and emotional. The nature of their relationship was a powerful force behind their choice to be together and to devote their loyalties to a single agency, with a singular mission, to preserve life and to protect the innocent. However, this often resulted in taking out some very bad, very large, very powerful players off the world’s stage. When they both proved themselves more than capable individually, and even beyond exceptional as a team, they were brought on to the Maximum Threat, Maximum Risk Special Operations Division, or MTMR.

The MTMR, only dealt with the worst of the worst, and then the unthinkable of the worst. These were the terrorists, the warlords, those with enough power and influence to bypass almost any law, any treaty and any world decree. Those who would violate human rights and the rules of engagement. They were the worst of the worst, but also the lowest of the low. In their eyes, life was a commodity to be traded, abused or without value and discarded at will. This is what happened when psychopaths achieved power. Without empathy, without a conscious, without a sense of right or wrong or any moral accountability, without any value of life. These were the most dangerous and most difficult enemies to engage. Not only could they commit the most horrible atrocities, they were usually narcissists as well, dynamic, charismatic, even charming. Therefore, their inner circle was comprised of sycophants who provided his narcissistic supply. They eliminated those that were either immune to their charms, or were beginning to understand the true nature of their personality, which was that of a very highly functioning psychopath.

In this division, Hamish did not operate in the field, but joined Evelyn in strategic planning and outcomes. They worked as a team. Hamish, with his knowledge of the field as a Special Operations Officer, possessed the skills to operate weapons and explosives, to take on missions to gather intelligence and destroy targets in hostile environments. He knew the dangers, the variables, the best strategies.

Evelyn provided critical thinking. She had the ability to predict outcomes, to make the most difficult life and death decisions without hesitation and be a leader to her team . The pair became an invaluable asset to the division. It was proof to them, when the agency acknowledged their value, not as separate agents, not as a handler and operative, but as a team, that they could be in the world of espionage as husband and wife with a family. The agency saw that their success was based on not only their expertise, but BECAUSE of, not despite their relationship. The closeness, the sheer absolute trust that they had in each other, and their love kept them committed to each other and their work. They experienced both a fulfilling family life and successful professional life for longer than anyone could hope for in their line of work.

During their successful tenure in the MTMR Special Ops, one operation took precedence over all others. They were both actively involved, not only in gathering intel, but in the entire intelligence cycle. First, with planning, identifying possible threats and what they needed to know about the threat with world leaders and decision makers. Collection, which was the division they both began in, the physical collection of target information through operations. Analysis, examining the new information, looking for connections, key points, new developments, and combining it with what they already knew, creating useful and actionable intelligence. Lastly, was Dissemination, where the new intelligence was discussed with politicians and decision makers who then decided whether to take action or if more information was needed.

It was during one of these cycles, where Evelyn and Hamish were assigned as head officers of a mission. It was a mission that resulted from intel that their team had collected, analysed and produced. The target was an international underground world leader, not of any established or recognised government. He threatened to destabilise society. Not through government or any means of authority. He wasn’t targeting positions of leadership. He wasn’t engaging in the trickle down theory. He was starting at the bottom. First, was taking out crops, tainting water supplies, poisoning livestock. He did not bother with small areas. He targeted the largest ones. Locations with the most impact and the widest effect. Civil unrest was next. Which turned into peaceful demonstrations. Then came active protest. Followed by violent protest. Then it was rioting, looting. And when fear took hold, it was domestic terrorism. He was using the countries own people to destabilise the structure, the foundation of civilisation, which was based on people working together.

Apparently, he was not one to follow the saying, “The fish rots from the head down.” Meaning that without sound leadership, the people will eventually turn bad and die off. When in actuality, the guts, the contents of the fish begins to rot first. Perhaps the warlord followed this philosophy. Corrupt the innovators, the providers, the creators of sustenance, essentially the life givers, and civilised society will begin to rot from, not the head down, but from the inside out.

In conjunction with the US, the British Armed Forces and other key international allies, they were able to coordinate an airstrike. It was successful in so much that they destroyed their enemies home base, their world HQ and well as almost all of their high level leadership. However, they missed their main target. Also on the strike list, was the home of Azal Aamon, which was where he was supposed to be at the time of the strike. His family, wife and two children were to be collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable in times of war. But after reviewing the DNA evidence to confirm the targets as deceased, his family was identified, but Aamon’s DNA was not found. No one had knowledge of how he was able to avoid or survive the attack. The last piece of intel that they had verified, was his location at the time of fire.

———

Inside the Black Prince, Gwendolyn paused. She reached for her drink, lifted the glass to her lips, and took a small sip. Harry saw her jaw working as she let the scotch rest on her palate, allowing it to reach all the areas of her tongue so she could appreciate its aromatic notes before she swallowed. It was a gesture he was familiar with, one that he made every time he enjoyed his own drink, but it was especially interesting to see this decidedly, he was not a sexist in any way, shape or form, but this particularly male gesture take shape on her extremely feminine and delicate face. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. So he simply took her lead and followed suit with a swallow of his own. As did Eggsy, who was leaning forward at this point, his elbows on the table and his tie even more undone, as were the few top buttons of his shirt. Harry as always, remained properly attired.

She looked at both of them, her eyes inquiring, silently asking if they had any questions, if they needed any clarifications, to see if they understood. To confirm that they believed her.

Harry was particularly intrigued. Out of all the coincidences that seemed to be happening, he knew precisely, the mission she was referring to. The British Armed Forces did take part in the Aamon mission and he knew this because he was part of the BAF at that time. He had been directly involved in the operations side of the mission. How was it possible that he had this experience in common with Merlin and it never came up in conversation? He thought back to the rare times where they would share stories, sometimes while waiting out a mission, or after a successful one, over a drink just like this. He recalled sharing a few stories from his time in the military, but thinking back, could not recall a single instance that Merlin even mentioned his time in the army, or anything really prior his employment with Kingsman. Harry only knew that he had been military. Out of all the possible connections that they had, one of the biggest ones that they shared remained unknown until after his death.

Gwendoyn was regarding him thoughtfully, knowing that he had made some kind of connection or realisation, but she didn’t mention it and he was grateful. He tipped his head, asking her to please continue.

“As you can imagine, this was seen as a failed mission on paper, since they did not terminate their main target. But in many ways it was a huge success. An operation of this scale, with multiple targets on the board, with international military and intelligence coordination, with minimal collateral damage, is typically unheard of, and my parents were honoured to have lead their intelligence division. I’m not sure if Kingsman participates in this particular tradition, but after high risk missions of this nature, officers and operatives, if it is feasible, are offered time off, mostly to decompress. The agency is aware that if their officers and operatives work at that level of intensity for prolonged periods of time, they will burn out. It’s not possible to sustain that level of stress at length without a chance to wind down.”

It was quiet. Gwendolyn has stopped speaking. Harry could see that she was taking time to collect her thoughts again. He wasn’t sure why she needed to. She was recalling a very complicated and personal story with an eloquence, a clarity and a dignity that he respected very much. She wasn’t just reminiscing about a story, reciting history, or a past event. Their comprehension was important to her. This wasn’t about her “getting something off of her chest”. He had the feeling that she could be very happy never having to say any of these words ever again. She wasn’t looking for support or understanding. She was making sure that THEY understood her story. It wasn’t sympathy for her that she wanted. She was looking for absorbtion Particularly from Harry. Most likely because he had the longest relationship with Merlin. But she was fixing him with a very intense gaze that he was not quite sure what to do with.

Harry already felt a particular sadness. He knew where this story was heading. He might not know the specifics yet, but you didn’t need to be a spy to know there was no happy ending for her. Out of a family that was once a mother, a father, and two brothers, this woman was the only one sitting in front of them. His respect for her was growing with each moment. He was feeling quite sorry now, for treating her so roughly.

She picked up her story, dusted it a little, found where she left off and resumed. Her voice became detached once again, but her words never faltered.

“We were all on break. Because they both got time off, that meant the whole family was on break. It was very rare for us. For the family, for me, those times were very special. I don’t remember many other times we had that kind of chance. Of course, outings were still agency outings. I was really too small at the time, six, but that was our life. I didn’t know any different then. But my parents, because of their positions, were at high risk for retaliation and we always had protection with us. My brothers and I had protocol, even back then. No speaking to strangers, at all. Never speaking about my parents, never offering any personal information. Never giving out my name. If we were ever to get lost, we were never to ask for them or speak their names. We had one number to call and it was not even theirs. It was the agency’s number, created just for us to have in case of an emergency. There was actually a person whose job it was to be prepared if they ever received a call from us. Very few people, and only those with high security clearance, had information about our family. We were referred to as assets. Not by our names.”

As she continued, The more emotion left her voice, the more matter of fact she became, as she became more composed, more stoic, Harry felt his sadness slowly turn into inevitable dread. He was also aware of the second mission that followed up the first air strike. He was also assigned operations support for the BAF’s involvement. He had heard stories about what had happened at intelligence HQ, but never anything confirmed. If she had been involved in that, it was worse than he thought.

------

Look for future posts :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Feedback, likes and reblogs are always helpful and much appreciated. If you have a chance, would love to hear your thoughts!

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Hey hi!! I just wanna say first that I love your writing and you just capture Cal so well and your talent oml we stan 🙌 would you take a prompt of Cal being very confused as to why his girlfriend keeps crying every five seconds because he has no idea at first what's even happening and like it takes him a minute to put it together (it can be that time of the month or it can be pregnancy hormones, whatever's easiest, I'm sorry hormones made ya girl emotional and moody) pls & thanks!🙇

Hi Anon! First of all, thank you so much!! 🥺💞 Second, I AM SO SORRY that this took a while!! I know I shouldn’t be overusing the excuse that I’m swamped with requests and my fics tend to be more than just oneshots, but that’s the predicament right now. I hope you understand 😭😔 Anyways, I’m glad you still took the time to write to me ;;w;; I just feel reaallly bad that I made you wait long. Still, I hope you enjoy the fic, anon and thank you too!

Chapter 4: Untimely Blessing | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Other prompt/s in play: Anon 1′s prompt, Anon 2‘s baby prompt & Own fic idea

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Chapters: 1 – 2 | Previous: Part 3 | Next: Part 5 | Masterlist

4 of ?

The weather was nice in Cerinda. Cal had been practicing with a self-made obstacle course in the forest, west of the lake where your wedding was held; meanwhile, you decided to take a breather by your wedding venue. You almost hated to admit that you couldn’t walk for perhaps a day and a half after that little private time you had in the Mantis with your husband.

About three weeks have already passed after that.

And for those three weeks, there was this feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach. Cal had noticed you craving for a lot of sweets—especially Jogan berries and space waffles—and you yourself felt sluggish, so you decided to sit by the sidelines of the training course.

While he had physical training, you meditated by the lake’s shore where it was tranquil. The peace helped you in getting into focus.

Your skin suddenly crawled in a good way, even though you were taken aback, you kept your eyes closed trying to keep yourself concentrated; but you ended up reminiscing how Cal’s lips trailed along your body, how his hands wandered and sank into your flesh. The feeling of his lips suckling at the exact same spots where he left his love bites jolted your nerves—your hand rubbed across your neck, chest, and shoulder and then crawled downward to your abdomen. You chuckled to yourself as the memories replayed in your head, struggling to remain focused.

“BD-1, over here!” Cal’s distant voice rang among the trees, but that didn’t distract you enough.

Suddenly, something was bubbling in your stomach and you could feel it rising to your throat each second. Your eyelids shot up and you fumbled onto fours, crawling away to anywhere until your entire body gave way, and allowed yourself to retch behind a tree trunk.

You coughed and spat out the bile, you clumsily crawled towards the edge of the lake, scooping a handful of water to your mouth to wash off the sour acidity that lingered in your cheeks. You did this for a couple of times until the taste was truly gone.

“Oh my…” you gasped, crawling away from the spot where you had your little accident and lay flat on the grass.

Your hand hesitated to crawl downward, to your lower abdomen just below your navel; your heart pounded with mixed emotions—you can’t pinpoint if you’re excited, nervous, or completely taken by surprise. But you’re primarily the latter, you just needed a second emotion to balance it out.

“Could it be…?” you mumbled.

You took a deep breath before your hand slithered below your navel, calming your heart of the eagerness—just to avoid breaking it if it wasn’t the case—and when your whole palm padded against your lower abdomen…

You felt it.

A tiny kick.

A little pulse.

Your heart leapt. You gasped—supposedly a laugh, but you were overtaken by emotion—your fingers rubbed across your tummy again.

There it is again!

“Aww…” you fawned, on the verge of happy tears.

Cal came out of the trees’ trail, spotting you lying down on the grass with your hand on your stomach. He bobbed his head to the side, quizzically looking at you wiping away a tear while standing at a distance.

“[y/n]?” he called to you, kneeling by your side on the grass.

Your attention shifted to his direction. He sat there next to you with a slightly confused look—mixed with a hint of concern for you.

You quickly propped yourself on your elbows, and then shifted to your knees. His nervous eyes followed your position.

“Are you alright?”

“Cal…” you started. Unable to say the words—even though they’re already at the tip of your tongue—you take both of his hands and reeled them to your stomach.

Your husband’s eyes widened. His smile stretched from ear-to-ear when he felt the ripple of life coming from within you. His heart bounced in perhaps the fastest beat it has ever beaten in years.

“Cal, I’m pregnant!” you announced.

BD-1 trilled a long note in reaction, the little droid is just as surprised as his owner is!

The redhead stammered and blinked away several times, struggling to gather all the words he needed to express; when he cradled your face in his hands, you could feel just from his touch that he was bursting with sheer, indescribable happiness. He exhaled sharply, his breath warm as he touched foreheads with you.

“This… This is wonderful!” he gasped. He couldn’t speak further, acting purely on impulse, he closed in to kiss you—he pressed his lips long and hard to yours. “We’re having a baby!”

The forest echoed with your laughter. Cal snatched you into his arms and held you for so long as he buried his face into your neck, muffling his continuous laughing, and slowly rocked you back and forth.

Cal remained with you by the lake for the rest of the afternoon, he couldn’t take his hands off of your stomach; he wanted to keep feeling for the faint pulse of the conceived child in your womb. He started to daydream about the games he and the baby would play, how they would turn out to be—if they’ll have your eyes or his, if they’ll take after their mischievous father or their headstrong mother, whatever the case, he has already loved them the moment he felt the smallest beat.

—–

It was your third month since the conception of your child. The first few weeks were difficult and overwhelming, considering that this is your very first pregnancy. Luckily, you had help with Merrin and Cere. Still, it felt like your energy was slowly ebbing way as the weeks went by.

To avoid getting rusty with your combat skills, you continued to practice your swings, spins, and flourishes without using getting to the more acrobatic moves that required jumps and wide strides. Cal also kept a close eye on you when it comes to practicing, seeing that you’re still eager for sparring.

“I am so against this!” he exclaimed.

“Come on, the training droids aren’t really doing much help!” you whined.

He wagged his finger at you as if scolding a child, “Only one round, okay? Whoever wins, that’s that.”

“Deal!”

Even if you were still itching for action, you moved with the greatest caution and care—both for yourself and your baby—you improvised the moves that were usually lively, you replaced the low ducks and slides with spinning, dance-link evasions that still eluded an attack in the same grace.

However, the power and strength of your sword arm didn’t seem to dull over time. You fenced with your husband—the contrast in the lightsaber techniques have become more obvious now, and he was being careful himself, he knew that you didn’t want to take it easy and so he came at a compromise.

“Aha!” he exerted as he had you at swordpoint.

“Okay, you got me. Deal’s a deal,”

“That’s my girl,” he cooed.

“Don’t be so smug, love. I want another try next week,”

When you got back to the Mantis, you staggered on your footing for a few seconds. It was a good thing Cal caught you before you slammed your back against the ship’s wall.

“How are you feeling, [y/n]?” asked Cere.

“A little lightheaded, more often than I probably should,”

“Usually, that becomes quite the norm, especially when a mother’s at her third month,” Merrin added.

“Is that so…?”

A few seconds later, the lightheadedness was gone and you settled yourself on the couch next to Merrin. Like the entire crew, everyone was so delighted to hear the news. First the engagement, then wedding, and now a baby!

But the most excited one is Merrin; if not Cal, the Nightsister was constantly by your side. She was practically your sister ever since. She offered to mix up potions that would help in easing your pregnancy without harming both you and the child; she was also the one who gave the most advice.

“My mother herself was a midwife, besides being an acolyte. She taught me everything, even if I never saw myself being in the same position as her,” the Nightsister disclosed.

Nevertheless, she was still delighted for your bundle of joy. The two of you traded secret wishes and future daydreams revolving around the child.

One evening, in the middle of the night where everyone had gone to sleep, you jumped out of bed, rushing towards the bathroom to vomit… again. For the second time this day. Earlier, Merrin had concocted a potion that was said to help ease the tensing of the belly, so the cramping would lessen for a few hours. For a while, that potion seemed to have worked—but it didn’t stop you from running to the bathroom just to retch it out again.

Cal was awakened by the abrupt shuffling of the bed, he heard the faint pitter-patter of your bare footsteps leave the room and followed you to the bathroom.

“No, not again…!” he heard your hushed voice as you rushed out of the room.

The sound of your retching was muffled behind the door. Bile exited your stomach, leaving a stinging feeling in your core. You ended up crying in exchange of not straining yourself and hurting your baby in the process. You struggled to cough out what’s left, but only clear saliva spat out of your mouth.

Your kneecaps suddenly softened, your grip around the sink’s rim was your remaining support to keep yourself from falling to the ground. Suddenly, you felt an arm coil around your waist and a hand rubbing across your back.

“Hey,” your husband cooed. “Are you okay?”

You sniffled, washing away the dribble on your nose, but you didn’t answer.

“Are you hurting?” he continued.

“I keep feeling sick,” you sobbed, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you try to fight back the tears. “Merrin’s potion works, but only for the cramps.”

Anxiety was also a constant in your visits to the bathroom during the wee hours. You hated yourself for stressing out on bad dreams, you always had to bite your knuckles when breaking down to muffle out the cries behind the bathroom door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat did little in repressing your tears, some droplets escaped your eyes, Cal spotted them instantly and wiped them away with his thumb.

“It’s okay, I’ll stay with you until you feel like sleeping,” he consoled as he guided you out of the bathroom when you were ready.

“You don’t have to do this, you need to go back to sleep,” you gently scolded.

“You’re my wife,” he said firmly, a steely yet gentle look in his eyes glinted. “I’ll be here for you. Anything you need, okay?”

You hoisted and folded your legs, leaning against Cal’s shoulder as you try to calm yourself down. He feels for your stomach again, speaking to his unborn child through his mind.

Don’t give Mommy a hard time, sweetheart. He prayed as his lips nuzzled your temple while stroking your hair.

Two more months have passed. It’s the fifth month now, your belly had grown significantly. The morning sicknesses have seemed to lessen as time went on, however, in exchange it has become a little bit more difficult to move. The weight that you carried along with you has become more apparent; but that didn’t matter to you, all you could think about is the baby and you looked forward to its kicking. You and Cal sat together in the couch by the holotable, he now uses both hands to hold your stomach and found that they could no longer contain your belly.

“Oh, there’s a little kick,” he giggled.

You bobbed your head to the side, leaning against your own arm as you stare at Cal. You didn’t even realize that he must have shaved his stubble for just a little bit. Your knuckles stroked his beard and then your skin suddenly felt the smoothness of his freckled cheeks; his lips followed to where your palm is and nuzzled in for a kiss. When turned to you, his smile dissolved when he spotted a tear that you yourself didn’t even notice.

“Something the matter?”

“I’m a little scared, a little nervous. I mean… I’m so close now, Cal. I don’t even know if I—”

“Hey, you’re gonna be great,” he cuts in. He gingerly caressed your nape, fingernails raking the bottom of your hair, “I promise.”

He leaned closer to plant a long and tender kiss on your forehead. He kept his hands on your tummy, feeling for his baby, and he started guessing.

“It’s definitely a boy,” he beamed. “A kick that hard? Definitely.”

“Oh-ho, so someone’s gonna take your title of being the ‘One Who Kicks Ass’ in the Mantis?” you played along.

“Aww, he’s gonna have to get through me to steal my crown!”

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headoverjojo · 5 years

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Buccellati's gang with their s/o wearing their clothes? sfw and nsfw?

I’m feeling called out *sweats* here we gooo, dear anon!

(Also, all the characters are in age, as usual, 21+, yeah?)

Bruno’s gang with their s/o wearing their clothes

SFW

Bruno Bucciarati

He discovers it by accident, when, one day, he comes home earlier than usual. At his exclaimed “ciao!” responds a furious rustle from their shared bedroom. He immediately goes to see, both curious and worried, just to find his s/o in the middle of taking off his white jacket, their cheeks bright red.

When he asks what are they doing, they are at a loss of words. They’re so embarassed! In the end, they confess that they just wanted to try on his clothes, since they seem to be so soft and comfortable…

Bruno just shakes his head, stifling a laugh, and goes to them, buttoning the jacket up again, with a little smile. “Let me help you, then, tesoro.” he says, adjusting the sleeves, if they’re too long, and the collar. He then withdraws a little, admiring them with a smile.

His s/o is a blushing but happy mess by the time he has finished. His clothes are really comfortable, despite the chest window… when they ask him if he minds them to try them on again, he kisses their forehead, telling them that it’s absolutely fine. He loves to see them in his clothes -and, since they’re smaller than him, there’s no risk to ruin them-: it makes him feel all fuzzy and happy, like, now, he and his s/o are connected even deeper than before.

Leone Abbacchio

It happens on a break day, while they’re chilling on the couch, reading and listening to one of their favourite vinyls. Leone’s s/o is laying on his chest and lazily playing with the laces of his shirt when they tell him they’d like to try his clothes on. At his “why so?” they answer saying that, since his clothes make him look sexy, they want to look so too.

Abbacchio lightly chuckles, getting up with them and going to the bedroom. Before trying his clothes on, his s/o softly caresses the fabric of the clothes, even nuzzling their face on them, inhaling: a good and comfy smell of soap, a hint of Abbacchio’s cologne and natural scent… they can’t wait to try them on, now.

Abbacchio helps them to wear them without ruin them, loosen or tighten the strings if needed. After adjusting the sleeves, he carries them to the big mirror of their bedroom, to allow them admire themselves.

They happily smile, turning around to admire themselves from every point, while Abbacchio watches them with an amused little smile. He’ll never say it aloud, but seeing them in his clothes makes him feel warm and happy. He, however, huffs and rolls his eyes when he hears them mimic his behaviour and sentences, faking a frown to hide a reluctant amused smile.

Guido Mista

It all started when a s/o’s friend badly commented Mista’s clothes. Even if even his s/o finds his clothes a bit weird, they don’t let anyone openly insult them! So, they decide to make everyone shut their mouth up wearing his clothes for a whole day, going around the city and doing what they have to do.

When Mista arrives home, a muffled “hello” respond his cheerful “I’m home, amore!”. He goes to see what’s going on, curious, and he’s taken aback seeing a lot of his clothes spreaded on the sheets and his s/o pensively observing them, so focused to almost don’t feel him near them.

When they explain what they’re doing, he’s even more surprised.Yes, he knows that his clothes are weird, but he likes them, so he doesn’t care about what others say, but seeing them so determined for him… it makes him feel warm and fuzzy. So, he helps them to decide the best combination, even if, at least for s/o, isn’t easy: they’re all high quality and pretty clothes on their own, but really hard to match.

In the end, they find pretty neutral -for Mista’s standards- trousers and a crop top shirt. They can smell his comfy scent still lingering on them and it makes them feel more sure about what they want to do. Mista is silent for some minutes, while he admires them with wide eyes: they’re so beautiful… his heart double its size: it has to contain all the love he’s feeling for them!

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia is all up to lend them his clothes without problem. He’s maybe a bit more muscular and tall than them, but they’re more or less the same size, so what’s the problem? If their shirts are all out, there are his! If they don’t mind recurrent orange -both color and fruit-, then it’s all settled.

When he sees them with his clothes on, he literally beams of happiness. They’re so cute!! And he has to admit that orange suits them really well. He can’t restrain himself: he has to hug them and tell them again and again how cute they are.

If they take his casual clothes, there’s no problem, but, if they want to take his “distinctive” clothes, the one he uses when he has to go on mission or when he’s with his team, then they should ask him first. It’s not that he doesn’t want to lend them; simply, he could be called in every moment and he needs them as soon as possible.

Some of his old baggy shirts completely disappeared from his wardrobe just to be found in his s/o’s one: they use them as sleep shirts, since they’re comfy and long enough to cover part of their legs. He finds them utterly cute and, when they sleep together and they have one of his shirt on, he’s even more cuddly than usual, keeping them firmly on his chest, a happy smile on his sleepy face.

Pannacotta Fugo

It all started with his s/o’s sheer curiosity about his weird clothes. Why the holes? Why they’re tailored in such a way? Are they really comfy or Fugo wears them more out of habit than anything else? They has to find it out as soon as possible, or the doubt will eat them out.

So, when Fugo is out, they finally decide to try his clothes on. They spread them on the sheets, studying them and testing the fabric, finding it soft and smooth. They can’t wait anymore: they undress and then gently put on his clothes, careful to not ruin them.

Unfortunately for them, Fugo forgot an important folder, so he had to go back to their home. They freeze, when they hear him talking from the living room and then his words die when he enters their bedroom. He stays still for long moments, studying them, utterly surprised. When he notices their deep blush and finally understands their stuttered words, he sigh, shooking his head and going to them.

“If you wanted to try them on so badly, you could have asked.” he states, while adjusting the belt and, finally, the strawberry tie. Then, his s/o tries to move around, finding that, in the end, the clothes are comfy and the holes aren’t a bother. “Now I understand why you still wear these clothes, I don’t want to put them off anymore!” they make Fugo laugh a little and, with a smile, he gives them a pair of his strawberry earrings. If they want to go around like him, they should do well!

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno’s suit is beautiful, soft and of high quality: his s/o loves to nuzzle their face on his shoulder and relishing in the softness of the fabric, while their boyfriend softly pet their hair. They love also the ladybug brooches, so detailed and beautiful to almost seem alive. They love how elegant their boyfriend, their Don, looks in his suit: they have to try it on.

So, one day when they come back home earlier than usual -and Giorno-, they decide to surrender to this little guilty pleasure. They take one of his suits from his side of wardrobe and they take their time to admire it, testing the high quality fabric of it, the details of the collar and sleeves: all worth of the Don of Passione.

They have just put on his jacket when Giorno finally enters home. They’re totally chill about what they’re doing, not even trying to find an excuse or to hide their actions. Giorno reaches them and his eyes widen slightly, seeing them in his suit. They just smile at him, buttoning the jacket up. “I promise I’ll not ruin them, let me take them on for just five minutes.”

He observes them move around with his clothes on, testing their comfort and practicality. When they’re satisfied, they trotted back to him, giving him a peck on his lips and making him smile, while his arms envelops them in a hug. “It’s comfortable wearing the Don’s clothes, do you know?” they ask, making him chuckling. “Then I’ll better give you a suit worth of you, tesoro.” he replies, with a small smile, and they already know that as soon as possible a beautifully wrapped gift will be delivered to them.

(Under the cut for the NSFW part!)

NSFW

Bruno Bucciarati

Seeing them in his suit is cute, yes, but also… sexy. The way the clothes softly wrap their curves, the exposed cleavage… it’s really difficult to act cool, when they’re so sweetly tempting. His efforts are vain when they wink at him, almost inviting him to reach them: he couldn’t restrain himself anymore.

He languidly kisses them, slowly caressing their face, letting, then, his hands roam down, testing the fabric he knows so well and finding out that this make him feel weirdly aroused. They are quick to understand that seeing them in his clothes makes him aroused, so they push the right buttons, whispering in his ear “Doesn’t it seems like you’re kissing another Capo, Bruno?” and, hearing so, Bruno let himself loosen and just spread them on the sheets, shortly following them.

When his s/o wants to spice up things in bedroom, wearing his suit is enough to do it. By now, when Bruno sees them with his white and black-dotted suit on, a sly smile graces his lips, while he slowly approaches them, more than ready to undress them and reveal their beauty.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio finds them damn sexy in his outfit, even more if they put on also his makeup. Seeing them confidently roaming around with his clothes, a smile on their purple lips and a more than suggestive look is enough for him to approach them, with an almost feral grin, like the lion that gave him his name.

They slowly lure him into the bedroom, with a seductive smile, and, from the bed, observe him slowly reach for them, elegant and dangerous like a feline, welcoming him on the top of them and sealing his lips off with a deep kiss, while his fingers lightly pull the laces on the front, bringing them closer to him and exposing more cleavage to his hungry gaze.

He doesn’t mind to see them with his clothes, even more if they want to use them in their bedroom: he has to contain himself not to tear them apart, since they’re his clothes, but it’s anyway a beautiful sight, even more if they slowly undress in front of him.

Guido Mista

The thought of them with his clothes on hunts him for all the day. The awareness that they’re going around with his distinctive clothes, widely recognizable, the idea that, after that day, his clothes will have their scent on them drives him crazy. When they’re finally home, he’s on them, kissing and groping them, welcomed by an enthusiasm that can rival his own.

In the end, they have on just the crop top, while Mista does his best to make them a trembling mess ready for him. They’re really amazed by his reaction to their outfit: silently they hoped that if could spice things up, but they hadn’t think so much! Not that they complain, of course.

So, when they want to have particularly good and spicy time, they just have to put on one of his outfits and Mista, like he has a radar, comes home after a little time. They just have to wink at him and he’s already lost in their lips.

Narancia Ghirga

Sometimes, seeing them in his clothes turns him on. At first he’s almost ashamed for it, but, when his s/o finds it out and admits that they too are a bit excited in wearing his clothes -mostly ‘cause they still have their boyfriend’s natural scent on them-, he’s finally at ease and more than ready to satisfy them.

Even if he’d like to tear them apart to free his s/o from useless clothes, he contains himself, especially if they’re wearing his “work” clothes, ‘cause he knows that they’d be sad about it, the morning after. So he often let themselves undress at their pace, almost bouncing while he’s eagerly wait for them.

The more time passes, the more he accepts this desire as a natural desire of which he hasn’t to be ashamed and so he treats it as such. His s/o, by now, knows which effects they have on him when they wear his clothes, so they often take advantage of it, putting them on and winking at him, signaling that it’s time for some couple quality time.

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo never thought that seeing them in his clothes could have been so… intimate. He feels all flustered and his cheeks are burning. He wants to bring them near him, to hug them, to hold them to his chest. And, in the end, he does so; his s/o could feel the need in his gestures and they slightly smile, happy to see such an eager reaction in him.

When they kiss him, he loses all control. His lips are on their lips, face, neck: he almost has to mark them, to taste them, to be sure they’re here with him. They let him do what he wants, gasping when he gently sucks their pulse and slowly unfasten the buttons of the jacked his s/o is wearing. In the end, they both end up with just their ties on, their cheeks red and flustered and a lazy, satisfied smile on their lips.

From then on, wearing his clothes becomes almost a habit. From his holed suits, they pass also to his normal clothes, such sweaters and baggy shirts, which they love to wear when they sleep. One thing of his “formal” wardrobe is never left apart: his tie. More than one time they waited for their boyfriend with just a strawberry tie on, driving him crazy. The tie never leaves the bedroom and is put at more than one good use.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno feels a wave of pride and happiness wash over him when he sees them with his clothes on. His eyes, however, fall on the exposed cleavage and a rush of blush colors his cheeks. Even if the tries to play it cool, his eyes fall on the chest window that little left to imagination.

His s/o notices it -it’s impossible not to notice it, frankly- and decides to play flirty with him. They expose even more their cleavage, making him actually blush and, even if it’s almost unnoticeable, stutter. Giorno, the powerful Don Giorno, who’s always so collected and stern, is blushing and desiring them more than ever. It’s a big win!

From then on, they always put on something his, from a ladybug brooch to a jacket or some other accessory; what matters is that it reminds them -and everyone around them- of their Giorno. He has to hide the rush of happiness and desire that threatens to overwhelm him when he sees them like this: he has to keep a façade and certain things, well… are better if done in a soundproofed bedroom.

#jjba #vento aureo #bruno's gang #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #neutral s/o #s/o wearing the boys' clothes #aged up characters #not so sfw #headcanons #anon ask

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katasstrophey · 5 years

Text

The Silence In the Seams

*MASTERLIST *PRELUDE* *PART 1* *PART 2* PART 3

Part 4 of Closer to Heaven (Star Bound): The Silence in the Seams

Pairing: M’Baku x OC

Length: 2.3k + words

Warning: none.

The powers that be were uneasy, Amalah guessed, something which ended up being slightly in her favor for the few days that followed her not so warm welcome to the Jabari tribe.

Left in the confines of the room she had started to consider hers, a bad habit she was trying to shake, Amalah was left with time to think carefully about her next move.

A face managed to sneak its way into her mind as she strategized. A face with piercing eyes, wide shoulders and an aura that made her want to squirm, or maybe it made her want to run. Amalah clearly still had a lot of thinking to do about that.

The time to figure out what needed to be figured out came to a premature end as she was called before the one that had the authority to send her to an early death or give her the keys to her freedom.

Amalah tried and failed to familiarize herself with the twists and turns of the large halls she was led into until she found herself before a set of large double doors she knew she would have a hard time forgetting.

Holding her breath as the doors opened, Amalah anticipated the sheer force with which his presence would stir something deep in her gut. And so she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t the sinking feeling of disappointment that overcame her as her eyes swept the room that glaringly lacked the Jabari tribe leader’s presence.

In his place stood the man that tailed M’Baku better than his own shadow, a scowl on his face.

The clear disdain Mosí had for Amalah made her lift her head a little higher for she might’ve had taken a beating a few days back but her pride had remained intact.

“I don’t trust you,” Mosí started, “every word that leaves your mouth will be decoded, every furtive glance you throw someone’s way will be questioned. Every room you enter, every move you make; know that I will be at the end of that road, patiently waiting for you to stumble and show your true colors and only then will I will give myself the pleasure of destroying what’s left of you.”

Brows furrowed, Amalah was taken aback at the venom laced in Mosí’s words, not knowing what exactly had brought this on until confusion turned into a small glimmer of hope.

Could this be him extending an olive branch her way? Saying in so many words that he would try to trust her and that that was more than enough? Amalah knew not, but what she was sure of was the fact that she was now one step closer to doing good on her promise.

Head held high as ever, Amalah let a small smirk appear on her face, an action which in turn made the scowl on Mosí’s face deepen.

“What now?”

°°°

The cold had never bothered him, in fact, since he was a child M’Baku had never flinched at the harsh winds that had claimed the Jabari lands as theirs. He had always found them comforting and as he grew to become both a man and a leader, the winds started to carry a certain weight, a voice that allowed him to make sense of the mess that were his thoughts and the disaster that were his emotions.

It, therefore, came as no surprise to Mosí, as he entered his oldest friend’s chambers, that the room was frigid, every window wide open and snow being gently scattered unto the floors as the wind blew freely.

M’Baku heard him before he saw him. Facing one of the largest windows, he let out a small sigh, knowing that this conversation was not one that would be enjoyable for either one of them. Breathing in a cold gust of air, M’Baku could picture perfectly the scene behind him: Mosí in the middle of the room, feet slightly apart, back straighter than most could manage, waiting to receive orders, as he always did.

“You’ll catch cold standing there,” Mosí teased, knowing full well that the cold had practically birthed the man before him.

M’Baku couldn’t help but laugh at the comment as he finally turned around to face his second in command. The man himself let out a soft chuckle, his brows, however, knitted with a touch of concern.

“You are worried,” M’Baku stated.

“When aren’t I?”

“More than usual I meant, Taye will have my throat.”

“The girl,” Mosí pointed out, brushing over M’Baku’s pitiful attempt to distract him by bringing up the woman currently waiting for her husband to come home, “what do you wish for us to do with her?”

The Jabari tribe leader silently cursed the fact that Mosí was never one to entertain small talk, but always one to go straight to the point, asking the questions that came with answers no one wanted to hear and even less deliver.

“I told them to move the girl in her room for the time – ”

“I know that,” Mosí cut off, internally wincing at the fact that M’Baku had called the room hers, “and you know that’s not what I am asking.”

“What she knows could be of much value and yet her presence here could be very much disruptive. I need time,” grumbled M’Baku.

It took everything in Mosí’s power not to scoff at the man, he had to remind himself, was the leader of his tribe. M’Baku didn’t need time, he had already made his decision, what he needed was time to figure out how he would break the news to the rest of the brethren.

“They won’t like this, M’Baku. I don’t like this.”

“I wouldn’t advise keeping Taye waiting any longer,” stated M’Baku, his tone letting Mosí know that there was no room left for discussion.

Nodding once, Mosí took his leave.

It was only a few days later that M’Baku reminded himself never to be ungrateful about the fact that Mosí was a friend before he was his second.

As expected, a fraction of the council had erupted in outrage following the announcement of his decision, one that Mosí had stood behind, never being one to come against the man he regarded as a brother.

Admittedly, the arguments defending M’Baku’s controversial decision were lacking, to say the least. He blamed the limited amount of days he had to come up with his less than a sensible proposition, that and a pair of piercing eyes that seemed to appear in his mind each time he closed his.

Thus, M’Baku ended up proclaiming something along the lines of keeping enemies closer than friends to the council who had been less than pleased at their leader’s lack of forcefulness.

“Find something for her to do, let her explore, but keep an eye on her,” M’Baku had then told a strangely silent Mosí when the two had finally managed to escape the council’s clutches.

“Make it clear that we are open about her being a guest only to the extent to which she is open to stay in our good graces by being as generous as we are being to her.”

Never being one to delay executing a direct order, Mosí had nodded somberly and started to make his way out, before he stopped short in his tracks.

“If it were to come down to it, would you make the call?” He called out over his shoulder.

M’Baku’s eyes narrowed, “I doubt it will come to that.”

“If it does though, will you make it or will I have to?”

“You should tread lightly, brother,” M’Baku instructed, sending Mosí a frigid smile.

“Of course, chief.”

°°°

Watch your left hand lest it helps your right stab you in the back.

Samirah paced for it was what she knew best to do in times of a crisis, and there was very much a crisis at hand.

While she paced, the rest of the chosen five lounged on the couches that adorned the chamber they had baptized as their own private council room; not to speak of tribal matters but to speak of the matters of the heart, more precisely all things that concerned his heart.

“You all disgust me,” stated Samirah as she looked at the women before her with disdain.

Their position as M’Baku’s favored ones was under attack and yet they didn’t seem to be concerned, or at least not enough to her liking.

“I was told she would be at dinner tonight,” announced the easy one, a frown distorting the face M’Baku had once called angelic.

All heads whipped her way, murmurs of outrage rising up until Samirah ordered silence and then an explanation.

“I bet the guard she’s sleeping with told her,” sneered the disciplined one, consequently earning an indignant protest from the one who broke the upsetting news.

“You know better than to keep messing around with that man,” chastised the eldest one.

“It’s not like he has any use for me as of late.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t throw yourself at the first guard that caught your eye he would,” retorted the quiet one, not so quietly.

“He hasn’t had any use for any of us since she made an appearance,” hissed Samirah, woefully recalling her last unpleasant encounter with the Jabari tribe leader, one that had left her knees aching and her heart in pieces.

“You think it’s her?” questioned the easy one.

“I know it’s her.”

Watch your right hand lest it helps your left stab you in the front.

As her eyes fell upon the estranged version of herself that stared defiantly back at her in the mirror, the first thing Amalah felt was guilt.

She truly looked like a guest of the Jabari. Dressed in clothes too soft and too heavy for her to believe they hadn’t been handpicked for her to wear and much too beautiful for her to believe it would not draw all wandering eyes, Amalah was face to face with a stranger.

Never one to be awestruck over a piece of cloth, it was with disgust that Amalah realized that it took more than a little effort to stop her hand from running over the fabric draped across her body.

She was not here to play princess and even less here to entertain the Jabari people. On the contrary, she had people counting on her to finish what she had set out to do, something she would try and convince a certain tribe chief to help her undertake this very night.

Eyes closed, Amalah breathed in the doubt, the fear and the nervousness only to exhale determination.

A knock on the door sounded on the other side of the door letting her know that the time had come for her to bid her reflection goodbye. Heart pounding with anticipation, she threw the door open and followed the stone-faced guard meant to escort her to the dining hall.

She heard them before she saw them, the laughter, chatter and the familiarity echoing out of the lion’s den and into the halls.

As the doors slowly opened before her, she was thrown a first glance in disinterest, and then a second; thrown by some in unbelief, some with intrigue and others in disgust. The joyful chatter that had once filled the room had vanished as the room had fallen silent the moment Amalah had taken no more than two steps into the dining hall.

A guard nearby motioned to a vacant seat near the head of the table and so she obliged to make her way towards it, each step she took seemingly causing to bring forth, slowly but surely, the life that had been in the room moments before. A space once filled with nothing but joyous conversation was now filled with whispers, too loud to be whispers, too brazen not meant for her to hear,

Barely holding back a snarl, Amalah cursed the distance that still remained between her and her sea, cursed the abrasive staring, cursed the Jabari’s theatrics, cursed each and every one sitting at a table that frankly was much too large to be practical in any way; and yet even with her ribs aching, her spine could not have been any straighter, her steps lighter or her stride riddled with more purpose.

The things that were whispered were naught compared to the words that were once spit at her, words said before her skin was as thick as is currently was, before she had as much bark as she had bite, before the stars had decided to claim her as theirs.

Nevertheless, the desire to lash out almost overpowered her, so much so that the thought of giving them something to talk about had the corners of her lips lifting up ever so slightly as she finally found her seat, only for them to fall back down.

Amalah understood the apprehension, envied their us vs she sentiment. She resented their togetherness, the fact that they were a part of something larger than themselves, a family, a tribe; while what she had was left to burn, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Watch not your hands lest your feet lead you through dangerous pastures.

As Amalah’s eyes traveled across the table, meeting different faces, some memorable, some beautiful and others hardened, the words of a forgotten proverb rang through her mind.

She was now in dangerous pastures, the uneasiness weighing on her shoulder’s being proof of the matter. That is until the doors opened once more, two men entered and all stood, whispers long forgotten at the sight of the Jabari tribe leader.

Watch not your feet lest your eyes miss the danger within.

A/N: I know we’re hearing and talking a lot about Mosí, but because our two main characters’s currently estranged, he remains the bridge between them. However, our two poles are nearing each other, slowly but surely (hence the slow burn this has made itself to be).

Tag list: @elaindeereads @myrikal324 @muse-of-mbaku @drsunshine97 @mslaufeyson @theunsweetenedtruth @ultracrii @bidibidibombaclaat @hotthrow @chaneajoyyy

#Closer to heaven (star-crossed)

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bba-sae · 6 years

Text

And In The End

PAIRING: Jaehyun/Reader

GENRE: Greek!AU + angst +fluff

WORD COUNT: 6.2K

SUMMARY: "My heart shall wither away with you.”

Authors note: S/O to everyone I left waiting for this series to FUCKINGGGGG STAAARRRTTTTT. I’m sorry. I suck, no excuse. But ooowweeeee look at that. I’m not sure when the others will be done but I do have other NCT/Seventeen Aus in the works. I’ll probably release a new AU in a few days, depending on how inspired I feel. Anyways, enjoy this???!!! Or don’t, I won’t force you, just don’t hate me pls lol

“You are not supposed to be here.” You say in a whisper, your voice almost being caught in your throat when you lay eyes on the intruder. You hold a candle to his face, the light seeming to dim against his bright smile.

A boy sits nonchalantly on a table, his beauty threatening the most bewitching scenes that seem to fade in his presence. He shines brightly in the dullness that fills your life and a single breath is held in your throat. He juggles three figs between his hands, a smile emphasizing the plump bow of his lip. Jaehyun.

You see it in the way he sits, his limbs arranging themselves with such grace, they could not have been that of anyone else. His black hair falls cleanly upon his head though he runs his fingers through it rather sloppily. Despite his sheer handsomeness, he seems unaware of this dizzying yet intriguing effect he has on you.

The boy drops two figs onto the table, taking the one in his left to the dagger that he pulls with his right. His hand expertly slices the fruit in one flick, and he takes the fruit to his mouth with one bite. You watch the juice drip off the corners of his mouth down his chin, his hand raises to wipe the side of his face. His eyes catch yours when he does, forcing you to shoot your gaze to the floor immediately. A loud chuckle emits from the pit of his stomach, the sound erupting a strange feeling of contentment through you.

“You remember me.” He says with a smile, flicking his tongue to capture the rest of his food. You roll your eyes and pull your garments closer to you. The cold air of night seemed to scrape against the surface of your skin but dissipated with every step you took closer to the peculiar boy.

Though he claims to have shared the same age as yourself, he seems to exude a sort of unearthly wonder. You questioned him profusely when he confided to you that he was eleven the last time he visited.

“Of course I remember you, thief.” You set the candle on the table and take a seat beside him. Your legs cross in front of you, hands resting neatly in your lap. Jaehyun turns to you, his knees press against yours and he leans in with a frown. The boy never had a sense of personal space.

He seems betrayed when he speaks, his disappointment seeping through his words, “A thief? But you said I could visit. You even promised to leave me those figs.”

You laugh at this, a breathy laugh that makes Jaehyun pause for a moment. He’s heard a thousand laughs before, but none seem to ring through his body quite like that. He takes a second to refocus on your voice when you start, “I don’t really mean you are a thief. I was playing with you Jaehyun. Don’t you tease your friends?”

He chokes on his breath, a stutter forming instead of words. His eyes widen and his hands rush to wrap around yours. You furrow your eyebrows as you attempt to retract your hands, but they are locked tight in his grasp. “We’re friends?”

“I don’t see why not.” You shrug as if the statement means nothing. But to Jaehyun, it is everything he has waited for. He smiles widely with glee, his eyes squinting into crescents. You shake your head at his childish excitement and wiggle yourself out of the little space Jaehyun leaves you. You stand again, grabbing the candle in your small hand.

“But you barely know me? How do you decide these kinds of things?”

“That’s not true. I know a lot of things about you.” You begin walking around the table, hand grabbing the fabric of your gown. Your eyes focus on your feet that pad lightly against the ground. Jaehyun’s body spins and twists to follow your figure, unable to speak as he watches your peculiar actions, “I know you like figs, you told me that the last time I saw you. I know your parents are probably not very kind to you, because if they were you wouldn’t have to sneak in here to feast. Perhaps you are the son of a servant? But that wouldn’t make sense because you are so very,” You pause, trying to put a word to your thoughts. The boy rests his elbow on the table as he watches you take a seat again on the table's surface.

He looks up at you, his eyes appearing bigger as he raises his eyebrows, “So very?”

“Foreign?” You tap your chin once, twice, before shaking your head, “Unlike anyone I’ve met?,” Your eyes close for a moment before it hits you and you snap your fingers in delight, “Unearthly.”

Jaehyun scoffs, only realizing how exaggerated it sounds when it echoes through the room. He shakes his head vigorously before standing up and swatting his hand left and right. You laugh at his strange gestures.

Your fit of giggles stops Jaehyun in his tracks and his hands fall to his sides. His stillness contrasts with your jovial movements as you hold your stomach in laughter. “I was only teasing again. Jaehyun, you have many things to learn.”

He sighs in relief, no longer surprised by your interest in him. The two of you spend the rest of the night talking, sharing stories of your days. He convinces you to stay until the first light of day and you hesitantly agree.

When Jaehyun speaks of his own family, after hearing the extensive chronicles of your own, he doesn’t have much to say. His father never talks to him much, only forcing him to do his bidding when he’s occupied with other women. He relays to you that he has a sister and a mother, but that was all he has to share.

But before you can pry more, a single ray of sunlight illuminates a section of your face through the crack of a wall. You squint in its brightness, blinded by the intense amount light that floods the room suddenly. A burst of light obstructs your vision entirely and when you gain a sense of sight once more, Jaehyun is gone. You look around, only then feeling the weight of sleep threaten your composure. It is only a few short minutes until you give up, bidding him a goodbye under your breath.

When Jaehyun hears you whisper his name, the light that illuminates the room glows with an unearthly brilliance but you don’t stay long enough to see.

Jaehyun and you become close within the next times he visits. You find comfort in his presence when you become lonely and you begin anxiously awaiting his visits. But after the six months, you no longer find him dining in your kitchen in the late hours. He is gone without another word, and his memory becomes that of an old childhood friend.

The next time you see Jaehyun, you feel his warm hands first. Your body lies beneath the olive tree that adorns the center of your family’s garden. You are three years older now, the gentle curves of your body hugged by the soft cloth of your dress. The torrid air of summer hugs your frame, the sweat collecting between your skin as you lay your forearm upon your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed, finding peace within the serene sound of leaves rustling in the tender winds.

As you feel your consciousness fading into a wisp of slumber, you are pulled awake when you feel a hand graze the side of your face. Your eyes shoot open and your hand is quick to grab the culprit, preventing him from moving closer. Your vision clears, and a pair of familiar eyes stare down at you. You blink once, twice, three times to focus on his features, hand still holding his. He lets out a faint laugh, sounding more like a sigh than anything else.

“You’re rather strong, for a queen.” He jokes, earning a scoff from you. You are taken aback, however, knowing that the news of your betrothal was strictly confidential. Only your family knew of it. You sit up to meet his gaze, your hair messy and unkempt from lying on the ground. He sits back and rests his arm on his knee.

Three years does not feel as long as it is until you notice how he’s grown. Jaehyun, now 16, still has his youthful glow that radiates his figure, but the years seem to have been kind to him. His features have become more defined, and his frame is taller. You notice his muscles, more toned than his prepubescent physique. Yet it was not the body of a common boy who helped his father with handy work, his body was that of a warrior. One that spent years training, training for a reason you were unsure of.

You shake your head and wave your arms as if pushing his words away. “I am not a queen.”

“Yet,” He says slyly, and you roll your eyes. He leans in, and tilts his head up slightly to look down at you with raised eyebrows, a knowing smile painted on his lips, “You are not a queen yet.”

“I am betrothed, I am not married. Many things can happen between now and then.” You trail off as you speak, distracting yourself with your hands. You intertwine your fingers together, hugging your hands tightly until your knuckles turn white.

Jaehyun frowns, tilting his head in curiosity, “It sounds as if you don’t wish to be married to this man.”

“I don’t.” You say bluntly and meet his eyes. You don’t know why he’s smiling, and perhaps he doesn’t know either. But when you stare into his brown orbs, you feel a rush of relief flow through his features. He sighs, and he hopes you don’t notice the way his fists unclench. He’s heard everything he wants to hear but he goes on.

“And why is that?”

You shrug, looking up at the sky for a moment. The rays of sun seem brighter, a pattern you have begun to expect with Jaehyun. “I don’t want to be nothing.”

“What do you mean by that?” He questions, eyebrows furrowing.

“I will be married. I will be his queen. I will be showered with riches. But I will not be loved. He will not love me, because he paid for me. But he will pretend to love me, for a moment. And I will feel important, for a moment. Then in a few weeks, I will be nothing to him. I am not a token to be slept with and cast aside when one decides to seek other women. I don’t want to be nothing,” Your hands finally unclench and you begin to feel the blood rush through them. You look back to Jaehyun to check if he’s still listening and you are surprised how intently he watches you, “I want to be something, I want to be everything to the man I choose to love. I want them to choose me, every day.”

Jaehyun is silent when you finish and you believe he might laugh at your hopeless desires. You’re ready to hide yourself in embarrassment for pouring your heart out to someone you haven’t seen in so long, but for some reason, nothing ever felt more right.

“I think I can help you with that.” He mumbles and you tilt your head to question him.

“And how is that?”

“My father tells me that when I live up to my potential, I’ll be able to choose my wife, any woman in the land will marry me.” You let out a loud laugh and shake your head. You swing your legs to the side and rest your hand on the ground. Though you laugh, Jaehyun remains serious and you cough to clear the air.

“So?” You ask, and Jaehyun’s hands find yours. You don’t know why, but you soften at his touch and you allow him to proceed, though you know you shouldn’t.

“I’ll choose you.” He whispers as if the words were meant for you. You feel his breath fan your face, only then noticing how close the two of you are.

When you answer, your voice is as inaudible as his. It is hesitant and soft and you believe you wouldn't be unable to speak any louder. “And if I say no?”

“You won’t be able to resist. I’ll save you a thousand times over.” His thumbs circle the back of your hands, and you feel as if Jaehyun did not come back to you with the intention to remain a friend. You felt his presence becoming imprinted on your very being, unable to forget him. You only hope he will not leave again.

“What if I’m in no danger? What if I’m in no need of saving?”

He leans in, close enough to feel your breath mix with his, but he stops himself short of feeling the sweet touch of your lips, opting to lean back with a smile. He watches as your eyes flutter close in a split second as if awaiting a kiss, only to shoot open once again, “Then I’ll hope that you choose me too.”

“You’re a what?” you question. Your quarters are lit dimly by the blue hues of moonlight, yet they still seem too bright around Jaehyun. It is only a few nights since he has last seen you, but he couldn’t stay away from you much longer.

Jaehyun leans against a wall, his gaze focuses on his hand that twists under the moonlight. It’s as if he’s trying to manipulate it or trying to soak it up. You cough once to get his attention again and he looks up at you. You’re sitting on your bed, your blankets held tightly to your body. The air is cold around you, and you shiver in the sudden chill that runs through your room. Jaehyun’s lips tighten into a slight smile and he closes the distance between you two even more. You already feel the warm flowing towards you.

“A god, haven’t you seen one?” He says it so casually as if it’s nothing. His voice is deeper, more confident than when you were eleven.

You shake your head in disbelief, “You must be horribly misinformed, Gods do not walk among the humans. Gods hate humans.” Jaehyun shrugs, the ordeal not weighing on him as much as it weighs on you. You squint your eyes at him, still trying to understand what was happening.

“But I am here, and I’m standing with you. Are you not human either? A muse, a siren perhaps?”

You let out an offended laugh, looking up at the ceiling to sort out your thoughts. When you look back at him, you meet his gaze with a glare, clenching your fist tighter. “You want me to believe you and you’re already comparing me to a siren? Is that how I come across to you?”

Jaehyun sustains his eyes contact as he crawls onto your bed. The weight shifts to his side and the proximity becomes dangerously evident. Even in the darkness, you are beginning to scan his features clearly, his dazzling eyes leaving you breathless. “Beautiful, a sickeningly sweet voice, you could be the death of me if I got a little too close.” He finishes the last word as if it’s a challenge. One eyebrow raises before he’s only a few inches away from you. When he sits, he’s already grabbing your arm, pulling you into his lap to close the gap. Your hands instinctively rest on his shoulders and his own snake around your waist. He shrugs, “It’s an easy mistake to make.”

You scoff at his actions, pushing a finger into his chest, “Maybe you are a God. If you were the god of shamelessly advancing on uninterested women.”

“Uninterested? I think not.” He says this with a squeeze to your hips, as if reminding you of your rather compromisable position, “But I’m willing to add more titles to my name.”

“Aren’t gods supposed to,” you trail off, being thrown off by the way he looks at you. You lose yourself in his smile, as he giddily watches you speak. You refocus and continue, “have more decency?”

He laughs as he always does and retorts, “My father is Zeus, I have a thousand siblings, who have a thousand lovers themselves. Please tell me about my indecency for wanting to be with one woman who has mesmerized me since I was young?”

Your hands run down the sides of his face, examining the curves and details of his features. You ponder the fact that he may be a god, for no mortal could possibly be this beautiful.

“Prove it.” You whisper, instantly being greeted by a sudden burst of light. It is the same as when you were 11, every time Jaehyun would depart from your presence. Yet this time it is smaller, a powerful thing that explodes from the boy’s hand. He closes his fist to extinguish it. A quiet gasp leaves your parted lips, and Jaehyun watches you intently for a reaction. “God of light. I knew it.” You say with a smile, hand snaking around to touch the nape of his neck.

It is in that moment, something maybe you’ve been waiting for when he returned to you when he finally kisses you. His lips are soft but are eager to feel yours. He’s been waiting to tell you this, he has wanted to tell you for years. He doesn’t know exactly why he tells you on this night, perhaps he hopes to sway you toward him more. As if you really did have a choice in the end. The kiss is chaste and you pull away before he can will you towards his desires even more. You shake your head as his face recedes and he looks at you confused.

“I cannot do this. I cannot let you sway me like this.” You remove yourself from his grasp, sitting back into your original place. Jaehyun’s expression is hurt, his crestfallen features breaking your heart painfully so.

He turns away from you, hands supporting his weight as they press against your bed behind him. His legs hang off the edge, the curve of his back hunched more than it should. He looked defeated, a pitiful laugh ripping from his throat. “My apologies, I must have been mistaken in thinking you felt the same way about me.”

“You aren’t mistaken. Do not convince yourself that your feelings are not returned.”

“Then why,” His voice is loud, anger manifesting in the pit of his stomach. He stands and his feet press hard against the floor. His sudden burst surprises you, and he takes note of this. Before he acts, he takes another second to calm himself, “Then why can’t you?” His voice breaks off into a cry. He’s desperate at this point. Everything about the way he holds himself shows that he’s broken without you, and you yearn to mend the pieces together.

“You are a god. I am a betrothed mortal. Everything about that doesn’t make sense. Gods do not marry mortals, gods impregnate mortals, leaving them to hopelessly cling to their child as the only piece of someone they loved. Gods wed goddesses.” At this, Jaehyun shakes his head in disagreement, though you believe you cannot be convinced otherwise. “For as long as you are a god, you will be meant to do godly things, things that I cannot be a part of. You will love me, and you will leave and you will discover the true beauties of the world,

“The entire world is quite literally, in the palm of your hand. You said it yourself, any woman will want you,” You rise from your place on the bed, walking to him slowly. It doesn’t occur to you that your ill-fitting garments to hide yourself from him, but it does not matter to you, “So am I supposed to sit here and wait for you? Wait while you go off, sleeping with beautiful women, forgetting about me, until I become just the mother of your demigod of a child?”

His breath becomes still as he ponders your words. His gaze doesn’t fall back to you though you want to look at him, but he speaks, “Yes, I will leave and yes you will have to wait for me. But you are terribly mistaken, my love.” He looks at you again, and you feel yourself release the breath you’ve been holding. His hand cups the side of your face, causing you to lean into his touch for more, “There is not another being in all of existence that may take my heart away from you. It is yours to keep, to do as you wish, until I come home to you. The mere thought of you is forever ingrained in me, no god may do anything about it.”

You kiss the inside of his wrist, eyes trained on him as he intently watches you, “And when I wither away like dust?” He leans in a little closer with a gentle smile, assuring your rapidly beating pulse.

“My heart shall wither away with you.”

“And my betrothal?” You ask, still concerned about your own future. He takes your other hand in his, kissing it softly, as he always does. He guides your hand to wrap behind his neck, a gesture that pulls you closer to his body.

“I will find a way, I promise you.” His claim is confident, and you can’t see yourself to doubt him in any way.

You laugh to lighten the mood, unable to hide your own giddy smile from his sweet words, “A promise from a god? I suppose I must expect you to keep your word then?”

“That is, so long as you keep yours.” He drops his hand from your face, opting to snake the around your waist. His hands run up your spin, lightly traces the curve of your body. “To choose me.”

You scoff at this, teasing him for the sake of habit, “Now I don’t believe I’ve said anything of the sort.”

He kisses you again, careful that you will not pull away. Instead, you return the kiss, pushing your body against him as if there was any more space for you to take up. This time, it is him that pulls away, with a mischievous smile painted across his swollen lips, ”Your actions have said enough.”

Jaehyun visits most nights, spending his time feeling your welcoming touch in the quiet hum of night. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling your back against his body. You hum quietly and turn your body to face him with a sleepy smile. It’s been some time since you’ve accepted your feelings, years you’ve spent watching the beautiful boy in front of you grow. You examine his face for a moment, his chiseled features more prominent than ever. He was no longer the young boy with a naïve smile, you suppose you’ve changed too.

“You look more like a god.” You look up at him, scanning his features in the moonlight. You find your stare lingering for a little too long, a little too close, and a little too obvious because when Jaehyun leans in he laughs in complete delight. His laugh is breathy and sweet, and you cannot stop yourself from smiling.

He stares at you too, and a moment passes when the two of you say nothing. His eyes sway up and down your face, his expression doing nothing to hide his interest. He looks down at your hands, which at the moment were unsure of where to be. He quickly grasps your hand loosely, intertwining your fingers before looking up at you again.

“Because of my godly good looks?” He smiles slyly and kisses your hand. It’s quick but there is a warmth that surges through your veins from the same spot. He keeps your hand close enough to his lips so that you may feel the smile that blooms on his face. You roll your eyes, pulling your hand away from his grasp, and sit up from your bed with a pout.

“You do not act like a god though.” You say jokingly. Jaehyun follows suit, sitting up to place his hands on your shoulder and kiss the nape of your neck.

“And if we were to act the part we were given, you would be in another man’s bed, and I would be rampaging on the mortals who allowed it.”

You look at him doubtingly, eyes squinted as you lean closer and closer to him, “You wouldn’t dare.”

He closes the gap to a minuscule amount of space. You can feel his breath as he exhales in a breathy laugh that’s comforting in all the ways you knew, “I would if it means I have you.” He leans in to steal another kiss but you pull back to dodge his advance. His look is one of betrayal, a childish pout threatening your composure.

“If you’ll go to such lengths, why have you not stopped my betrothal already. It’s been years. My parents do not wish to have an unmarried 20-year-old. If I had not stalled I would have been bearing a child already.”

Jaehyun frowns at this, the reality of the situation never something he would like to think of. If it were up to him, he would steal you away in the dark of night, and live his days on tending to everything you need in a secluded paradise that was meant for you. But he is a god, and though the power he holds is incredible, everything cannot be up to his desires.

“I’m trying.” He says curtly, not wanting to talk about the subject. You roll your eyes at this, losing tolerance and patience.

“Are you?” You question and Jaehyun abruptly turns to you.

“I’ve talked to my father about you, my sister too.” His voice becomes spiteful, but not to you. As if he’s directing his words to the very people he speaks of. You watch his fists clench in disdain and you run your own hand over his in comfort.

“And what do they have to say?”

“My sister hates mortals.”

You laugh, already knowing this. Gods and goddess did not care for mortals. They were only burdens, pawns of entertainment they may sway and manipulate for their own pleasure. You had no place by Jaehyun, you knew this. When you nod solemnly, Jaehyun goes on, tearing his gaze away from you to the view outside. He watches the starlight pour into the room, wondering how the Gods could create such beautiful things yet have souls as ugly as they are.

“She wants me to discard of you.” He says and your lips purse. When he turns to you again, his hand raises to your face pulling you in for a kiss. But this did not feel like it was for you. It was meant to send a sign, to show the gods above and below that he wouldn’t stop. When he pulls away your breathless and your skin is hot from his touch. He draws himself away from you with a boyish smile and devious intentions,“I don’t take orders from my sister.” He kisses you again, except with enough force to push you onto your back.

You want to give in, every piece of you does. But when you open your eyes, you are pulled back to the reality of the situation, “But your father? Surely you are obligated to take orders from him.”

“He believes I’m making the biggest mistake any God could make.” He says quickly, before falling into you again. He hopes you don’t catch the way he emphasizes the word “god”. The way he says it with such mischief, it’s impossible to believe he doesn’t have anything planned. But he lies to you, kisses you sweetly to sway you away from the prospect because he knows what you would say. But he wants you too much, he won’t even let you get in the way of it.

Jaehyun requests an appearance with his father with a plan of action. He will ask him to relinquish his godly status, to strip him of his title, so he may be with you in peace. He expects the reaction he gets, Zeus assuming he’s gone mad. He does not expect his most lethal sibling to be in attendance as well, however. He knows she is there for a reason, and he is sick just thinking of it.

“Father, Jaehyun loves the humans now. How shameful.” Jaehyun’s sister says in a shrill voice. Gown dragging against the floor. Her voice was sharp, soaked in gasoline and lit a flame to every syllable that passed her lips. Her eyes were vehement, unfaltering even to the strongest warriors. If his father was the single most terrifying in the world, his sister was the second. For she lacked the mercy that many Gods held. She was ruthless in every sense of the word, he could not fathom what she would do to you if she was given the chance. She was a force that was not to be reckoned with, for dire consequence lie ahead if one dared.

His father stands firmly in front of the young god. His air of calmness brings everything but. He shook the earth with a single breath, his words causing more calamity in its path. “No, Jaehyun loves only one. And perhaps that will be a far bigger mistake.” He replies, his gaze not tearing from his son’s eyes. Jaehyun takes a deep breath, not making the effort to interject, “You realize what you’re giving up, boy. You, a god of light, a god that many gods cannot dream to imitate, want to give all of that up. For a girl?”

Jaehyun answers with a firm, yes, earning an offended scoff from his sister. His father, however, brings the world to silence with a fist to the wall beside him. Jaehyun’s surprised it doesn’t break beneath his hand, he must have been holding back-he thinks.

“You are immortal. You will find thousands of women like her. You have the rest of the world to see, she is only a measly part of that. When she grows old and weary, you will not love her anymore, she will be noth-“

“Do not speak of her like that.” The way he says it makes even his sister hesitate. The sheer power that is projected through his words is frightening. His eyes burn with a fire so black, the heat that radiates is lethal. They did not know he could hold such passion, manipulate the tension within the room to the point that it’s suffocating. “I will never live another day of my life without loving her. She is a part of me now, spiting her, you are spiting me. You said it yourself father, I have acquitted much power within myself.”

His father doesn’t say a word for a moment and Jaehyun decides he rather he openly showed his wrath. Because the look that Jaehyun is given is one of pure evil. One that has been stripped of mercy, leaving pour souls dead and buried and rolling through their graves in pain. The look sends regret through Jaehyun in a split second, his breath being stuck in his throat for long he thinks he has forgotten how to in the first place.

“Even the greatest of gods need to be put in their place.”

When Jaehyun returns to the mortal world, he is broken and beaten. He stumbles into your palace, pushing past servants in a frantic hurry. He falls to his knees, trying to bear the excruciating pain he feels from his father’s hands. Though immortal, he feels as though he might die, and when he thinks of what could possibly happen to you he really thinks he will. For he will take any pain in the world, twice over, every day of his long-lived life, but if your life was jeopardy he doesn’t believe he’ll make it.

His sudden desire to find you erupts as he watches his sister leave the site in the midst of his punishment with a mischievous grin painted on her face. Her eyes make way to his head between a banister and the grip of his father, dripping with malignant intentions, and a hand raises to wave goodbye to him delicately. It is the same eyes he sees walk past him now, leaving your quarters. They are just as sharp, as lethal as he has always known. But he doesn’t linger long enough to say because soon as he comprehends the weight of the situation before him, he is rushing into your room.

Though Jaehyun has lived years, upon years of war, of violence, he believes he will never see a sight as terrifying as what’s before him. You lie on your bed, gasping for air, the flowing cloth of your gown becoming soaked in rivers of crimson. A cry escapes Jaehyun’s throat as he runs to your side. He feels himself losing focus, his head dizzying by the second. He lifts you onto his lap, trying to press his hand against the wounds on your body.

“Would you still choose me?” The way your voice falters with an exhausted push through your chest tears apart his entire resolve. His body shakes as he holds you, tears he didn’t know he could produce falling onto your face. His hand brushes the sweat-soaked strands of hair out of your face, a futile attempt to take away a piece of the discomfort. He begins with an aggressive nod of his head, eyes focusing on your face to keep his attention on the lower half of your body. He didn’t want to see how serious it really was, he didn’t want to know how slim your chances were becoming.

“Of course, but I suppose you’ve known my choice for a while now.” You smile at this, the pain becoming so lasting, you almost feel numb to it. Jaehyun wonders how you could remain so bright despite the circumstance but he decides that it is precisely why he had loved you so fast and so relentlessly. Your hand meets his where it lays on your cheek and you use all of your power to squeeze it gently.

“So I get to choose then?” You ask, voice getting so faint he must lean in to decipher your words.

“Yes, you do get to choose.” His voice trembles, teeth pulling his bottom lip in a tight grip. You look away from his face to think for a moment, a quiet hum escaping your lips. He coughs to regain your attention; eyes training themselves back on the beautiful boy that you’ll lose far too soon. You occupy yourself with memorizing the lines of his face, the curve of his lip; the feather-light lashes that brush against his cheekbones. You want to know his face in death, you want his to be the face you’ll greet mere seconds from now, “should I be concerned about your choice?”

You laugh with a shake of your head, your senses becoming duller than you remember. The edges of your vision fade to charcoal blur, yet the fear you once held dissolves into content of where you were.

“No. “ You reply bluntly, aware of the very small window left before you, “I already chose, a decade ago.” Your eyes flutter shut in a helpless attempt to stay conscious, to stay present for him. He brings both hands to your face frantically, whispering a line of frantic pleas for time. You swear you hear him utter his father's name on a whim to save you. You feel yourself open your eyes once more, “I chose you when we were eleven, I chose you every day I had you, I’ll choose you in death until you come back to me.”

Jaehyun lets out an exasperated sob as he watches your eyes shut for the last time, and he curses the very core of the earth he walks in. Your body goes limp in his arms yet he continuous to hug you in hopes to feel your arms tighten around him. His voice becomes an incomprehensible string of screams, the bloodcurdling nature informing the rest of the servants who wait outside in fear of what just occurred before them.

He stays until the crowd dissipates and he’s left with the agonizingly quiet air you have left. His knees bleed a dark crimson from the hours he has spent kneeling on the ground. His voice is coarse, any sign of life escaping as well. The world disappears around him. The ground, the sky, the greenery that lines the edges of your walls, fade into an excruciating oblivion. For when you died, everything that was beautiful and sweet died with you. A conspicuous reminder of the hole you so stubbornly left within the young warrior.

When you died, Jaehyun dies with you, and in the end, he wonders if it were for the better.

It is the warm spring of your sixteenth year when you find a peculiar boy picking off bites from your father's crop. A boy your age, and radiates a burst of light that illuminated in your presence. He bites from a fig, juice dripping down his face sloppily, but he wipes it off with a smile.

The way he looks at you hurts, though you aren’t sure why. He looks at you like he’s been waiting for you, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath until this very moment. He looks as if he’s been searching, searching every day of his life, and he has finally found what he lost. He looks at you and a sudden rush of emotion pushes through you. You do not know what to feel, and you do not know if you want to cry from complete happiness or overwhelming despair. But you’re crying and you do not know why, and this boy in front of you does not look the least bit surprised.

You wipe a tear from your face as you catch your breath and collect yourself. “Do I know you?”

He shines brightly in the dullness that fills your life and a single breath is held in your throat. He moves closer to you with the same smile, one that breaks in you into a million pieces, scatters for him to pick up. And by the way he looks at you, you know he will.

“I am just a friend.”

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airiustide · 6 years

Note

if ur still doing prompts; in an attempt to make katara more 'attractive' on the marriage market, the water tribe (maybe hakoda or arnook) makes a deal with the blue spirit to kidnap her, so that eligible contenders can rescue her and maybe win her hand. unfortunately, the blue spirit keeps kidnapping her and he and katara start to grow closer (to the extent the kidnap is just a formality) until katara is done with all her suitors and just up and elopes with the blue spirit. kthanksbye *flees*

So, I know this took longer than normal but I really wanted to take my time with this request because, let’s face it, it’s an amazing request and I knew it’d be longer than any request I’ve ever done (3208 words to be exact) and I have to say, I love you, anon for this beautiful prompt.

Katara’s sapphire eyes roamed the kingdom of Omashu, drinking in the view atop the central mountain peak. It was the first time she had stepped foot on land outside her own. The journey was a bit of a stretch, but she enjoyed it none the less. Her father had promised this was the best way to find a husband. A part of her felt as though she was being paraded. She knew her father had good intentions, but was searching for a husband all that significant?

The waterbender sighed, turning on her heels when a servant entered her room to escort her. She was led through the corridors of King Bumi’s palace, dressed in an elegant gown the king himself had given her. Even after a week of being the great earthbender’s guest, she still wasn’t use to the grand building or the land’s temperature. Though, that bothered her little, her stay was quite lonely. Her father was often pulled away by both her Uncle Arnook and King Bumi. She wanted Sokka there, but he was required to man the tribe in Hakoda’s absence.

The grand doors to the throne room opened gradually, revealing an extravagant display of colorful crystals and a green rug leading to the stone seat of the king’s throne. The place always had Katara in a state of awe, no matter how many times she’s entered.

“Ah, Princess Katara!” Bumi announced with a large, toothy grin. “You’ve finally arrived.”

Katara bowed, “Sorry for the delay.”

“It is not a problem, princess.” Arnook chimed in. “We are sure it was only in an effort to look your best for your potential suitors.”

Sure. Yeah, that’s it.

“Well, then, come here, dear! They will arrive shortly.” Bumi laughed, releasing an array of random snorts.

Katara took a seat next to her father. She could see the sheer joy on his face. A pang of guilt tugged at her heart at the thought of disappointing him if she turned out not to like any of these men. Her father had worked hard to find her a betrothed. Their home being previously small and unappealing, had currently unattracted possible suitors. Hakoda had gone out of his way to present his daughter to marriage market. When everything failed, he had turned to his old friend and ally, Arnook, Chieftain of the Northern Water Tribe, once he got news of Yue’s engagement to a foreign diplomat. Arnook had been so kind as to gift Katara with treasures to build her dowry. Even going as far as to send invitations to the other four nations to attract various amounts of suitors.

Arnook stood by Bumi’s throne, confidence radiating from his broad smile. Turning to the door, he gestured for the guards to allow the first set of suitors to step in. “May I present, from the Earth Kingdom, Nobleman Masaru, Nobleman Hiresh, Captain Chu, General Gopan and nephew of the Earth King Kuei himself, Prince Satish.”

The men entered in a group, stopping in front of the throne. Hakoda was seated to the right of the king and his daughter next to him. The men stood in a line side by side, simultaneously conducting a traditional Earth Kingdom bow. Katara was taken aback by their entrance. This was something she was not used to.

The first one to step out of the line was a short and sturdy built young man. He wore Earth Kingdom armor, his hair in a high topknot. He had a thin mustache, his beard reaching his chest. He may have been considered handsome in this foreign land but all Katara could see was an overbearing authorize figure and La help her if she had to be married to one.

“Princess,” his voice boomed. “I am General Gopan! As a man of great importance, I offer protection and security to both you and your people! I come from generations of high ranking military men! Therefore, choose me as your loyal husband!”

She smiled reluctantly at Gopan. How exactly dies she respond to that?

Each suitor had taken the turn to announce his name and occupation, explaining what all they had to offer her and her people. Except Prince Satish.

“As you can see, Princess,” The way he said it struck her nerve. What a conceited- “I am the best choice. Considering…” The scrawny man brushed imaginary dust off his royal emerald robe. “As Prince of this great kingdom, I offer so much more than my…opponents. I assure you, Princess, you will be treated like royalty befitting that of someone with such beauty and grace.” He grinned, brows moving up and down.

Ew, Katara mouthed, face contorted.

After all the men took their turn, the room grew silent. Hakoda turned to his daughter and nudged her arm with his elbow when he noticed her eyes fluttering closed.

She bolted upright, darting her head around the room before landing on all the men. “Uh, yes, um…” she stood up hesitantly, making her way to stand in front of the keen faces. “Thank you all for your wonderful…introductions. I do look forward to-“

She was interrupted when a figure appeared out of nowhere, her breath caught in her throat. A stranger clad in black and wearing a mask of a demon, landed gracefully next to the princess. His tall figure approached Katara like a cunning predator, his stare blank and unmoving as he examined her from head to toe. He then faced the men who stared dumbfoundedly at the intruder.

Seeing him reach a hand towards the princess, the men gasped, taking a defensive stance, as well as Katara. “Who are you?” She demanded. Her father, King Bumi, and Arnook observing the situation from a distance.

Instead of receiving an answer, the intruder quickly grabbed her wrist and spun her into his arms. She gasped, back colliding with the intruder’s strong chest.

“Hey!” She cried, swinging her left foot back to kick his shin. He avoided it gracefully, stepping to the side, wrapping an arm across her chest and spinning her around once again to face him. He bound her wrists before she could comprehend what he was doing, then swung her over his shoulder like a potato sack and sent a burst of smoke through the room, provoking a fit of coughs.

“What are you waiting for, you fools?” Hakoda yelled in between coughs. “Retrieve my daughter!”

“Put me down!” Katara beat her fists into the stranger’s backside. He breezed through every corner of the palace halls with ease, her weight doing little to hinder his reflexes. From a distance she heard cries, and she couldn’t hold back the groan boiling in her chest. Her suitors were on their tail, Gopan leading the group. Seriously, this is who they send? Katara thought sarcastically.

The demon masked figure halted, unsheathing a broad sword from his back, and swung it skillfully. He demolished a boulder with his weapon, dodged a set of disks and knocked Gopan in the head with the butt of his sword handle. The General fell backwards, crossed-eyed.

The others jumped back cautiously when Gopan landed hard on the ground. Masaru went in for an attack by withdrawing a spiked mallet. He swung heavily at the masked figure’s head, whom had ducked. Then his shoulder, only for his arm to get caught between the masked figure’s bicep and forearm. He squeezed, causing Masaru to cry out and release his weapon, in which he was then kicked in the abdomen.

The intruder defeated his opponents with ease until he was left with no one but Prince Satish, who cowered over with shaken knees as the stranger’s mask came inches within distance of his face. The figure growled. Satish turned white, immediately high tailing it out of there, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

He then sheathed his broad sword, adjusting Katara’s body on his shoulder before proceeding to exit the palace.

They reached the forested area miles from the mountain city of Omashu by early evening. Katara kicked and squirmed as the Blue Spirit carried her in his arms, screaming a string of curses and insults at her kidnapper.

He dumped her carelessly on the ground, grunting in irritation.

Katara landed with a ‘hmpft’. She stood up abruptly, wiping her disarrayed hair from her face. “You!” She pointed. “Who do you think you are?”

He crossed his arms, silent.

“Take me back.” She demanded, her labored breathing finally receding.

The Blue Spirit cocked his head before stepping around her and headed deeper into the forest. Katara looked back at Omashu, unsure of what was going on. Panicked, she chased after him.

“Wait!” She called out. “Wait for me.”

The Blue Spirit stopped. He held his hand up and pointed back at the city behind him.

“You-You’re letting me go?”

He smacked a hand to the mask’s forehead and nodded.

“But why? What was the point in kidnapping me?”

The groan he released echoed in his mask and he grasped Katara’s elbow. She allowed him to lead her away, hoping he’d finally give her an answer for his actions. Instead, he pulled out a dagger and sliced the rope that bound her wrists. He pointed to the city more aggressively and turned on his heels to strode away.

Katara watched as he disappeared in the forest, her mind straining to comprehend what the hell just took place.

Her apparent kidnapping did not hinder the search. Her father had insisted she continue for the sake of finding a suitable husband. The men from the previous day were disqualified for their lack of rescuing the Water Tribe princess.

A week after the incident took place, another group of men, Fire Nation, had arrived. This group of three was led to the palace garden’s where they were to join the princess for tea. They were a lot less assertive than the last group and Katara found herself easing into conversation with the men. Nobleman Katsu, Luitinant Kenji and Master Ryuu were all very kind men but were also dull. They’re well mannerisms, though refreshing, put a damper on Katara’s already horrid week.

She held up the best she could, nodding politely and smiling forcefully when one of them would say something she thought was probably humorous.

The men suddenly grew silent, staring past Katara on the other side of the table.

“Is he one of your body guards?” Kenji asked.

“Who?” Katara arched a brow and glanced over her shoulder. Her jaw dropped. The Blue Spirit had returned yet again, his dao swords drawn as he approached the group.

The men jumped to their feet. The Blue Spirit pulled Katara behind him and took a stance. Ryuu blasted fire from his fists, Kenji coming from behind him to swing his sword while the intruder was distracted by Ryuu’s firebending. The Blue Spirit sliced through Ryuu’s attack before blocking Kenji’s. Kenji used his upper body strength to dispel the block, but the Spirit had the sword trapped in place between his. With a growl Kenji pushed into him, only to be flung hard to the ground.

Katsu ran toward’s the Spirit with a cry, swinging a fist at him. The Blue Spirit quickly sheathed his swords and snatched Katsu’s hand before snapping it back. The man fell to the ground in a huddle, nursing his sprained fingers.

Ryuu frowned, taking a wide stance, he kicked his foot in the air, sending a flare towards the intruder. To his surprise, his flame evaporated. While he was stunned, The Blue Spirit grasped the curve where his neck met his shoulder and pinched roughly. The young man passed out.

The Blue Spirit picked Katara up bridal style and escaped before the guards arrived to investigate the situation.

The events occurred like a constant tune, and The Blue Spirits would sweep the Water Tribe Princess away. It was like a ritual. Her suitors would make an attempt at her hand and the Spirit would show up once again, humiliating every one his opponents. The strength in guard did not prevent him from sneaking in almost every time.

There were even a few occasions when Katara thought he was done for, only for him to strike back ten folds. It soon became obvious that the waterbender expected him. A smile would break out on her lips and she would giddily take his hand when they ran from the city.

As time went by, his eagerness to disappear began diminishing. He soon stuck around longer, listening to Katara’s complaints about marriage, the suitors and even her father. The more he kidnapped her, the more open she became. She had even gone as far as telling him about her mother. It was then, for the first time since their encounters, he had wrapped his arms around her, Katara accepting the warm hug in return.

They gradually grew closer. Too close for comfort and the waterbender began to muse weather she had fallen for the strange man or not. He didn’t have to say a word for her understand him, his company was comforting. Their time spent together was the very highlight of her days.

His aptitude and skills intrigued her. His gentleness in consoling her eased her. His repeated kidnappings excited her to the point she even joined in on his sparrings. This was the most fun she’s had since childhood. Because who wouldn’t enjoy seeing Sokka get smacked in the face with a snowball multiple times?

After a group of Northern Water Tribesman had been deterred, Katara figured it was time to be bold. Once they arrived at the edge of the forest, the waterbender swung her arms around The Blue Spirit’s neck and planted a kiss near the lips of the mask. He stilled, muscled tensed. She did again, a little more firmly.

“Is there no motive behind your constant kidnappings?” She asked, her forehead resting on his chest, looking down at her feet.

“Is that of importance?” He responded clearly.

Katara gazed at him, eyes narrowed. So he can speak. “Given the circumstances, yeah, that’s pretty damn important.”

The Blue Spirit looked away from her, staring in the city’s direction. “Is being with a vigilante your idea of romantic? You are naive to think something good could bloom from this match.”

The waterbender flung her arms in the air. “Can’t you just answer the question? All you’ve done is sidestep me at every turn. I pour my heart out to you, a complete stranger, finally get you to speak to me, and you want to talk about what makes me happy? Do you honestly think me that shallow?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Katara could feel the tears surface.

The Blue Spirit kept his distance when all the princess wanted was for him to hold her in his arms again. An ache pierced her heart. He was right. Nothing good could come from developing a relationship with her kidnapper. But La, the thought of never seeing him tore at her. Tomorrow would be the last day she would be introduced to more suitors. What excuse will she have to continue their affiliation?

Wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks, Katara blinked several times to clear her vision. The Blue Spirit vanished.

Hakoda felt as though something was off. Katara had been distant since the previous day. He had noted her puffy cheeks and red eyes when she returned from her last kidnapping and dismissed his concerns when he questioned her, claiming it was only homesickness. He knew that was not the case, but he could not put a finger on what was truly bothering her.

It was the last day and Katara had thus far, not chosen a husband. The thought of going home unengaged didn’t bother her in the least. The day ended with no luck. She had already chosen her beloved and he didn’t even want her. Her father, Bumi and Arnook sat in utter silence at the table of the palace’s grand dining table. The food appeared unappetizing to the princess. She prodded her food in a state of blankness.

Swallowing hard, Katara excused herself from the table. She kissed her father’s cheek and thanked Arnook and King Bumi for everything they’ve done for her since her stay. How disappointed they must feel, she thought. But she couldn’t choose just anyone. Not when these feelings still lingered.

Entering her guest chambers, Katara quietly closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it with a heavy sigh. A stir in her room made her heart clench and she looked to the balcony where a dark figure casually leaned their arm against the doorway.

“Would you honestly give this all up for the sake of some kidnapper?” A raspy voice asked, she could see the silhouette of him removing his mask and flung it to the floor at her feet. “Danger could lie ahead. You would be on the move at all times, and I cannot guarantee that you will live a comfortable life.”

He ignited a flame in his palm, the light illuminating a glow across his muscular torso his attire did little to hide, and slowly moved to his face where it revealed striking gold eyes and a large scar on the left side of his face.

Katara did not react to his features. Instead, she was drawn in by them. Placing her hand to his scarred cheek, the man’s eyes closing contently, she whispered. “Then it looks like I’ll just have to keep up with you.”

“What is the meaning of this?” The Chieftain from the Southern Water Tribe snatched the blue mask lying on his daughter’s nightstand, Arnook and Bumi observing from behind. “Arnook,” Hakoda turned to his friend. “You had told me this man could be trusted. You told me this would guarantee my daughter a husband!”

The Northerner chuckled, to his friend’s confusion. “Yes, Hakoda, that I did.”

Hakoda arched a brow, watching Bumi and Arnook exchange a look. “Am I missing something?”

Arnook patted the man’s shoulder, pride painted on his face. “You recall the formerly known general and Dragon of the West, Iroh? Well…”

Days later, aboard a metal ship heading for the Fire Nation, Katara and her newfound lover embraced one another as the sun peeked over the horizon. The sea breeze filled the waterbender’s nostrils, a sense of fulfillment warming every part of her soul. Her kidnapper turned Fire Lord caressed her back, leaning his head against hers as they stood atop his ship’s deck.

They had spent days without sleep and little food before making it to a small chapel not far from where his ship was docked. The officiator was shocked to find a couple clad in black and pleading he marry them in the middle of the night. No crowd, no fancy attire, no amount of elegance or entertainment could compare to this moment. They exchanged braided bracelets instead of rings. Their first kiss breathtaking, sparking a sweet moan of gratification as they relished the palate of each other’s lips.

It didn’t matter that they hardly knew each other. It would be a long journey back to their new home together. They had plenty of time to become acquainted.

#zutara fanfiction #zutara #zuko x katara #anon request #anon ask #zuko #katara #fire lord zuko #thank you for this I'm still crying

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darveyfics · 7 years

Note

Mike POV - watching darvey at the firm halloween party.

Time 1/1

Mike Ross glances amongst the crowd of heavily overdressed individuals. It’s his very first Halloween work party, and a first for the firm, as well. His light blue eyes flick between the slightly obscured faces, his champagne suspended in his loose grip of the stem, as he watches the crowds of people immerse themselves in fine liquor and colourful attitudes.

Mike Ross has always viewed himself as a people watcher. An observer of mankind. A casual onlooker. It comes hand in hand with his natural gift, to absorb his surroundings, to catalogue moments, and recount them should the need for it arise at any given moment.

But with the people that he knows, he often tries to temper it. Out of loyalty and respect for his loved ones, to give them a privacy away from his rather acute gift.

With two people in particular, he finds himself trying even harder. More so, than with any others.

Ignoring glances, avoiding that palpable address of one another.

Paula Agard is out of the picture. It was a momentous event, and one that he thought would finally start the ball of change rolling. To alter things for the better.

And yet, two of his most loved individuals, akin to the only parental roles in his life, are still not on speaking terms.

His eyes zone in on Harvey, his usual tux adorned with a red wine coloured cape and a half mask - Louis had been instrumental in upgrading Harvey’s boring interpretation of a standard penguin suit - making him the notable villain of the night instead.

It fit him. The sense of ambiguous intentions, and the slight drama and flare to aid his dark gaze. But Mike Ross knew different of a man such as he, knew that underneath those hard steel lines, and granite soul, lay the heart of a lover, and a veritable ‘lost boy’. He watches the older man, his onyx eyes mixed in effortless conversation, only to glance once, twice, and several other times into the middle of the room.

He smiles to himself, his own eyes trying to chart the exact position of his interest.

The red hair is a dead giveaway, somehow darker and yet more vivid against the sparkly, almost jewel-emblazoned sleeveless crimson dress and long violet gloves. He had been taken aback, earlier in the night. He knew that Rachel wasn’t the one to be that confident, often choosing to offset her natural shyness by playing against the wall. But he didn’t expect Donna, even in her flare of theatrics to be so…bold, so overt. Her hair is big and dripping in a thick wave of loose curls down one side of her shoulder, her makeup dramatic, lilic eyelids and thick black lashes with a slight caricature feel to it and a high slit in her dress that shows off her long toned and pale legs, down to a pair of racy red stilettos. Add to that, full red lips and her natural confidence, and it help her bridged the gap between demure and predatory.

If she hadn’t been surrounded by bunnies, and cat women, and Louis dressed in a Henry the Eighth costume, it would have been sheer overkill.

The Associate pool always spoke of the peppy and sexy Donna Roberta Paulsen.

Right now, surrounded by her peers and clients alike,

She was the sexiest one in the room, by far.

And Harvey Specter, no longer connected to his other half, was now well aware of it.

Harvey’s jaw had set the moment that she’d first graced the party, with a handsome date no less, immediately sending alarm bells ringing out into the air at the worrying possibility of events that could unfold as a result of her decision to bring a stranger to the event.

Together, Harvey and Donna were an unbreakable team.

Apart, they were a volcano waiting to pour it’s fury onto all that surrounded them.

He’d never thought for a moment, that two single people could wreak as much havoc like they had over the last three weeks.

He watches Harvey sling back the scotch in his hands, leaning forward to the faceless party that surrounds him, and seems to pay his goodbyes, before striding to the bar with a heaviness.

Harvey Specter had started drinking far too much, lately. Mike had caught him in secret moments, sliding the amber ‘emotion killer’ into his tumbler before downing it and then continuing with the day as if not such a moment had passed.

And this time, Donna wasn’t there to catch his fall. If anything, she was standing by the sidelines and watching him burn willingly with fire brimming her eyes.

His own eyes draw to one ‘Jessica Rabbit’, laughing with her date and a passing Rachel, who has decided to come as an English Judge, of all things. He had laughed outright at that when she’d emerged from their bedroom earlier in the night, his gorgeous and petite fiancee adorned with a heavy white wig and a black cloak, with a book of old law. He knew then, that she was a keeper.

His eyes observe Donna, that flirtatiousness pouring out of her as she seems to recount a story to her precious audience of two, her hands animated, as her dates hand slides against her back in small movements. She looks…happy. Enjoying herself. The life and soul of the party.

But Mike knows differently. He’d caught her crying in her office a few days previous, after the sound of shouting had ruptured the quickly closing evening, the outburst carefully clothed by the night. He had watched Harvey bound out of the firm into an elevator after the shouting had stopped, leaving a distilled anguish to drift into the halls in his wake.

She is hurting. And this is her coverup.

His eyes flick back to Harvey, his gaze now fired directly at the vivacious looking object of his repressed desire, his jaw set like he is readying himself for another fight, his chest puffing out in distaste as he drags the fresh glass against his lips.

Mike watches as Harvey’s gaze is caught by Rachel leaving, and an interchange between the remaining pair, casual and informative that causes her date to glide towards the bathroom or possibly out to make a call.

It’s only then, that the real Donna finally emerges from her purposeful disguise. Her shoulders slumping as she picks up her fluted glass from a nearby bar style table adorned with orange and black confetti and a characterful pumpkin lamp. She downs the champagne with a similar vigour to her displaced counterpart, as she runs her fingers through her hair, seeming to let out a long sigh.

He can feel it then, like a spider sense as his eyes flick to Harvey, the impulse ripe and ready as the man courses across the library with a shark like intent ready to bite or be bitten, his eyes zoned in on the redhead.

It’s like watching a car crash in reverse, as the redhead notices him, straightening immediately in defence, as his Boss grinds to a halt in front of her, his gait more aggressive than perhaps even he intended. His jaw flexes, his mouth opening with a twist as his eyes flash like a dogs. She immediately turns, ignoring him, finishing her drink and folding the free arm against herself, until his hand slides against her side, and her head jerks towards his gaze, overactive against his smooth touch. They are like two fireworks, waiting to go off. In that moment, he can’t seen either of their faces, but watches as Donna nods curtly, before she turns, her face unreadable as she walks in the direction of what looks like the Associate’s bullpen, Harvey following soon after.

He’s never been so intrigued, as his eyes follow them, watching as they leave the party with an intent that has nothing to do with clients or schmoozing or celebrating the night for what it is.

Even when they are not together, they are wrapped up in one another.

He feels like a voyeur then, the intention to follow them rising in his gut as he plucks a champagne from a passing waiter, downing the bubbly and crisp alcohol in one, before popping the glass back on the tray before the waiter is able to pass him. He feels the gas rise, covering a burp with his hand as he saunters in the direction of his friends.

It grips him, half curiosity and half desperation for a happy ending, as he glides quietly down the hall, the grey walls narrowing as his ears sharpen, his neck craning to find the slightest shred of a familiar sound from either of them.

The lights are low, any associates at the party on their one true night off of the year - barring the holidays - and the ones not invited crying in their beds at their own supposed inadequacies.

His eyes narrow, worry setting in then, as he observes the bullpen, completely empty. He frowns, hearing a knock further ahead, the reverberating sound of a door or a shelf being swatted. He hangs a left, peering into the back entrance of the file room. By this point he knows he’s more than drunk, overstepping a mark or worse, but he needs to know. He feels invested now. In this twisted story of two people made for one another and yet so far away they could count the constellations between them.

He wanders down an aisle, boxes towering either side of him as he glides down towards the end.

He hears a breath, a woman’s sigh as he rounds the corner.

He’s not really prepared for what’s in front of him.

Donna, pressed firmly against the copier, her hands clamped around Harvey’s neck and a stiletto clad leg wrapped around the back of his suited calf, his mask discarded on the floor beneath them, and his crooked mouth pouting slightly above a heavy frown, as his lips crush against hers, red smudging against the bottom of his chin.

Mike inhales a sharp breath, a thoughtless reflex to the all too private sight in front of him, as Donna’s eyelids snap open, hazel eyes boring back into his as she almost shoves Harvey backwards, their mouths snapping apart as Mike watches Harvey double take the action, before looking back at him.

Their intruder.

Donna mutters something to herself that he doesn’t catch, picking up her purse from the floor as she flees quickly from the situation, a look of shock etching her flushed face. No doubt rushing to find her date.

Harvey turns, looking in the direction of Donna’s exit, before his eyes fire a potent accusation at his best friend.

He shouldn’t have followed them.

But at least he doesn’t have to intervene any longer.

Maybe things really will be okay.

His older friend seems to sense the words floating around in his head, looking at him with a held frustration.

“Mike,” He warns tiredly, bending quickly to pick up his mask as he waits for the tirade of abuse that’s been known to follow before.

“Well…It’s about time.” Mike says plainly, watching as a number of expressions fleet across the unreadable man’s face.

He watches Harvey look back at him.

Like a man caught between a decision and several outcomes.

#author: redwineonavanillasky #author: atheniandream #darveyfic #darvey #prompt #one shot #rated t #halloween #holiday

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him... What would he do?

Notes from Mod Bonnie

Trying something a bit new as a palate-cleanser, lads and lasses!

Please do note that I am blissfully, unapologetically putting next-to-no effort into making this historically accurate. Soooo, if you’re in a military history/fact-checking/date-referencing mood… best take those efforts elsewhere ;D

Hope you enjoy!

The Last All-Clear

September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail

C. E. B. Randall

Camp Nightwing, France

17 September

Daytime rotation today.

No new battle casualties & all quiet in the distance, thank God.

Did tend M. Danton (scored on the arm w/ rusted nail; antibiotics & sterile bandage to finish; strict instructions to report in 3 days for follow-up).

A strange sort, and no two ways about it.

“Claire—darling—dearest—You know how much I ADORE you, don’t you?”

I was already smirking—fondly, but smirking nonetheless—by the time I turned from restocking the supply cabinets for tomorrow. “How much do you adore me, Nance?”

“So much that I’ll do absolutely any of your chores—ALL your chores!!—for a week if you’ll go tend Danton??”

“Danton? The frenchman?” A glance revealed a familiar set of hunched shoulders (spilled over with filthy black hair) just visible through the cracked partition of the infirmary tent. “What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing serious. Says he got scraped by a nail or screw or something this morning and needs to be cleaned up a bit, but oh, please, Claire??” Nancy whined, grabbing both my hands in hers. “I know you were supposed to go off-duty at eight and it’s nine-thirty already but puh-LEASE will you take ten minutes before you go and be the one to tend him?? Please-please-pl—”

“Good Lord, no need to go into a tizzy about it,” I laughed, a bit taken aback by how truly distraught she seemed. “Surely the man doesn’t bite!” Though in truth, I didn’t know that for certain.

I’d never spoken to him, nor even so much as looked him in the eye, but Danton—was his first name even known?— was a legend in camp. He’d joined the company a month or two ago, they said, one of the men-of-all-work that alternately served as laborer, orderly, handyman, gravedigger, or any other role requiring a strong back. Though I’d always gotten the sense he was past his prime, from the state of his clothing and posture and hygiene, a strong back Danton did have, and whatever his age might be, he was indispensable. The camp always had to be ready to go into action, or even pick up and move entirely at a moment’s notice. In this chaotic wartime reality, with life and death so often on the line, a spare set of hands was always needful.

There were a dozen such men in camp, all of them civilian frenchmen, but Danton was the only one people seemed to talk about; which was quite the irony, given that he was a man of notoriously few words. He kept always to himself, speaking only when directly addressed, gruffly and shortly when he was, crossing the verge of sheer bad-temperedness more often than not. Rooms tended to shift to low whispers when Danton entered, if not empty entirely.

It didn’t seem to bother him. The entirety of my experience with the man consisted of glimpses from across the camp or mess-hall. Yet, even that barest of acquaintance was enough to have convinced me that the unsmiling, grubby Danton—with his hunched shoulders, with that profoundly-unkempt black hair and drooping cap that together hid his eyes—wished to be left alone.

My skin had prickled, though, whenever I had studied him, crawling with something I couldn’t quite put into words or even—

“He gives me the absolute heebie-jeebies!!” Nancy summarized neatly in a whisper. “I can’t do it, I just can’t! Anything you ask, Claire, and it’s done, but PLEASE be a brick and get me out of this??”

I would have agreed in any case—if for nothing more than to satisfy my own slightly-morbid curiosity— but I had absolutely no qualms over letting Nancy take my bedpan duties for a week out of the bargain.

….and surely the man DIDN’T bite?

“Monsieur Danton?”

He JUMPED as though shot, and I startled so violently (absurdly searching for elongated canines in the momentary panic) that I swore and dropped my tray, the bowl, cloth, and other impedimenta clattering and scattering all over the floor with great metallic crashes.

I was utterly mortified, positively dove to my hands and knees to gather the scattered supplies and hide my face, and then the sensation doubled to realize that the frenchman was on the ground beside me. I had only enough time to notice the juxtaposition of the fine leather glove on his left hand with the wretched filth of his clothing before he was placing the last item on the tray. “Thank you,” I mumbled awkwardly, glancing up to smile in thanks, and caught a momentary glimpse of vivid blue eyes before he recoiled, leaping to his feet and busying himself with getting the tray on the table.

Shy, whatever else he might be.

“Well, we’re off to a bumpy start, sol—Sir,” I managed with a weak laugh as I got to my feet, throwing myself fully into that ‘jovial commanding-officer’ character that had weathered many an awkward encounter in my career to-date. My usual script felt a little bereft without the useful address of ’soldier.’ “I’m Nurse Randall,” I said more briskly, clearing my throat with a smile. “I’m told you need medical attention for your arm?”

He rolled up his sleeve without so much as a word. Very well, down to busin—

“Good LORD!” I gasped, stepping forward and reaching for the arm, then pushing him down into the chair. Not merely a scrape: it was a slash, a wicked, deep one, about two inches long, just below the right elbow. “This needs stitches! What the bloody hell happened?”

No answer.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I said more kindly in French, “Monsieur, will you tell me what happened to your arm?”

No nod. No grunt. The brute didn’t bother even to raise his chin from his chest.

No language barrier, then: just an arse.

I reached for the antiseptic, my nostrils flaring. “Will you look at the state of this?” The blood had long since clotted, but the wound clearly hadn’t been washed, let alone sterilized. “Why in God’s name didn’t you come and get help for it right away?”

Silence.

“Excuse me, I am TALKING to you,” I snapped, choosing to stick with French for castigation as I prepared the suturing supplies. “Why didn’t you bother coming for help unt—?”

“Do what’s-must to prevent the festering and I’ll be going, yes?” he snapped back with such venom that I would have gasped if I weren’t so grounded in pique.

So: he was both capable of speech and every bit as ill-tempered for it. Lord, give me the strength not to SLAP this man. I bit my tongue and cleansed the wound in icy silence.

“Far from home?” I blurted testily, when the tension became too insufferable even for me.

His head snapped up.

“Your accent,” I clarified as I reached for a clean cloth, genuinely curious despite my ire, “—your syntax. It’s not a standard dialect…nor like the other frenchmen in camp, I think?”

“No.”

I had about an ounce of pleasantness left in me and I scraped it up to force a smile. “Grow up in the country, eh?”

“Yes.”

“…Care to share where?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re just a blooming basket of violet-scented rainbows, aren’t you?” I snapped in English. “Hold bloody still, this will hurt and you’ll deserve every blasted bit of it.” I gritted my teeth and swore under my breath as I began stitching, in absolutely no mood for grumpy man-children. “Jesus H. Roosevelt CHRIST.”

By complete chance, standing bent over his arm as I began to stitch, I happened to be looking down at his mouth as I said it. To my absolute gobsmacked surprise, I saw a smile twitching at the corners, small and restrained, as though he were trying very much not to show it, but clear as day: a tiny smile verging on a grin.

Well…! Not a *complete* automaton, then.

I was taken still further aback when the mouth opened and said quietly in French without looking up, “Forgive me, please, Madame. I do not mean you ill.” The tone told me he was being genuine. “It is only that I do not very much like—speaking.”

“It’s good to work at things you don’t like doing,” I said, fixing what I could see of his face with a sardonic glare between stitches, but trying not to smile. “Builds character.”

Another infinitesimal twitch of the lips before he dropped his head, strings of wavy black hair hiding his features entirely. “It is—a small bit more easy to manage, in French.”

“We’ll stick with the Français then,” I said, letting a smile show in my voice.

I finished the stitching and sterilization in a more comfortable silence. He took the hypodermic needle without so much as a wince, though I could see him watching it intently, sternly almost, as though not entirely sure what to make of it. From the country, indeed.

“You’re so much younger than I would have supposed.”

“…I beg your pardon, Madame?”

I could hardly fault him for being taken aback, as I had blurted it with absolutely no thought for context, let alone grace. I recovered as best I could, all things considered, focusing over-intently on wrapping the bandage around his forearm. “From a distance, I had assumed you to be far older.”

Honestly, for a man with such a beard and posture, that default manner that could charitably be described as cantankerous, it was alarming to find that not only was he not middle-aged, but he couldn’t possibly be older than—

“Thirty? At most?”

“Thereabouts.” After a pause, he added with a shrug. “I am far older in spirit, Madame.”

I made him promise to come see me in a few days so I could see how the healing was progressing and give him more antibiotic if need be. He nodded, then stood and shrugged back into his coat (Lord, was he huge), and was just beginning to move toward the doorway, when—

“Are you well-treated here, M. Danton?” Why could I not keep my bloody mouth shut tonight??

“Why is it that you ask such a question of me, Madame?” Though I still could barely see his face through the hair, I could hear the wariness in his voice.

“You just seem…” I struggled to find the word in French, to express my concern without giving offense. “…..hunted.”

Yes, a beast at bay. That’s what I had discerned and yet been unable to name in those vague, distant glances across camp: the utter wrongness in the sight of a man so tall and strong keeping his head low, avoiding eye contact, as though cowering before an invisible blow. Then there was this slash to the arm…

He caught me looking at the bandage, so I summoned my courage enough to ask directly, “Is someone bothering you? Hurting you?”

“No.” He relaxed, and I saw his throat muscles working. “No, it truly was a rusted nail; an accident, entirely my own.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the first statement. “And my manners and ways are mine as well, Madame. Of my own choosing, I mean to say. Better, it is, that I keep to myself.”

There was nothing morose in the way he said it, nothing maudlin or self-pitying.

….but it still was so very sad.

“Nonetheless,” he added quite suddenly, one hand on the tent flap, “I thank you for having asked.” He gave a graceful bow and said in heavily-accented English before vanishing off into the night: “You ‘ave a kind ‘eart, Nurse Randall.”

Strange, yes. But not as bad as all that.

-CEBR

5 1 9

Ye touched me, today, mo nighean donn.

Spoke to me. Looked at me. Stopped my beating heart.

You were supposed to go off-duty at eight. I let that damned wound go untended all the day because I was waiting for when I kent you’d be away and abed. I couldn’t take the chance of it being you. God above knows I meant for us never once to come face-to-face in this camp.

More than a year since I ran up the hill after ye and the world went black; more than a year of trying to find my way in your world; of trying to find you; these last months of staying hidden in plain sight that ye never should see my face…. All undone by a rusted nail and your damned heedless self working at all hours instead of taking to your damned bed. And yet…. ye always did see fit to undermine my plans, my wife. Mo ghraidh.

….Lord, and you’re so young, Sorcha; so heartbreakingly young, and it makes me want to weep. And yet I weep still more to have witnessed with my own eyes and ears that you’re exactly the same. Even now, at three-and-twenty, you’ve the same fire that I myself have known in you, that same brilliance and compassion and—

Jesus.

Oh, God, Claire.

From a distance, keeping to my duties, I have been able to separate myself from it all; keep myself and my thoughts in check by mere will, knowing that it is my place only to watch over you, never in any circumstance to know you or seek you out. But so close to ye today, mo chridhe, SO CLOSE with you touching me, that deepest part of yourself reaching out to heal and care for me, even in disguise, even though ye dinna yet know me— It took all my strength not to take ye in my arms and crush you to my heart.

I long for you, mo nighean donn. I long for my wife; to hold ye again; to speak all my heart to ye. My truest friend.

And yet, beyond longing, there is that uttermost of terrors that fills me day and night.

I wait for this war to end—this war of unspeakable horrors, the like of which I could never have fathomed—and still I dread the sounding of that last all-clear. At least here, now (and for three years more, at the least) I have a place in your world. I can watch over ye, see your face each and every day, if only for a moment from afar, and be able to close my eyes at night only because I ken that you are safe.

But when the fighting has ceased, when ye leave France, I shall have to bid you yet another farewell….silently, this time, unseen….and hope that in April of 1948—

…Pray with all my soul that you and the bairn make it to April of 1948.

That you won’t be— That you haven’t already been—? or that you aren’t now—?

Lost among the years. As I have been.

#;mod bonnie #The Last All-Clear #...so what if I can't name AUs without songs or poems...sue me

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temptation-narnia-chronicles · 7 years

Text

From Upon the Golden Thrones

Episode 7: The Voyage for the Fireflower

Heavy clouds hung low in the red skies overhead as Captain Guildmore's crew loaded the luggage aboard the Splendor Hyaline. Peter chewed his bottom lip as he watched from the courtyard, turning Eilonwy's words over and over in his mind. It's my job to educate you about what you're all getting yourselves into. She never did give him a proper answer.

Lucy was absolutely incapable of sitting still. She clutched her cordial to her chest as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, desperate to board the ship. Susan cocked a brow, watching with tired eyes, and sighed in defeat. "Lucy, calm down. Please. If you're going to get this worked up, maybe we should just call this whole thing off" she said, tone desperate but laced with a tinge of hope. How she wished they could call the whole thing off. She glanced back toward Cair Paravel longingly, wringing her hands in the folds of her sheer overskirt. A warm bath and candlelit night alone called to her. "No! We can't call of the trip!" Lucy shot a glare to the gentle. "Lucy's right, Su" Peter added. "We've already made the plans. It's too late to turn back now." Despite his words, Susan could tell that he, too, appeared tired and distraught. "Besides, this is important to Lucy and therefore it's important to all of us" Edmund replied, stepping forward. Lucy beamed, whipping around to face him as he smiled down upon her. So far, he seemed like the only one genuinely enthusiastic about this trip. For everyone else, it was just another chore they were obligated to fulfill. "Peter, when do you think the ship will be ready?" Lucy then asked, turning to her other brother. She was brimming with anticipation. The High King glanced to the Splendor Hyaline, then back at his sister, biting his lower lip. "I'll go check" he replied. Sucking in a deep breath, he jogged down the dock toward the gangplank where Eilonwy joined the ship's crew as they prepared for departure. "Hey" he muttered as he snuck up beside her. Taken aback by the sudden company, the huntress gasped and swung a punch, just missing as Peter ducked beneath her blow. "Whoa, take it easy! It's just me!" "Sorry" Eilonwy replied, though he couldn't tell if she really meant it. "Peter, I'm very busy so whatever's the matter, can we please make it quick?" "I was just wondering how much longer it'll be" he replied. When she shot him a glare, he quickly added, "For Lucy! She's getting pretty anxious." The moment he mentioned the valiant, Eilonwy's expression softened. "Shouldn't be too much longer now. We're just getting the last of the luggage aboard. You know, you lot have a horrible habit of overpacking" she said, rolling her eyes as she hoisted another trunk aboard. "You know, I'm starting to really worry about her" Peter said, almost as if he hadn't even heard the huntress. He glanced at Lucy over his shoulder, still standing there uneasily as if she was required to keep moving or else the world might collapse. "I know this is important to her but she's not handling any of this well and I don't want this to become a problem." "It won't be if you don't treat it like one" Eilonwy replied, a tinge of harshness embedded in her tone. Peter cocked an eyebrow suspiciously, as if her words were a puzzle that he was trying to comprehend. He paused a moment before huffing and speaking again. "Eilonwy, you don't understand. I've never seen Lucy like this. It scares me. I'm honestly not even sure any of this is a great idea anymore. At least not if this is how she reacts." "Peter" Eilonwy sighed, loading another trunk aboard. "This is a good idea because this is what Lucy's needs to do. Regardless of how she's reacting, you have no choice. You have to go. Lucy has to go. She's bringing all of this onto herself, and rightly so. If I was in her position, I'd be the same way." By now, the High King was pacing back and forth with a very constipated expression. "I would've at least thought she would have calmed down by now. It's the day of the trip. She shouldn't be panicking anymore-- she has nothing left to wait for!" It quickly became clear to Eilonwy that her friend was not in the most attentive mood this morning. Rubbing her eyes, she leaned against the last couple of trunks and remarked. "Peter, you're a terrible listener when you're worked up. Did you even hear a word I just said?" "I just don't understand why she's getting so worked up!" he fumed. "Hmph. In one ear and out the other" Eilonwy scoffed. Not that she was entirely surprised. It wouldn't be the first time he jumped to conclusions and attempted hasty decisions about things he didn't quite understand. As she stood there listening to him ramble on and on about his misconceptions, she began to wonder what it would take to really capture his attention and bring him back to center. After a few more moments, she finally straighened her back, pinned her arms to her side, and announced out of nowhere, "Peter, I had an affair with a sea serpent and am now carrying his tentacled child." Just as she had hoped, the High King paused midsentence, face flushed and eyes wide. "Wait, what did you just say? Y-you're what...?!" he panicked. A sly smirk graced Eilonwy's lips as she folded her arms and revelled in her success. "There we go. Now he's back" she said proudly. "Ellie, that's not funny!" he protested, whacking her lightly on the forearm. "We have a real problem on our hands here and you don't seem to care very much." "Oh, and my unborn serpent child isn't a problem?" she asked with a chuckle. The High King remained unamused. "Listen, I know you're nervous, Peter, but you're not listening to me. Not that you ever do." "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" he shot back. "Oh, nothing. Like you said, we have a real problem on our hands here" Eilonwy replied flippantly. "I know you're worried about Lucy but I'm trying to tell you that this is only natural. Just don't worry so much and she'll be fine. The anxiety will subside on it's own, probably once we get to Kronne and get all of this cordial business sorted once and for all." Peter sighed, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't possibly think of a better plan of action. Lucy was going to react however she reacted and he had no control over that. He just had to roll with the punches and respond as best as he could. After so many months of kingship, he felt he was getting rather good at that sort of thing anyways. "Now, if you'd excuse me, Peter, I've got some work to do so if you'd kindly...you know" she then said, motioning for him to return to his siblings. Peter nodded a moment, trying his best to feel a little more at ease about the circumstance, but as he wandered back to his family, a thought snagged him backward. "Ellie, wait! Wait a second!" he called, diving toward the gangplank. "What did you mean about my not listening to you, anyways? I listen to you." Eilonwy simply waved off his question as she dragged a rather hefty trunk onto the deck. Despite her rejections, however, Peter was not about to settle on a cliffhanger. She had been acting petty for weeks and he wanted to get to the bottom of it, and soon. Without a second thought, he swung around to the other side of the trunk, helping her to push it aboard. "Come on, Ellie, answer me for Christ's sake!" "You really don't like being ignored, do you?" Eilonwy asked bitterly. "Please just tell me what you're talking about!" he pleaded. "And give up watching you beg? I don't think so" she chuckled defiantly. The magnificent narrowed his eyes. He already had enough to worry about, he didn't need to weave through Eilonwy's pesky emotional labyrinth, too. "Come on!" "Fine. You really want answers? Then I'll give them to you" she muttered, tugging the trunk the last few inches up the gangplank. The sudden acceleration caught Peter by surprise, sending him reeling a few steps backward. Eilonwy smirked, leaning over the railing of the ship's deck as she looked down upon him. "I have two words for you, Peter Pevensie: Lord Lemuel." Peter paused a moment, trying to figure out what she meant. "You mean what happened in your room? But I saved you!" "I'm not talking about that incident, Peter. I'm talking about the one you blamed me for" she replied, now refusing to so much as look at him. He cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Ellie, what do you mean? That was the only incident!" "No, Peter. It wasn't. Now go run along with your siblings, I have work to do and this conversation is starting to really sap my energy" she replied, waving him off. At first, Peter was slightly offended but he knew there was no breaking her. Eilonwy was tough; it took time and patience to get to her core, even for Peter who he felt she trusted more than anyone. Or at least he hoped. And while he was hoping for things, he also hoped that whatever she was mad at him for wasn't enough to deter her from thinking highly of him, of caring about him, of perhaps even loving him. He doubted she felt that serious toward him but still, he feared the worst regardless. He had no idea what he'd do if he discovered he was at fault for Eilonwy no longer harboring affections for him. But he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He didn't have the time nor the energy to focus on such negativity. Peter could only handle one dilemma at a time and right now, Lucy was his top priority. He could iron out Eilonwy's troubles later. She certainly seemed to have no issue putting things off, anyways. If she could wait, then Peter could wait. By noon, the Splendor Hyaline was fully supplied and departing on it's much anticipated journey. Lucy rushed ahead, cordial in hand, nearly stumbling over her own two feet. She was already standing beside the captain when the rest of the Pevensies boarded, her free hand on the ship's wheel as if she planned to pilot the vessel herself. Excitement brimmed from her eyes and flowed through her veins, electrifying her as Cair Paravel began to fade into the distance. The further they ventured, the more productive she felt but with that satisfaction came a sense of fear, as well. As night fell across the Eastern Ocean, the valiant found herself spiraling once again into waves of panic. "Susan, can I speak with you for a moment?" Lucy asked from the hall. The gentle sighed and set her pen down, immersed in secret paperwork. "Lucy, it's late. You should be in bed" she replied from the other side of the closed door. "Well, so should you but that hasn't stopped either of us, has it?" Lucy fired back. "Listen, Susan, I need to speak with you immediately. I need someone to talk to." "Lucy" the gentle sighed, "If this is about your cordial, you have nothing to worry about. By tomorrow, we should arrive in Kronne and then everything will be all taken care of. Until then, you need to sleep. Please." Though she didn't want to give up, Lucy knew there was no shaking her sister. Susan was distant and obviously preoccupied-- with what, however, the valiant hadn't the slightest clue. The moment she felt Lucy was far enough away, Susan let her guard down and sank slowly into her nearby chair. A bejeweled finger ran across the pages of parchment sprawled across her desk and a pang of longing struck her chest hard. Lately, she had begun to feel like taffy being pulled in fifteen different directions, never getting a moment to cool down and relax. In the privacy of her bunk, however, she was granted the opportunity to indulge in her own otherwise neglected pasttimes. She needed some isolation, some time to recharge, or else she feared she would implode under the overwhelming responsibility of being both a sister and a queen. Defeated, Lucy trudged down the hall back toward her chambers. She supposed if she was to feel anxious, then she would just have to face it alone. Nobody else seemed to care very much. Suddenly, however, she got an idea. "Eilonwy?" she called softly, rapping lightly at the door. The huntress rose from her bed, eyes heavy, and swung the door open. "Eilonwy, can I speak with you for a moment?" Without hesitation, the huntress ushered the little queen inside and motioned for her to sit upon the bed. "What seems to be the trouble, your majesty?" Eilonwy asked, seating herself on the edge of the bed. "I don't know, I just...I'm kind of...scared...about tomorrow. I just need someone to talk to about it" Lucy replied. Eilonwy cocked an eyebrow, urging her to continue. With a sigh, the youngest Pevensie drew her knees up to her chest and explained. "Maybe Susan was right. Maybe this is all a huge mistake, that we should've called off the trip. What if these fireflowers don't really exist? And we've come all this way for nothing? I know the idea of not having my cordial terrifies me, but I think the thought of this entire thing being pointless scares me even more." A sigh broke past Eilonwy's lips. Apparently she was becoming the designated royal counselor, or so it seemed. "Lucy, I know you're nervous. I am, too--" "You are?" she interrupted. "Yes. I am" Eilonwy replied. "But there is nothing we can do about what will happen other than to wait and see how everything turns out. I know that sounds horrible and probably doesn't help one bit but we just have to know that whatever happens, it's all for the best." The huntress prayed she sounded convincing, but even she didn't fully believe herself. Lucy nodded slowly, thoughtfully, before breaking the streak of silence. "Eilonwy...? Can you please tell me the story again? The one about the island and the lady who guards the fireflowers?" Eilonwy chuckled lightly and crossed her legs at the foot of the bed. By now she figured it was safe to assume Lucy wasn't planning on moving and proceeded to tuck her in and tell her the tale. She listend intently, eyes wide as she pondered whether such a myth really could ever be true. She remembered the illustration Eilonwy had showed her of Iraflora, the flower's guardian, and wondered if she was as steadfast and unrelenting in reality as the story made her seem. If she even existed in the first place, that is. And even if she did, who was to say she would think of Lucy any differently than she had the many lost sailors who searched for the flower before her? They were no doubt mere skeletons on the shorelines by now, bones scorched and loot repurposed. As Lucy slept that night, Eilonwy rested her head upon the desk in her chamber, watching as the little queen's chest rose and fell softly. She had no trouble with her stealing her bed, but what she did question was what made Lucy confide in her of all people? Tiptoeing across the room, Eilonwy snuck down the hall and gently rapped on Susan's door. "Lucy, I told you, please go to bed!" she complained, exasperated, as she swung open the door. Her face shone red in the candlelight when she discovered her midnight visitor was definitely not her sister. "Well, I think you'd be pleased to know your sister finally did go to sleep. In my bed" Eilonwy whispered harshly. She didn't even wait for Susan's permission before pushing past her into the room. Upon entry, the maiden immediately noticed the large collection of papers scattered about. Curiosity seized her as she peered upon the files but before she could get a decent view, Susan swooped in and detracted her attention. "Keeping secrets, are we?" Eilonwy asked slyly. "No, I don't think you have any right to look upon official government papers, let alone waltz right into my room in the middle of the night unwarranted!" Susan scolded. "Well, you must be hiding something if you're getting this upset about it" Eilonwy smirked. Susan stammered a moment, face contorting, before crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "Eilonwy, it's very late and I'm very busy so unless you have something important to waste my time with, I am asking you as kindly as possible to please leave" Susan spoke. She tried to keep her voice level but it was easy to detect the undertones of frustration wavering in her words. "What I want to know is what could you possibly be working on here that is far more important than your baby sister's wellbeing?" Eilonwy asked, her query like knives digging into Susan's flesh. Anger rose in the queen's throat but fizzled out before she could make any real use of it. "That is absolutely none of your business!" Susan replied. "Really? Because it sounds like a poor excuse to me" Eilonwy shot back. "Listen, what I do in my spare time is not your concern! Not that I even have any spare time these days" she retorted. "Oh, now we're getting somewhere!" Eilonwy said triumphantly. "No, we are not because this is where we stop!" Susan shouted back. "Now leave my chambers, Eilonwy, and that is a royal order." "Oh really?" Eilonwy taunted. "And what are you to do if I refuse?" "Then I will have no choice but to call for the captain and have you escorted out!" Susan commanded. "Fine then. Call Guildmore! Tell him what a nuisance I've become. Better yet, call Peter and Edmund. A true royal removal! I'm sure they'd be mighty interested in your little pet project here!" "What is your obsession with my private property? Hmm? Why can't you just obey orders? Why do you refuse to obey your queen?" Susan asked, voice rising higher and higher in volume with each level of frustration Eilonwy broke through. "I refuse to leave until I get an answer! Why are you neglecting your sister?" Eilonwy shouted back. "Because I'm tired!" Susan finally cracked. "I've hardly had a moment to myself since we began this stupid journey and I'm tired! Ever since we walked through that godforsaken wardrobe, I've been pulled every which way into wars and treaties and now I have an entire country looking to me for guidance when I can't even guide myself! All I want is a smple night alone without anyone asking anything of me! Why is that so hard to ask for?" It wasn't that Eilonwy wasn't a sympathetic creature, because she liked to believe in some way that she was. However, she found it hard to find sympathy for the gentle as she stood before her screaming in a rather un-gentle fashion. Grimacing, Eilonwy clenched her fists at her sides and sucked in a deep breath. "So you're telling me all of this is just because you're 'tired'? Oh, bullshit, Susan! We're all tired! That's no excuse!" "You have no right--!" the queen began but Eilonwy interrupted before she could finish. "You are a queen, Susan! You have a duty to your country, nonetheless your family, and you need to start acting as such! Your sister is passed out in someone else's bed because you turned her away when she needed you! You need to start thinking less about yourself and more about what is expected of you" Eilonwy lectured. It wasn't until she had finished speaking that a bitter taste formed in her mouth and she made a truly horrifying realization: in that moment, she sounded exactly like her mother. Susan's eyes brimmed with tears but she refused to cry. "I never asked for this, Eilonwy! It's not like I wandered into this country expecting a talking Lion to make me a queen!" "You act as if you're the only one responsible for Narnia, Susan" Eilonwy fired back. "But guess what? You're not! Your siblings are under just as much stress as you are and I'm sure they all wish they could have a night off to themselves just as much as you do. But you know what they're doing instead? They're signing legal documents and creating organizations and working to better this fucking country. Last I checked, you haven't done a single thing to help Narnia other than the classic group projects." "You think I don't want to help Narnia?" Susan replied. "You have no idea, Eilonwy. You have no idea how much I want to do but I can't accomplish any of it when people are constantly coming to me for help with one thing or another! Why do you think I've locked myself away tonight? I need a break from the legal matters, the everyday grind, so I can actually work on things that I want to do! If I didn't, I would have no reason to have brought all of this aboard!" Susan shouted. By now, she had given up holding back tears, letting them rush down her flushed cheeks. Her arm spanned across the table to display the books and papers scattered across it, an invitation for Eilonwy to finally take a look. "Susan, these are architecture studies. What the bloody hell are you doing studying architecture?" Eilonwy asked, confused. "All those sick and abandoned children in Galma had me thinking about all those who are orphaned or underprivileged in our own country. I've been wanting to propose an idea for an orphanage ever since we returned but between entertaining visitors and all the drama that ensued from that, I haven't had a single second to myself to even so much as think of starting this, let alone giving myself a much needed personal break. Lucy may be queen, too, but she's still a child. There is only so much that she can do and where she falls short, I have to pick up the slack. That's exhausting, Eilonwy. Not that you would understand, since all you ever think of is yourself" Susan explained, catching her breath and wiping her face dry. Exhaustion overwhelmed Eilonwy's body as she recoiled and shook her head. She couldn't stand to be near Susan for one more second. "I wish you had any idea of how wrong you are" she whispered hoarsely, fists clenched at her sides, before disappearing down the hall. Silent rage overwhelmed her as she barrelled back to her chamber. She couldn't believe Susan had the audacity to assume she was selfish. Other people were all she ever thought about. As dawn stretched across the sea, Lucy stirred awake to find herself completely alone. A surge of panic rushed through her, leaping out of bed. As she rushed to the doorway, she tripped over a lump on th eground and went tumbling forward. Whipping around, she found a familiar figure curled up on the rug like a dog. "Eilonwy, what are you doing?" "Hmm? Oh, I decided I would just let you have the bed and so I took the floor" she explained drowsily. Squinting, she turned to investigate the scene, surprised by how quickly the night seemed to pass, before nodding slowly and hoisting herself off the ground. "You go ahead and join everyone for breakfast. I'll be down...momentarily" she replied, slinking back over to her bed. Lucy giggled softly at her slurred speech and drunken gait before departing. Once she left the room, Eilonwy turned to the mirror to inspect her reflection. She wasn't sure what she expected but she certainly found nothing extraordinarily different staring back. If anything, she looked even more gaunt and frail than usual. Rather than dwell on it, she simply shrugged and slipped into the cleanest dress she could find before following in Lucy's footsteps. "Captain Guildmore feels confident we should arrive at Kronne by daybreak" Peter explained that morning. Eilonwy listened halfheartedly as he and his siblings chatted idly, taking particular interest in every comment Susan made. The huntress was still bitter from their argument the night before and the tension between them now was obvious. Lucy glanced between the two of them, unsure of what exactly had transpired between them. She hated the thought of even more drama but couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was mad at each other for one reason or the other. She did her best not to think too deeply into it. After all, she had her own troubles to focus on. She didn't want to expend any more energy on anything that detracted her attention from what she needed to do. Her cordial was of utmost importance. Everything else could stand to be ignored, at least to the best of her ability. The rest of the day proved to be rather mundane, everyone occupied with their own endeavors. Lucy spent much of the day with Edmund, the only one she feared wasn't angry with anyone, and found a pleasant distraction in his company. He understood how nervous she must have been and wanted to do everything in his power to make her feel relaxed during this waiting period, playing chess and card games with her in his chamber and telling one another wild stories. Eilonwy stood upon the deck as she scanned the horizon for any sign of Kronne. The Seven Isles were growing nearer, faint masses of land seemingly perched on the edge of the world. A shiver ran down her spine at their proximity. Whichever island Kronne was, Maldonado was certainly not very far. Of all the thoughts plaguing her mind, Peter's betrayal was still at the forefront. As if manifested from her subconscious, the High King suddenly approached to join his friend on deck. He glanced her way as he leaned upon the rail beside her, sucking in a deep breath and struggling to find the right words to say. "I heard about last night" he finally spoke. "Oh, great. Are you here to yell at me, too?" Eilonwy scoffed. "You really do only think about yourself, you know that?" Peter grimaced, offended. Eilonwy opened her mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted. "I don't exactly appreciate you barging into my sister's room in the middle of the night and telling her off like that. If you were anyone else, you'd be black and blue." "Yeah? Well--" she started but was yet again interrupted. "I do, however, appreciate you defending and looking after Lucy. I didn't exactly appreciate Susan casting her off like she did, either" he spoke. Eilonwy's gaze softened, releasing a sigh as she turned her attention back to the sea. "I only did it because I was upset. I felt like Susan just wasn't listening. I couldn't understand why Lucy would come to me of all people instead of her own sister for comfort. It bothered me, you know? But I guess it wasn't my job to invade in the first place" Eilonwy replied. "You're right. It wasn't" Peter said. "Susan came to me this morning incredibly upset about everything you said to her. I can't have you picking fights with my family, Eilonwy" Because someday I hope you'll be a part of it, he thought to himself, eyes glancing to her left hand. He didn't dare express any of this out loud. Not yet, anyways. With a groan, Eilonwy buried her face in her hands. "I hate all of these stupid rules. I liked it better when society was nothing but oppressed animals" she mumbled. "Humans are far too complicated." "All you need to do is just say you're sorry" Peter said. "But it's not that simple" Eilonwy argued. "Why not?" he replied. "Because I'm tired of being blamed for everything, Peter. I'm tired of every little thing that goes wrong being my fault. You know what? Maybe I am selfish but that's because I feel like I can never trust anyone to actually listen to me for once" Eilonwy explained. "Hey, don't you start with that again!" Peter scolded. "I listen to you, Ellie." "No, you don't" she countered. Glancing to the boy at her side, the defeat on his face convinced her now was the time for truth. She tightened her grip on the rails, leaned back, sucked in a deep breath, prepared herself for the conversation ahead. "Do you want to know why I'm mad at you?" Peter's eyes widened, leaning forward, desperate. "I'm mad at you because you blamed me for what happened at the stables." "Well, technically it was Everlast's fault, not yours" Peter corrected. "No, Pete, that's not...that's not the issue here" Eilonwy replied, rubbing her temples. "Yes, Everlast spooked Lemuel and nearly pounded him into the ground but only because she was protecting me." "Protecting you from what?" Peter asked, beginning to fear her answer. Eilonwy mustered her strength before replying. "That night...that wasn't the first time Lemuel tried to take advantage of me. It was, by far, the worst attempt, I'll give him that, but not the first. He was suspicious of me from the moment he laid eyes on me. He wanted to take advantage of me, to threaten me for information. He was infatuated with me. That day at the stables, he approached me while I was prepping Everlast. He was...discomforting and eerie. I knew right away that he wanted something from me. And then he...he gripped my waist and lifted me up onto my own horse. As if I was incapable of mounting my own mare. As if he wanted an excuse to touch me. Something tells me that's not the only thing he wanted me to mount. Everlast was only trying to keep me safe and yet when you came running in, you sided with a man you barely even knew! Do you have any idea how much that hurt, Peter?" The High King's face had grown rather pale as he listened to Eilonwy tell her story, his hands shaking at his sides. He was physically nauseated both by the things she had told him and by his inability to see through Lemuel's facade. "Ellie, I...I'm so sorry" he choked out. He attempted to take her hands in his as a sign of comfort and apology but she quickly rejected his advances. "I had no idea, I just thought..." "You didn't think, Peter. That's the thing. All you cared about was making an ally. You never stopped to question why Everlast did what she did in the first place" Eilonwy interrupted. "You're right" Peter sighed. "I should've trusted that something must have been wrong and defended you. If I had, then maybe things wouldn't have escalated the way they did, and I wouldn't have put you in danger." "It would've helped if you had defended Edmund spy idea, too" Eilonwy added. Peter sighed and rolled his eyes jokingly but it was clear there was obvious upset hidden beneath. "I seem to really be screwing up this whole king thing, aren't I?" he replied. "Oh, no, don't you try to get any pity out of me. You knew this would be difficult from the very start" Eilonwy said. She was so tired of everyone's whining. This was life now whether they liked it or not. Obviously Aslan thought they could handle things, so she didn't understand their astronomical doubt. "That doesn't make this any easier, you know" Peter retorted. "But" he then added after a beat of silence, a small smile creeping upon his face, "you know what does?" "What?" "You." "Me? What do you mean? If anything, I'm certain I just make things ten times harder" she replied, but Peter shook his head vigorously. "No, you don't. I don't know where I'd be without you, Ellie" Peter replied, placing his hand upon hers. "I know we don't always see eye to eye but...but without you, I don't think things would've been the same. You helped us get to Aslan and defeat the White Witch. You've helped us adjust to life at Cair Paravel these past few months. You've done so much more good than you give yourself credit for." "Peter, stop" Eilonwy begged, averting her eyes, but Peter gently cupped her cheek and turned her head to face him. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him, the look on his face and the glimmer in his eyes. She was terrified of what he was about to say to her. Red flags and warning sirens began clouding her brain, urging her to run below deck or hide in the crow's nest or, at this point, just abandon all logic and jump ship. "Eilonwy..." he began dreamily. "Peter, please, don't" she pleaded. "No, just listen to me. Eilonwy, I--" Before he could finish, the ship jolted and Eilonwy nearly stumbled into Peter's arms. A faun in the crow's nest cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted a hearty "Land ho!" In a matter of seconds, the door leading below deck swung open and Lucy blurred past the crowd toward the ship's bow. There, stretched out before her, was the most brilliant island she had ever seen. Soft mountains dipped and curved across the landscapes, valleys and shore smothered in the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen. Even from their distance, the most glorious fragrance wafted from the fields and enticed Lucy to grow ever nearer. A swell of delight radiated from inside of her as she clutched her cordial to her chest. All of Kronne was in the palm of her hand, awaiting her to step upon it's shores. "Come on, hurry up! Let's go!" Lucy shouted, tugging on her siblings' hands. She couldn't stand to wait a moment longer, not when everything she had been yearning for was just within reach. "Lucy, hold on!" Susan replied. "Just wait a second. Nobody said we had to get off just yet." Lucy shot a glare at her older sister, tightening her grip on her cordial. "But I want to go now! We shouldn't waste any time" she countered. "I think Susan might be right, Lucy" Edmund stepped forward. The valiant whipped around to face him, almost betrayed. After all that time they had spent together that day, how kind and supportive he had been. Before she could protest, Edmund continued, "Think about it, Lucy. We don't really know for sure what's on this island and if we leave now, we might not be considering the kinds of danger we could run into. Don't you think it would be better if we prepared ourselves first and then set out carefully?" Lucy chewed over his words a moment before agreeing in defeat. Despite her desperation, she knew that safety was of utmost importance. If not, then that fireflower juice may end up becoming even more necessary. "I'll head down to the armament and get us some reinforcements" Eilonwy stated. The Pevensies watched her with suspicious eyes as she rushed down into the belly of the ship, face flushed and hands shaking. Peter joined the group shortly afterward looking much the same. "What has gotten into you two?" Susan asked, equal parts curious and irritated. The look on her brother's face read sweet and hazy but a bitter aftertaste from the night before hung in the back of her throat. She wanted Peter to be happy, of course, but why did he have to be happy with her of all people? The gentle still didn't quite see the appeal. "Nothing. We were just talking" Peter replied, running a hand through his hair. Susan cocked an eyebrow, hoping for elaboration. "Did you talk to her about last night?" she inquired. Peter nodded. "And? Well, what did she say?" "Susan..." Peter sighed. "Must we talk about this now?" The gentle pursed her lips and crossed her arms, completely displeased. She wanted answers. She wanted to know that her older brother was defending her like he ought to. She was his own flesh and blood, he was automatically required to side with her instead of that crass and crude woman. Peter appeared exhausted, however, and perhaps a little defeated. His eyes darted to Lucy nearly hanging over the edge of the ship, anxious to step aboard the island, and Susan was once more reminded that there were more important things at stake. She would have to shelf the resolution of her disdain for some other time. Peter rushed below deck, nails digging into his palms, as he searched for Eilonwy. "What is taking you so long? Lucy's getting restless" he called to her from across the way. She looked up at him, bow in hand, and blinked dumbly a few times. "I'm sorry, did you want to step onto a death island with inferior supplies? Inspection takes time, Peter" she explained, plucking the bow's string to test it's strength. "Well, while I'm down here, we need to talk" he replied. He came nearer, then rested a hand upon the bow, lowering it from her focus. She furrowed her brows as she rose her gaze up to meet his, a surge of panic rushing through her veins. "Peter, we have nothing to talk about" she croaked. "Yes, we do. I never finished saying what I needed to say up on deck" he explained. "Peter, please, you've said enough" Eilonwy begged. She turned to walk away from him but he snatched her forearm and forced her attention on him. There was a certain wildness in his eyes that terrified her, but it was not of malicious origin. Instead, it was something fond and affectionate, something dreamy and disgusting. Her stomach flipped. "I'm still not finished" he murmured. "Ellie, there are some things I need you to know. Important things. And if being king has taught me one thing, it's how to decide what's most important." Oh shit, oh shit, please don't do this, Eilonwy thought frantically. She felt her entire body begin to quake as Peter rose a hand up to carress her cheek. Everything felt hot and cold all at once and suddenly Peter's face appeared grossly unfamiliar to her. She was staring at a stranger whose mere presence made her feel like she was going to hurl. She needed a distraction, a detour, an interruption. She needed an escape. "Eilonwy, ever since we came to Narnia, you've been there" Peter began. "You haven't always been pleasant company, but you've been worthwhile company and I can't imagine my life now without you. I want your company always. You mean so much to me, Ellie. You're worth so much more than you know, and...and..." Eilonwy's eyes widened, her heart racing and palms growing clammy. "Eilonwy, I--" "Pete, you better come quick!" a voice suddenly called from the top of the stairs. The pair turned to find Edmund looking rather distraught, an urgency in his tone spelling trouble. "What's the matter, Ed?" Peter asked, secretly frustrated. It seemed as though every attempt he made to express his feelings was always interrupted in one way or another. Was it really that hard to get some quality alone time with a girl? Edmund chewed his bottom lip and wrung his hands together nervously. He had no idea how he was going to admit this, but he figured being straightforward was the best possible tactic. "I swear, we only looked away for a second but, well...Lucy's gone." In a matter of seconds, all thoughts of love and confessions completely disappeared from Peter's brain. His blurred frame raced up the stairs ater his brother, panic-stricken. Bow still in hand, Eilonwy rushed after him. Lucy may have been a brave child but Kronne was no place for venturing alone whether there was really a fiery guardian woman there or not. Susan was practically in hysterics, scanning the horizon for any sign of their baby sister. There was no way she could've gone very far so quickly and yet there was no sign of her anywhere. "Are you sure she left for Kronne? Have you checked everywhere on the ship?" Peter asked frantically. "Well, we haven't checked everywhere but come on, Pete. Let's be realistic" Edmund replied. "There's only so many places she could've gone" Susan commented, pacing back and forth. "Yeah, like on that island" Eilonwy interrupted from behind. The gentle groaned and tossed her head back. "Don't you start" she warned. "I think Eilonwy might be right" Edmund added. All eyes turned to him. "I mean, think about it: that island is the only place Lucy really wanted to go. She's been thinking about it non-stop for days. We were taking too long so she took matters into her own hands and went out there by herself. It's the most realistic scenario." Peter's face turned stark white as he slowly approached the railing, gripping the wood tightly. "Then there's only one thing left to do now. We have to go after her." Wasting no time, Peter hopped aboard the last lifeboat, ushering his siblings to follow suit, and began rowing toward Kronne. Eilonwy watched from the side of the ship, shaking her head and sighing. "Peter, you're being hasty! Just because Lucy is gone doesn't mean you still don't need to prepare!" she called after him. But Peter and his siblings were already too far away to hear her. With a groan, she grumbled something incomprehensible beneath her breath and stormed back to the armament to prepare for battle. She had no choice now but to become a walking arsenal. Nobody else seemed to be thinking ahead. If they were to go on a suicide mission, they needed someone to save their skins at the last second and Eilonwy seemed to somehow fit that role in every scenario. By the time she was finished, she swore she had gained fifty pounds just by the sheer volume of weaponry she had scavenged. Swords, bows, arrows, even a flail, and lastly a collection of kerchiefs, one of which she had already wrapped around her face like a trainrobber. Upon reaching the deck, she shouted some orders to Guildmore and his men, then swung her way down to the sea by rope and began her swim to shore. "Alright, I think our best plan of action would be to split up" Peter announced as he rowed onto the beach. "No, Peter, I refuse to get separated. We need to stick together" Susan demanded. She looked about the island nervously, absorbing the view. It was beautiful, no doubt, but there was something about the place that made her anxious. Or perhaps she was just far too concerned about Lucy to enjoy such a stunning scene. "Fine, you stay with Ed, then. But I'm going alone. This is a big island and we'll find her faster if we split up" Peter said. Before Susan could protest, he was already trudging through the fields of flowers toward a large mountain in the distance. The moment they began traversing the island, however, something strange began to take hold of them. A tingling sensation filled their heads, running up from their fingers and toes, through their arms and legs, and then across the rest of their body as all the tension in their muscles melted away. Colors appeared brighter and smells became stronger, especially that of the fireflowers themselves. Sweet and enticing, it lured them forward and Peter couldn't stop himself from reaching down and stroking their satin petals. In all their intoxication, however, they failed to notice the less pleasant aspects of the island. Bones scattered the shoreline, charred flesh tangled up in the gardens. As Eilonwy crawled onto the beach, she caught sight of the royals swaying to and fro and sucked in a deep, frustrated breath. And so it begins, she thought to herself, tightening the kerchief around her face. As expected, she was going to have to swoop in and save the day. Peter trudged through the fields, hands clenched at his sides, desperate to remain focused on the task at hand. Keeping his concentration became more and more difficult as the further he ventured, the foggier his mind became until he had nearly forgotten what he was there for in the first place. His limbs numbed and breath shallowed, his eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. With a sigh, he leaned against the trunk of a tree and fought to stay awake. As he began to feel himself slip away, however, a pair of hands reached out from behind and seized him. He struggled in their grasp but he was far too tired and couldn't hold them off. They wrapped something around his face, tying it tightly at the back of his head, before spinning him around to face his captor. "Eilonwy?!" Peter gasped incredulously. "You can thank me later. Where are the others?" she asked, all business. "We split up so we could search for Lucy" he replied. The huntress groaned and whacked him on the arm hard. "Well that's just about the stupidest idea you've ever had! They could be anywhere! Nice, Peter. Of course you have to make this ten times harder than it needed to be." "Why do you just automatically assume this was my idea?" he protested. Eilonwy crossed her arms and stared at him blankly. "Peter, let’s be realistic here: how likely is it that this wasn't your idea?" she countered. Peter sucked in a deep breath and hesitated answering. "That's what I thought" Eilonwy added when he remained silent. "Now, come on. Let's not waste any more time. Sorry to break it to you, Pete, but your siblings may be in no small danger." It was her use of the word "danger" that truly terrified Peter. He knew this island was questionable at best but with a tone so confident, he knew she must be right. He chased after her back toward the shoreline, beginning to feel his strength return but with it came a swell of terror. "What kind of danger are we talking about here?" "The same kind I found you in" Eilonwy replied flippantly. The High King eyed her in confusion, silently begging for her to explain. Rolling her eyes, she leaned down and plucked one of the fireflowers from the ground. The moment she did so, a pang of panic surged through Peter's veins as if she had just spit on the Queen of England. "See this? This is danger. This is the worm on the end of the hook on a fishing line. This is what's going to kill you if you don't prepare." "Eilonwy, that's a flower" Peter replied quizzically. "I know what it is, Pete! But that's exactly the point. You think these flowers are harmless but here's one thing you don't know: they're hypnotic. One whiff and you're off to La La Land, high as a kite" she explained. Peter paused a moment as the realization washed over him, hand slowly rising to touch the kerchief tied around his face. At least he now understood why he and his friend were made up like thieves. A vision suddenly formed in his mind of Susan and Edmund completely oblivious to the hallucinatory qualities of the plant, stumbling around lost and tired and confused. He didn't even want to think of Lucy in the same state. Their search suddenly felt all the more urgent. Hours passed with no luck as the pair scoured in the heat for any sign of the others. Even some clue as to where they had disappeared to, such as a cave or abyss, would've sufficed. They were running out of time-- despite their kerchiefs, they weren't completely immune to the flower's affects. Just the sheer sight of them was enough to blur their vision and muddle their thoughts. As Eilonwy forced herself to stay focused, Peter wandered a few feet away in hopes of finding any clues nearer to the mountains. As he did, though, the ground disappeared below his feet and he was suddenly engulfed in darkness. The High King's startled shout captured Eilonwy's attention but as she whipped around, he was nowhere to be found. She called his name but found no answer. Gripping at her hair, she was immediately overcome with frustration. She stomped over to where Peter had been standing, expecting to find him lying in the grass but instead was met with a gaping hole in the ground. In that moment, her anger quickly morphed into fear. "Peter?!" she called into the abyss. No answer. She called again but was met with silence all the same. Dropping a pebble into it proved it's depth, the little stone disappearing with an echoed thud. She knew in a moment that there was only one thing left for her to do. Sucking in a deep breath, Eilonwy swung her legs over the edge and dropped down into the darkness. The tunnel was long and Eilonwy found herself falling for quite a few seconds before tumbling into the hard earth. Once she landed, she was surprised to find that the hole wasn't totally uncivilized. Torches mounted on the walls illuminated a long, twisting corridor ahead. A chorus of voices echoed from the other end. Pulling her kerchief away from her face, Eilonwy snagged a torch and stepped lightly toward the sounds of distress. As she grew closer, the noise became clearer until she could finally identify the bickering of siblings and the low, gravelly voice of their captor. "...and if anything, I ought to roast you all and leave you to rot like the others" they growled as Eilonwy grew nearer. "Please, miss! If you let us go, we promise we'll never come back ever again!" Susan begged. "Oh, how I pity you!" the voice mocked, pretending to break down in hysterical tears. "If you don't let us go right now, I swear in the name of Aslan, I'll--!" Peter began but was quickly interrupted. "You'll what? Stab me with that little needle at your side? As if!" she jested. "If not for my flames, that blade would never have been forged in the first place." Peering around the edge of the tunnel, Eilonwy caught sight of a large cage made entirely of fire burning in the middle of a circular room. And there stood their captor, Iraflora. She was just as the legends said with crimson hair and amber eyes and enflamed feathers breaking through every gash in her sunkissed flesh. She singed the ground with every step she took, every word pouring out of her mouth like molten lava, dark and hard and cracking. "Listen, why don't we bargain? Whatever you want, we'll give it to you! In exchange for our freedom" Edmund negotiated. A fiery finger skated down the woman's jaw and to her collarbone in a sensual display of thought. "Why do you think you deserve to be spared any more than the others? What is it that you find so outrageously worthwhile about yourselves?" "Is that what this has come to?" Peter argued. "Degradation?" The woman sucked her teeth and raised her eyebrows in displeasure. "I'm just trying to understand where the source of your desperation comes from. I've seen men of the lowest statures beg for their lives far more than you lot have." "Just, please! Let us go!" Susan pleaded. Iraflora flashed a quick grin in the gentle's direction, then added: "Except for her. She's become one of the whiniest victims I've found yet." By now, Susan was beginning to regret this entire trip even more than she already had. Not that she liked to admit this, either, but she was also beginning to regret not listening to Eilonwy about preparing. If only she had thought to bring her horn with her, then perhaps none of this would have become such an event. The blares would surely be loud enough to reach the ship and Guildmore and his crew would come racing to save them. If only. "There has to be something you want that we can trade you for" Edmund spoke. "Anything in the world, we'll do it for you!" Peter nudged his brother in the arm, terrified he was starting to make promises they wouldn't be able to fulfill, but it was no use. Iraflora was a cruel opponent. "Anything in the world?" she cooed, tilting her chin to the sky. Edmund nodded enthusiastically. A sly smile spread across her face as she clenched her fists at her sides and screamed, "Then I would love for you all to shut up because the only thing I want involves killing the lot of you!" If you really wanted to kill them, you would've done it already, Eilonwy thought to herself, rolling her eyes. She pressed her back against the tunnel wall and tried to think of a plan as quickly as possible. "But how to do it is the question" Iraflora continued thoughtfully. "I can't just extinguish all of you in the usual fashion-- no, no. Where would be the fun in that? After all, if you all insist you're so special, then you deserve a special sendout to match!" Lucy froze, hands folded tight against her chest. The reality of their situation was really beginning to sink in and the valiant couldn't help but feel like she was very much at fault. "P-please, miss! Spare my brothers and sister, at least. They didn't do anything!" she begged, voice cracking. Iraflora seemed to take great interest in the small queen's sudden outburst, blinking a few times before urging her to go on. "You see, it was my idea to come here" Lucy explained. "They didn't want to, but I insisted! They don't deserve any of this, ma'am. So if you'd please, just let them go and...and take your frustrations out on me." To say her older siblings were impressed would be an understatement. There was something about Lucy's selflessness in that moment that suddenly made her seem much older than she was. This still didn't change the fact, however, that what she was offering was wrong. "No, we deserve the blame just as much as Lucy does" Peter stepped forward. "If she goes down, we all go down with her." Tears welled up in the littlest one's eyes as her brother smiled back at her with solemn unity. She unclasped her hands to grasp his firmly, Susan and Edmund following suit until the four of them were standing with fingers interlocked staring at the face of death herself. Despite the touching display of family strength, Iraflora's opinion went unchanged. A look of disgust painted her face. "Alright, if you're all so set on going down together, then I know just what I'll do. I'll go in order from oldest to youngest. That way the last to die will see the first three go before her!" the woman cheered. Lucy tightened her grip on her brother's hand, terror-stricken. "Don't listen to her, Lucy. She's just trying to scare you" Peter reassured, kneeling down to her level. "She's not really going to hurt any of us" he continued, then turned and glared in Iraflora's direction to add, "Not if I can help it." "Oh, what a big, strong man we think we are!" Iraflora jested, reaching out to scrape her finger along his cheek. Peter winced as her touch burned his flesh, leaving a nasty scar from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. Even then, he refused to let his guard down. Peter opened his mouth to speak but before he could utter a word, another voice rang from the darkness. "It's not so much the man that's strong but the numbers backing him" it spoke. From the mouth of the cave, a familiar figure stepped into the light. Eilonwy. She glared up at the spirit with all the ferocity she could muster, sword at the ready. "Eilonwy, what are you doing...?!" Peter called uneasily. "Well, someone has to put out your fires!" Eilonwy smirked, glancing to the Pevensies. She seemed to find herself rather funny, though Iraflora starkly disagreed. "After all" the huntress continued, "you can only fan the flames for so long." "You...you wench!" Iraflora shrieked, clenching her fists at her sides. Her hands burned bright white the tighter she held them, growing hotter like metal beneath a flame. She whipped around to her prisoners with wild eyes, screaming, "I see we called for reinforcements! How divine! Now I'll have five to slay!" She narrowed her eyes back at Eilonwy and added in a growl, "Well, you know what they say: the more the merrier." In one swift motion, she lunged forward, fingers itching to wrap themselves around the girl's neck. She erupted in a bright blaze as she connected with the wall, Eilonwy tumbling out of the way just in time. "Eilonwy, for the love of god, get out of here!" Peter screamed, inching as close to the cage as possible without burning himself. "You're going to get yourself killed! Go!" "And miss all this? I wouldn't dream of it!" she shouted, ducking and slashing at Iraflora in retaliation. The spirit shrieked, barely harmed by the blade, her entire body glowing white with rage. "You intruders are causing far more trouble than you're worth!" "Are you sure about that?" Eilonwy asked, smirking. "Or are we worth more trouble than you think?" "Eilonwy, I'm going to have to agree with Peter on this one" Edmund called. "She's too strong for you! You can't fight her!" "If I can't fight her, then what would you say I'm doing right now?" Eilonwy shouted back. "Besides, I think it's a little too late for a retreat! It's either me or her now. One of us has to go!" Iraflora spouted an endless stream of fireballs in Eilonwy's direction, taking advantage of her rapidly decreasing energy. A grin spread across her face as she then lurched forward with indeterminable speed. This time, escape was futile. Eilonwy slammed to the ground with a hard thud, impacted by the sheer force of her opponent. Iraflora hovered over her, pinning her to the ground, with a devilish smile upon her face. "Any last words, wench?" Flames licked at Eilonwy's face, searing the tips of her hair and the edges of her clothing. Sweat beaded on her brow as she gasped for breath, desperate to break free but unsure of how. Staring straight at the woman's bright eyes, Eilonwy made a terrible, grating sound before spitting right in the woman's face. A small stream of smoke billowed up from where she saliva had hit. Iraflora shrieked, enraged, and lifted a hand to smite the girl but was suddenly interrupted by a rogue dagger slicing through her arm. The spirit growled viciously toward her prisoners. "Get away from her!" a voice shouted. Eilonwy identified it immediately: Susan. "Or you'll what?" Iraflora tested, keeping a firm grip on Eilonwy's wrists. Susan paused for a moment, trying to find a harsh enough response. "I'll..." she stammered. "That's what I thought" the spirit replied. As she turned her attention back to Eilonwy, however, the huntress took advantage of the distraction to knee the woman in the chest, loosening her grip and escaping her clutch. The moment she was free, Eilonwy scuttled to the farthest wall of the cave huffing and panting, vision blurry as she searched for her sword on the ground. Iraflora growled, reaching over to pick up Lucy's dagger and stalked closer. She pinned the girl's body against the wall with one strong hand, raising the blade in the other with eyes set on the huntress's chest. Before she could stab, a clinking sound then captured her attention as Lucy's cordial fell to the floor. "Don't hurt her! Please!" the littlest Pevensie begged. Iraflora's eyes fell to the vial, cocking an eyebrow in confusion. "What kind of sick trick is this?" she asked. Lucy inhaled shakily, forcing herself to look the woman right in the eyes as she explained. "It's not a trick. It's an explanation. It's my fault my family and I invaded your island and that cordial is to blame. It was a gift from Father Christmas, in Narnia, along with that dagger, to use in the Battle of Beruna against the White Witch." "You expect me to believe you four blubbering idiots defeated Jadis?" Iraflora replied. Lucy nodded. "My brothers and sister and I were sent here to fulfill the prophecy! That two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve would overthrow the White Witch and restore Narnia" she explained. The spirit paused a moment to consider Lucy's explanation, chewing over her words and weighing the supposed accuracy. It was no secret that most anyone knew of the prophecy, but she found it hard to believe children such as these had been the ones to fulfill it. They didn't seem like the warrior types she expected of them. "That cordial was filled with the juice of your fireflowers, and was of great use to me after the battle...and then some" Lucy continued. "And what happened to it's contents, then?" Iraflora asked. "I accidentally used it all..." Lucy admitted. Her cheeks burned bright red in embarrassment. "I didn't realize it would drain so quickly. I just wanted to help everyone but...but I guess I got carried away. I didn't want to see anyone suffer. I came here hoping to refill it but...but I don't think I want to anymore. Not if it's going to cause so much trouble. I've been selfish and I put everyone in danger...this is all my fault." Peter rested a hand on his baby sister's shoulder. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and comfort her, pray that Iraflora would have some sympathy and release them whether they refilled the cordial or not, but he restrained himself in order to give Lucy her moment of brave confession. "On whom have you used this cordial, anyway?" Iraflora inquired. An obvious interest radiated from her eyes as she began to cool down, slightly releasing her grip on Eilonwy and lowering the dagger to her hip. "Everyone, I suppose" Lucy replied slowly. "I used it to cure Aslan's army in the Battle of Beruna, and to help the Galmans during their epidemic. I even used it on my brother to heal him when he was wounded by the White Witch's wand." Iraflora nodded slowly as Lucy continued. "But it's not worth all the trouble I've caused. Not if it puts my family at risk. I know how much those flowers mean to you, and if I had something that valuable, I certainly wouldn't want anyone trying to take it from me, either. It was wrong of me to come here expecting you to willingly give me what is rightfully yours, and I know now that my time as a healer is up. After all, nothing can last forever, I suppose...I just...I'm so sorry. For everything." By now Lucy was on the verge of tears but she refused to break down and cry. Not now. She needed to be strong, to let go of such fine privileges with maturity and dignity. As Iraflora listened to her speak, however, her fury transformed. Rage slowly morphed into a warmth of heart, the kind that radiates from a fireplace in the midst of a brutal winter. She understood now the significance of Lucy's journey, and how she was very much unlike the others who stepped foot upon her island. She fully released her grip on Eilonwy, who watched with awe and mild suspicion, before skating across the room to cradle the cordial in her hands. The cage's fire began to dim as she approached and extended her hands toward the little queen. Lucy hesitated a moment, uncertain of what Iraflora wanted her to do, until the spirit urged her to take it and she obliged. "Little queen, you are unlike so many others who have selfishly tried to uproot my garden" she said, voice much smoother than before. "You have proven yourself genuine and humble and true, and I commend you for your selflessness." As the last of the flames evaporated into smoke, Iraflora coaxed Lucy toward her. Peter reached out to pull her back but paused and retracted his arm when he realized Iraflora was no longer here to fight. The valiant stepped lightly, looking up to the spirit with childlike wonder and restraint. "What now...?" she asked quietly. Her brain was having trouble comprehending what was even happening, if Iraflora had truly changed her mind. "Now" the spirit replied, "You shall get what you desire." She extended a hand for Lucy to take, then shot a glare back at her siblings as if daring them to stay behind. It was a risk they were smart enough not to take. The minute Peter had the chance, he ran toward Eilonwy and seized her tightly in his arms, brushing the hair from her face. Her sweaty brow and dazed expression quickly filled him with concern and he knew right away she desperately needed fresh air. Supporting her with an arm, he followed the others through the tunnel and to the surface. The sunlight seemed dazzling after having spent so much time down below, but was no doubt refreshing to those who thought they'd never see daylight ever again. Iraflora guided Lucy to a small patch of the brightest flowers, instructing her to pluck the one that appeared healthiest to her. Lucy paused for a moment, considering her options, before leaning down and gingerly plucking the purest one she could find. It's fragrance was so potent that had she not been accompanied by the spirit herself, she surely would've fell over and passed out in a happy trance. Iraflora smiled knowingly as she lifted the bloom from Lucy's grasp, levitating it between her hands mystically. She pressed her palms together and a golden glow radiated from between her fingers. The moment she separated her hands, the flower was replaced with a gelatinous bulb of red liquid. Lucy held her cordial up with wide eyes full of wonder, watching as Iraflora swirled her hands and twisted the juice into the vial. "So that's it?" Lucy asked, inspecting the bottle. "I can use this to heal any injury now?" Iraflora nodded, satisfied with her work. "You might need to make use of that a bit sooner than you expected, Lu" Peter murmured, voice hard and mildly shaky. The High King knelt by the shoreline, Eilonwy curled up helplessly in his lap. Raw, red welts patched her skin. Peter could feel her heart racing out of her chest as she swayed in and out of consciousness. No amount of sea water seemed to cool her down. Lucy rushed over immediately, tipping her cordial and letting a drop of fresh juice seep between Eilonwy's lips. She released a groan as she swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Her chest shook with ravenous coughs, her throat burning as the juice slid down, like swallowing whiskey. Peter brushed her hair from her face, watching with wide, panicked eyes as her injuries slowly faded into vague marks upon her skin. Eilonwy blinked awake, squinting up at Peter and then Lucy, then shifting her vision to Susan and Edmund alongside Iraflora herself. The moment she laid eyes on the fire spirit, she began to laugh. "Ellie, what the hell is so goddamn funny?" Peter asked, unamused. But Eilonwy was simply far too delirious to give a proper answer. Lucy furrowed her brows, glad to see her friend healed of her physical wounds but puzzled by her emotional ones. She gazed up at Iraflora, whose face had grown rather pale and saddened. "You did this to her, you know" the valiant murmured. Iraflora's breath hitched in shock, having not expected such a blunt delivery from the young queen. However, she could not deny the truth in Lucy's words, hollowed by regret knowing she could not reverse her terrible deeds. "I was only trying to protect them..." Iraflora whispered, gently grazing the flowers' petals. "I had no clue..." "You should apologize" Lucy stated. Though apologies weren't exactly the spirit's niche, she knew the young queen was right. Mustering her dignity, Iraflora floated forward and knelt down beside Eilonwy. Peter wrapped his arms around her protectively, unsure of what the spirit planned to do, but with one apologetic gaze, she unlocked his trust. Rather than speak, Iraflora closed her eyes and placed a hand upon Eilonwy's forehead. The moment she removed her touch, Eilonwy snapped out of her trance, gasping for breath as if she had just awoken from some terrible dream. Fear provoked her, instinctively wrapping her arms around Peter's neck and clinging to him for dear life. All he could do was rub her back and whisper reassuring words in her ear, doing his best to calm her down. Irafora watched the couple for a moment, a pang of jealousy striking her right in the chest. The affection between them was undeniable. She only wished she could've experienced such love. As she watched on, Lucy sidled up to her and silently grasped the spirit's hand in hers. "Thank you" she whispered, standing on tiptoes to plant a kiss upon the woman's cheek. Iraflora's face blushed as the little queen's lips grazed her hot flesh, filling her with a warmth quite unlike the fiery fury she was so accustomed to. "No, thank you" Iraflora whispered, looking down upon the young girl. "Without your kindness and humility, I may never have felt such warmth ever again." Lucy grinned, pleased to have appeased the woman so, before Iraflora added, "You are welcome to return to Kronne whenever you need, as you have found a friend in the fireflower's keeper. I pray that you may visit again soon, your majesty. It has been so long since I have had the company of a friend. May the great Aslan bless you." While Lucy was incredibly grateful for Iraflora's kindness, it was the mention of Aslan's name that truly captured her attention. "Do you know Aslan?" she asked. Iraflora nodded. "It was he who revived me and appointed me guardian in the first place. Without his greatness, I may never have been given such an opportunity. Hence why I take my duty so seriously" Iraflora explained. Lucy nodded in understanding. "I care for Aslan very much" she replied. "He is a good friend of mine. Without him, my brothers and sisters and I would never have ended up where we are now, ruling Narnia." "He is great indeed, small one" Iraflora said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back with gratitude. Lucy gazed up at her with admiration, grateful to have found a friend in which she can share her undying love for the great lion. As the sun set upon Kronne and the Pevensies returned to their ship, Lucy overflowed with happiness. Things certainly did not go as smoothly as she had hoped but she didn't regret one second. Not only did she fulfill her mission, but she reformed a hardened heart and found a friend in the process. She thought fondly of Iraflora as she watched Kronne fade into the distance and a strong hope coursed through her veins that this was only the beginning of a rather remarkable friendship.

#t: futgt #t: futgt c: seven #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #fanfiction #narniaff

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