#such is life beneath the crushing weight of capitalism i suppose

[wyn-n-tonic]

i've had some time to think on it and that Mando premiere felt very mid-season to me.

i also feel like it highlighted the pacing issues of the show so glaringly and it's very clear that this show that started out with a great concept is just going to run the Grogu cash cow into the ground.

[mintseesaw]

Aurora | 4

Pairing: general!jungkook x reader!princess x prince!jimin Genre: angst, fluff, historical au, forbidden love affair au Word count: 8.3k Warnings: themes of abduction and insurgence, imposing abortion as a punishment, story setting is heavily patriarchal // rating: 18+

translations of unfamiliar words will be provided below ^^

*unedited

masterlist

Previously...

“Did you miss me, Princess ________?” You heard him greet from behind. The sultry yet sweet tone of his voice, compelling you to face him as if your unwillingness to meet him so suddenly wasn’t there, anymore.

With a graceful turn, your solicitous expression caused by your unintended tryst last night gone in a flash tipping your chin forward to display a false confidence in front of the prince.

The amusement on his face widens, taking notice of the exceptional glow radiating from the princess. Have you been dolling yourself up just for him? The certain strangeness in the dark of your orbs igniting fire in him before he blinks and it vanishes, gone without a trace of acknowledgement from the weight of your stare.

He crosses the offending distance, smiling sweetly before he took hold of your hand and kisses your knuckles with an ardent gaze clashing against yours that harbor the coldness he had grown accustomed with.

“My lord,” an old man hurriedly attended to Jungkook just as he took an empty table without a word. Must be the owner of the stall. Uttering his request, the owner bobbed his head low before vanishing from his line of vision.

He was supposedly going to have breakfast with you after having tediously cooked the dishes, himself. The lack of light in your eyes and your dead enthusiasm had spoiled his appetite, and severely wounded his soul. Nothing could probably ease the ache sitting beneath his ribcage. Not when the intimacy he shared with you the night before and your cold treatment of him earlier painfully reverberated in his head like a roaring thunder in the sky.

You, giving him mixed signals, confused the hell out of his weak, young heart. 

What am I supposed to do with you, Jagiya?

Perhaps, it was the uncertainty that was instigated by your emotions. That must have been the only reason.

Shortly after, the old man came back with an empty cup, pouring it full with rice wine from the bronze pitcher he brought with him. Jungkook mumbled an audible thanks before chugging down the alcohol like an angry man on his bad day.

“This isn’t something we both have a choice of.”

Your voice echoes in his head. A sweet, delicate voice that could easily slice his heart into two with your mere heartless words. A smirk made its way on his face, despite the amusement never reaching up his eyes.

There is nothing left to decide on because you’ll be with him in the end. He wouldn’t leave you, again. He wouldn’t lose his only chance he has to claim you as rightfully his. When he almost lost you back in the days you were young, right in his arms, before his eyes— it was the day he promised to show you what his heart truly desires. Whatever the cost may be.

He had never been that frantic in his life. Not even when he saw with his own eyes the deep cut in his arm gushing too much blood when he was young. Not when two poisonous arrows almost killed him in the battlefield.

When he stripped the covering off of the suspicious cart in search of any sign of you, the last thing he was expecting to see was your unconscious body, with your restrained arms and a piece of cloth stuffed in your mouth. With your aristocratic braids gone, he couldn’t see much of your face as your hair hung loose covering half of your face as your body lied down in a foetal position, as if you tried to make up with the little space the average sized cart provided which was filled dominantly by materials of what looked like rolls of linens of various colors.

He knew it was you.

Despite the filth covering your attire down to the skin of your bare hands, and your seemingly thinner frame, the mere sight of the body screams everything about you.

At the time, his younger self was almost sure he was going to explode at any moment from the excruciating constriction in his chest.

His eyes were livid while they scanned over the blood bathed bodies scattered around the cart that were slain by the sharp edges of his sword, looking for another sign of danger. When he was certain that none of the rebels on the ground were moving, he dropped his weapon.

“Princess!” He calls out, his bloody hands leaving imprints of the dirt-covered article of your hanbok as he shook your shoulders none too gently, desperate to wake you.

To no avail, you remain unconscious. The sight of you in a devastating state dreaded him. His younger self thought his world right there and then was collapsing, his surroundings slowing down and his gaze shrinking and focusing into you alone. Not even a pittance of fear shook him despite killing a group of rebels, none of the fact that he stood there alone fighting for his life did. None. Not until he pulled the bamboo mat off of the cart.

Where the fuck is that old man?

It’s been hours since Lord Min suddenly came up to his residence, forcing him out of his slumber at dawn without telling him the purpose of his abrupt disturbance.

When the scholar said he found another lead, Jungkook only took it lightly—not knowing it would turn out to be the key to finally locate you.

Lord Min led him to a trail behind a group of merchants who were supposed to exchange goods on the capital’s port with Mongolian merchants. When the suspicious group split into two directions— it left him and the scholar no option but to part ways as well. However, Jungkook insisted on following the merchants who particularly brought their supposed cart of goods.

As soon as he took his outer layer of robe to cover it on your shivering body, the morning breeze hits him mercilessly. Discreetly, he gathers you in his arms. As he sets you on his lap on the ground, he removes the cloth in your mouth, while pressing a trembling hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat.

“Your Highness,” he tried once more when he sensed a faint beating against your chest. His hands shuffle to remove the tie around your wrists.

“Come on… open your eyes for me, Princess.” He whispered desperately, tears freely rolling down on his cheeks without him ever noticing.

He gasped when he caught the slightest bit of movement from you. He thought he might have been hallucinating out of his desperation to see you alive. But then, you proved him wrong as your heavy eyelids slowly peeled open, before they closed shut, again.

“Your Highness! Please… do you hear me? Can you open your eyes again?”

You did, and with your slightly parted mouth, you drew a breath in heavily.

“W-Who are you?” you managed to rasp, almost inaudibly. However, he was too close not to miss what you said. Too close to be deemed righteous around the lady he desires. He didn’t care, because your cold body needed as much as heat from him. Nothing else mattered more to him than to save your life.

“It’s me, Jungkook. I am Prince Taehyung’s friend—“

“I-I… must… be dreaming,” you croaked in between dry, painful coughs.

“You’re not dreaming. Please, don’t talk. It's hurting you.” He chokes back a sob.

“Is this real? You finally noticed me,” you pause, only to breathe through your mouth once more. “I’m… tired, I want to rest,” you say without opening your eyes. But the moisture pooling out of your eyes meant one thing to him. You’ve been suffering from immense pain.

“No, no, no. Please, stay with me. Lord Min is coming to get us. He’ll be here soon,” he coos, not caring how he sounded a little more desperate, taking your cold hands up in his mouth to warm them up.

Jungkook continuously rocked your shivering body back and forth on his lap, never removing his eyes on you. He wanted to embrace you tight, cover you with his body to protect you from the horrible cold of the morning weather but he was afraid he would crush you.

He waited, waited and helplessly waited. Lord Min would come find him. That was what he reminded Jungkook as before they parted ways in the woods.

It was him and Lord Min who found you, even when the King had ordered a mass search for his missing daughter.

---

Although your disappearance was largely perceived as abduction, neither evidence nor eye witness was found to support the claim, hence stirring the urge to find you, himself. Roughly 10 days after you were last seen, not even a single trace of your whereabouts had been identified. Something was definitely off with the way the case was being handled. The lack of progress on the investigation drove the King in extreme desperation as well as the court in anguish due to the King’s adverse political decisions.

In spite of the rumors of insurgence spreading like a common gossip story in the villages surrounding the capital, the rumors fall on deaf ears in the court on the possibility that your disappearance was plotted by the rebel forces. As if the missing person was not a princess whom the rebels could use as a pawn to bend the King on his knees.

Jungkook spent most of his days in the capital, inside the gambling houses, pretending to play with men of all sorts of class. On some days, he visited the courtesan’s house capital marketplace under the disguise of an interested guest due to the rumors that some gisaengs, at the time, were avid followers of the insurgence. At nights, he pieced together the collective stories he tediously gathered during the day.

One day, he decided to make progress on his investigation, spying on a group of merchants trading with Jurchen merchants who were pretending under the guise of Mongolian heritage. It was Mina, a gisaeng whom he somehow befriended when his visits at the courtesan’s house had frequented, who shared her discovery of a Mongolian merchant accidentally revealing his identity when he fluently spoke a dialect she distinguished as her mother tongue since she was a Jurchen-born immigrant.

He didn’t find any suspicious or illegal goods being traded on the port nor could he confirm the real heritage of the merchants. However, on his way back to the capital, he was cornered by a man he recognized as one of the merchants in the port.

To his surprise, the merchant was strangely skilled enough to defeat him in a fight— scoring a severe cut on Jungkook’s side. He didn’t think the merchant would be merciful enough to let him live when Jungkook fell to the ground after what seemed like several minutes of intense sword-to-sword combat. Strangely enough, the merchant was forgiving and instead of ending the life out of him, the merchant took his time to scrutinize every item inside the satchel Jungkook brought with him. By then, he had already sensed that the man was anything but a mere trader.

Breathing heavily, he pressed his hand hard to his bloody waist as he watches the merchant curiously unfold a piece of hanji. It was the trade map he had drawn a few days ago, alongside the location where the camp can be found.

Jungkook knew it was over for him as he saw a glint of recognition in the eyes of the merchant.

After what seemed to be a long moment of silence, the merchant looks at him. “What is this map for?”

Jungkook laughed dryly and as his shoulders shook a little, a surge of pain shot in his core. He winces as the sensation doubled over his effort to make fun of the act the merchant was pulling in front of him.

“Are you one of them?”

If the merchant understood what he meant, he simply chose to ignore it. “I’m asking you a question, kid.”

“You’re one of them, are you not? I’m most certain you know what that map is.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth as the pain on his side intensified, spreading like a magma on his midriff.

By now, the merchant’s focus zeroed in on him. “You know about the camp? Who do you work for, kid?” The merchant interrogates, further. Though the man remained passive, Jungkook found it odd to notice the slightest bit of awe in the eyes of the strange man. 

“You tell me, you act like you know my every activity.”

The merchant only raised an eyebrow. “Well, here’s the truth. I’m not a rebel. I’m not a merchant, either. I will help you if you tell me what you have gotten about the camp so far.”

Jungkook darted a glare at him. “As you can see, I’m heavily wounded, literally. You think I still care?”

“You’ll live,” the merchant dismisses nonchalantly, which made Jungkook scoff in disbelief.

“Look kid, I’m not going to kill you. But in exchange for your life, you’ll help me follow the movement.”

“It’s not like you gave me an option to decline.” Jungkook weakly contended.

The merchant effortlessly helped him up from the ground, “Come on, my grandfather is a physician. He’ll tend to your wound.”

Jungkook learned that the merchant who introduced himself as Lord Min turned out to be a scholar. He was writing a case relative to the alleged insurgence centering mostly in poor villages in the capital. Although he didn’t fully trust the scholar, sparing Jungkook his life was enough reason for him to disclose the true nature of his investigation to the scholar who was, at the time, penning colloquial stories about the insurgence.

Lord Min paused his scribbling, throwing a look of surprise at his new-found friend. “Did I hear you right? You believed the princess was abducted by the rebels?”

Jungkook only shrugged, already concluding what the scholar would say next. “It’s not the first time someone thought I was going crazy for telling them that.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I have been following the movement for months now,” Lord Min asserted, which prompted Jungkook to look back at him. “And since I heard about the sudden disappearance of the princess, it was the only theory I could come up with. Unless…” Lord Min trailed, taking notice of the interest glinting in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Unless?” Jungkook echoed expectantly.

Lord Min pretended to be in deep thought before adding up, “There is a lover involved.”

In disbelief, Jungkook threw a scornful look at him. “There’s no man in her life, I’m sure of that.” He remarked with conviction, folding his arms in his chest.

To his surprise, Lord Min hollered into fits of laughter, only severing the look of disdain on Jungkook’s expression. “For a young soldier like you, you seemed to be a little more concerned about the princess.” The older man remarked, meaningfully.

---

“Isn’t it too early to be drinking on your own, kid?” Taunts a voice, forcing him out of his reverie. With a lift of his head, his eyes landed on a commoner seemingly older than him adorned in a daffodil shade of a simple robe. Half of the man’s face was covered in conical shaped hat and just as the man tipped it high with his fingers, Jungkook immediately recognized the person standing across his table.

Your breath hitches on your throat as the warmth of his mouth sends tingles straight through your veins. With a subtle tug of your hand from his hold, the prince almost didn’t take your silent plea, not without his companion guard clearing their throat that snapped him out of daze.

If there’s particularly one thing that stood out to him aside from his aristocratic, --almost polished physical features, it was his forthright admission of his feelings on you. The was the he had made a move in regards to feelings. You appreciate the way he had not once tried to break into your boundaries for his satisfaction.

After what had happened, the least person you expected to see is him. The only man who had the guts to be with you despite the rumors that tainted your reputation. Guilt thrums heavily through your veins more than the throbbing of your muscles in your body.

Jimin deserves someone far better than what you can offer. Not with your heart, and most definitely not with your broken chastity.

“Your Excellency,” you greeted, tilting your head low in a subtle bow. Your eyes stayed firm on the ground, refusing to return his stare as you murmur, “I trust your journey has not been too much for you?”

You missed the way your concern roused a smile up on his flawless face or you would have flushed right away. “It was as expected. I am an impatient man, but it was worth the trouble now that my reward is standing in front of me.”

Taken aback at this teasing remark, your mouth unconsciously parted. You didn’t have the time to retract from the proximity he initiated just as he extended his arm, his palm meeting one of your cheeks as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. The pad of his thumb feather lightly caresses the softness of your skin there.

The abruptness of his move left you immobile for a moment, the heat coming from his hand involuntarily eliciting goosebumps to come out on your covered arms.

“Have you been well, little flower? I couldn’t be at peace knowing your health is not in the best condition. I was a thread of breath away from forcing my way into your quarters just to check on you myself, but you may never forgive me for if I ever disrespect your privacy.”

“There’s nothing to worry of. Mayhaps... my body has not been reacting too kindly to the cold weather. I had since taken herbal teas to help me recover.” The lie glided smoothly out of your tongue, piercing your lower lip with your teeth to prevent yourself from throwing up out of disgust.

The way his head bobs up lightly made you believe he bought your excuse. “Very well. Will you allow me to accompany you?” He whispers, as if it’s possible to turn down a powerful man like him. 

“Of course, Your Excellency.” The smile you plastered on your face was enough to conceal your fears for now.

At your answer, the court ladies immediately hurried towards the recreational area, pulling the wooden chairs for you and the prince to sit on.

You take the opportunity to pull back from his touch as an excuse to occupy one of the chairs. 

Mimicking your move, he settled on a seat, one that was the closest to yours. He then motions a dismissive wave on the watchful eyes of his guards, giving him and the rest of the court ladies a silent order to leave you two alone. With a bow, everyone retreated back down onto the ground, obediently.

As he turns his attention back at you, he asks, “Do you like to tease me, Princess?”

“W-What do you mean?” Your stutter evoked a subtle grin to reappear on the corners of his mouth. While your insides are a mess, the delight shining in his eyes lets you know he couldn’t see right through your miserable heart.

The subtle smile on the corners of his mouth stretches wider, “You know I like it when you call me by my name.”

His teasing once again scores a twin stain on your cheeks. Although you remain placid with his remark, he didn’t miss the immediate rush of blood coloring your face that, in return, earned a smirk from him.

Blinking, you straightened your back. “Why are you not appropriately dressed for the season, Your Excellency?”

Prince Jimin beamed in your attempt of changing the subject, eyes glimmering in glee. “My attire is fine. Mayhaps, if you are concerned, I can put on another layer of thick robe.”

Quickly, you shake your head. “There’s no need for such if you don’t feel like the weather is too much for you. Winter has just begun and only a few weeks more before the weather becomes unbearable, especially for envoys like yourself.”

“I can only imagine how our departure would be like.”

“You chose to come to the kingdom during the winter. Is there something that’s urgent on your purpose not to delay it until the weather has calmed down?”

”The only urgent thing I found was to see you. Have I not made it clear from the beginning?”

You purse your lips, afraid to voice out your thoughts. On the other hand, Jimin was way too deep in the subject to notice the slightest bit of trouble reflecting in your eyes.

“I didn’t think any woman would stir my interest after having my heart broken when I was young. You know, my brother—the Emperor gifted me a marriage in exchange for my service in the military. I was supposed to leave the palace for a while to visit my bride. The Emperor halted my plan only to have me represent him on his behalf during the coronation of Queen Soheon. If I didn’t come here, I would have been married by now.”

Burying your trembling hands on your lap, you distracted yourself with the beauty of the winter blooms on the pond, swallowing the gasp that threatened to spill as an involuntary reaction. His revelation left a lasting impact on you. In your head, you could hear yourself screaming the truth in front of him. He shouldn’t be this infatuated over you.

“Perhaps, you are well enough to company out of the palace? You still owe me a tour to the capital.” The prince posits all too suddenly.

Swiftly, he stood up and offered a helping hand in front of you. The sun is barely out, concealed with the thick layers of clouds to which is a great opportunity to wander around in the marketplace. Your false confidence slowly faltering as seconds turn to minutes with his gaze sweeping on your whole length. You accepted his hand, granting his wish. It was the least you could do to make up for him travelling a thousand miles to see you.

The following day, an event is set to be held in Changdeok to pay tribute for army’s victory in defeating the rebel forces in one of the borders in Joseon. Hours earlier than the customary outset in the palace, the finishing touches on the day’s festivities have already been wrapped up by the court ladies even before the sun rises on the east.

Historically, the day held no significance to the royal court nor to any prominent military figure in the nation. However, some weeks prior to the present day, the king received a letter from the young general relative to the army’s arrival to the capital, hence, the sudden establishment of a dogam to organize a jinchan for the returning heroes from the northern border.

With the anticipated attendance of the royal family in the morning banquet, you were forced to rise at dawn to prepare for your participation for the festivity.

Shortly after the attendants have finished braiding your hair, your morning tea was served just before you are set to leave your quarters.

“There will be two more banquets after the event in the morning, Your Highness.” Hyowon, one of the court ladies attending to your daily nourishment answers when you absentmindedly voiced out your thought as she pours a tea on your cup.

Fortunately, you were not foolish enough to utter the name of the man who’s been haunting your dreams since time immemorial. She may only be a distant relative of Jungkook, but the same blood runs thick in their veins and you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of anyone, much less to anyone related to him.

You nodded, taking your cup and hold it up to your lips.

Traditionally, the nighttime festivity is said to be the most anticipated from all sorts of celebrations as the audience who are commonly from noble descent look forward on the performances of high-class entertainers. Jungkook is obligated to attend all the events for the day as one of the honorary guests of the jinchan.  

The supposed banquet is going to be your first attendance in a political gathering ever since you were given the title of a gongju on your seventh birthday. The thought was making you uneasy in some way in case something unforeseen transpires during the celebration, that it would be denunciated by the curse you were forced to live with in your lifetime. However, the thought of him present in the same room with you brings more in disarray. 

A court lady from the dogam came to escort you to the reception afterwards. And not long after the arrival of Queen, the massive doors of the dining hall flew opened, revealing the King as he enter the premises.

Perhaps, you would still have had a clear view on whole expanse of the dining hall if not for the ivory article covering the totality of the platform where you and the rest of the royal palace women.

Meals have been simultaneously served just as the King had announced the ceremonial toast indicating the beginning of the celebration. An instrumental piece played by the musicians proceeded after, keeping the atmosphere pleasantly solemn despite the audible chatters in the hall.

From your seat, you could only see the king’s back as he led the banquet—sitting at the head of the table while the rest of the state and military officials sat in two long sets of vertically-arranged sobans. Despite the barrier, it was not difficult for you to locate where the man of your thoughts was settled at just by the mere sight of his silhouette. There he was beside Prince Taehyung, seemingly fascinated with the performances on the center if not occupied with something Prince Taehyung was telling him.

You could never change the way you treated him so poorly, yesterday. Your hostility was uncalled for, but perhaps, it was enough to displease him enough to lose his interest in you.

“You are not eating your meal, Gongju. Are the dishes not to your liking?” Princess Consort Sooyoung asks. Unlike you, your sister-in-law seems to enjoy the sumptuous serving on the soban, as opposed to your lack of enthusiasm on the food.

“It’s not that. Perhaps, it was too early for me to consume anything solid after I had my morning the tea.”

You drag your hand up on the table, picking up the pair of chopsticks to nestle them in between your fingers. To ease her worry, you attempted to touch the sweet flavored delicacy among the servings.

The banquet progressed rather slowly. As hours passed by, your legs grew numb from the lack of physical movement. It didn’t help that the remnants of muscle aches from your intimacy with Jungkook still lingers. Your sister-in-law caught the discomfort in your expression.

“Gongju,” Princess Consort Sooyoung calls for your attention, once more.

Tearing your gaze away from Jungkook, you tilt your head on the side to meet her solicitous eyes.

“Is your breathing alright? I noticed your heaving has frequented.”

“Uhh...I’m alright, Bubuin.” You falter. Instinctively, your eyes flew back to where he was situated. Your sister-in-law followed the trail of your gaze, and it was only then that she had pieced together the reason.

She chuckles softly, “I thought you were having difficulty with your breathing.”

Your face incredibly flushed with her words.

She didn’t attempt to speak to you after that, seemingly distracted in one of the ceremonial performances of the banquet.

Three hours later, the first phase of the jinchan had finally come to conclude to your relief.

When it was your turn to be escorted out of the hall, you couldn’t help but skim your eyes across the expansive lot. Of course, the chances of running into him are very slim to none. Not only that he was in a rush to leave the reception, but he would also take the path on the west out of the palace while you would take the opposite direction to go back to your quarters.

You thought wrong. Because the moment you arrive at the entrance of the Gyeongbok, you catch on the back of his frame on the small stretch between the library and the tall concrete wall.

Your heart instantly jumped at the mere sight of him adorned on the same uniform he wore the day before. But something didn’t make sense. What is he doing in the main palace—hiding there right after the banquet has ended?

The court lady remained still behind you as you tried to build up the courage to approach him. Perhaps, apologize for your behavior yesterday. But then as he shifted on his feet, you caught a glimpse of a hanbok across him— appearing nothing like the clothing of any man. A lady.

“You have the freedom to choose any woman in your life.”

Your own words hurriedly came rushing back on you, nearly losing your footing when the weight on your chest grew heavier. You couldn’t breathe.

“Princess—” you jumped at the sound of a low baritone voice from behind, the same voice you’ve known by heart since you were little. 

Sheepishly, you turned to face your brother, his forehead crumpled causing his eyebrows to meet into a line.

“You looked like you’ve seen an apparition,” Prince Taehyung jests, with his face remaining passive without a trace of playfulness despite his obvious teasing.

That’s because you did! You seethed, internally. With an ugly emotion slowly seeping through your veins, you find it difficult to display indifference as if something—someone was not putting you in an emotional distress.

“Your Excellency,” you greeted half-heartedly.

“You are aware about the luncheon tomorrow, right? I am expecting you in my courtyard, little flower.”

“Of course,” You briefly answered. His face finally stretched into a grin, ruffling your neatly braided hair before bidding a farewell.

When you spun back to peer at the spot where Jungkook and his female companion were standing— nothing. No one was there anymore. Jungkook is gone, and so is the lady he was with.

The scene remained etched in your brain the rest of your day. Being unable to stay still in the confines of your quarters, you decided to do readings in in the library.

You were alone, just like what you have asked to your attendants, with the exception of a guard outside. Shortly after going through the shelves in the House of Yi section, you once again stumbled upon a book of biographical sketches after secretly reading the book several years ago. The sight of it alone refreshes your memory of the things you have discovered written in the pages of the books—specifically about Princess Moyoung, your grandfather’s eldest sister who slowly died in the hands of her husband who was born from a fourth class family.

It was said to be the matter that pressured the next royal generations to marry off any king’s daughter to a yangban which was prohibited prior to the princess’ unfortunate case to avoid any arising political conflicts.

It was the same thought that bothered you even when you had gone back in your quarters, bathed, and dressed in your night robe. If your father were still living, would he insist on keeping you in the palace? Or would he allow your supposed matrimonial union with Jimin over one with Jungkook?

However, you understand that either selection is a sacrifice. Life is about losing something to gain something else. You know what will be taken from you if you were to possibly end up with Jungkook. But what could you have possibly gained if you were to lose the man who owns your soul? An extravagant life with the prince?

The ache in your heart has sat idly in your chest since this morning. Your time in the library seemed to have worsened your distress as pain starts to sear in your head.

You stood up. Your attendant mimicking your movement to smoothen the sleeves of your silk robe. “I do not wish to be followed,” you simply say. They crouched their upper body low, conveying a silent message of obedience.

As you pass through the L-shaped corridor leading to the outdoor of your quarters, the rectangular hallway making up the main pathway of the courtyard is eerily quiet and empty. With subtle luminance provided by the light torches on each post you passed by, it was just as exactly the way you expected Gyeongbok during this time around. The reason why you chose to be alone since no one else will run into your way this time of night.

However, at your third turn, just as you enter the borderline of the queen’s courtyard, you hear a distinct sound of door opening from afar followed by the heavy, collective footsteps ringing in the air. As the footsteps grew louder, you hurriedly ran to the side of the greenhouse to hide, afraid of being seen without a companion to look after your care.

“Your Majesty!”

You bite your lip as your heartbeat picks up at the sound of a male voice—assumingly the queen’s eunuch, as if in desperation to stop Her Majesty to wherever she intends to go at this hour.

You didn’t know how long you were hiding there at the side of the greenhouse but it wasn’t long enough for you to be able to hold your breath until the traces of the footsteps were fading.

When any sign of human sound was out of earshot, you finally heave a sigh out of relief, taking a solid peek through the corner of the wooden wall to confirm your guess. Considering the pathway clear and safe from any presence, you cautiously proceed back to your footpath.

Merely focused on either side of your vision, you failed to sense that someone was making their way onto your direction. Their presence became known only when your arm was snatched from behind and a calloused palm right away covered your mouth, losing your chance to call for help. Panic immediately surges through your veins, your shock causing you to freeze momentarily.

Even without having a single look at your perpetrator, the feel of his thick arm around your waist lets you know you don’t stand a chance against their immense built and incredible strength. Just as you recovered from your shock, you frantically squirmed about against their hold but the more you struggle, the tighter their arm gets around your waist, pulling you flushed against their body.

“Why is Lady Yi- being punished?” Demanded Queen Soheon the moment she stepped foot inside the King’s quarters.

King Namjoon sprang up to his feet to meet her half-way, concern stirring immediate in him at the sight of his wife, noting the way her voice unusually croaked and holding such heavy emotion. He silently curses, taking notice how upset she had seemed to be over the scandal the concubine had caused all to herself.

“Sit down, my love. You shouldn’t allow your emotions to run high, it’s not good for your condition.”

Queen Soheon is always calm and graceful no matter how grave the situation is. He had not once witnessed her lose her innate grace ever since he married her, with the exception of the times he was intimate with her.

“Why?” She repeated, her eyes burning with fire.

“My love—”

“Jeonha, please… stop with your sweet filters and answer me why you didn’t stop them from forcing her to drink the medicine?”

He sighs just as he attempted to place her in his embrace. To his dismay, she pulled a good amount of distance between them, clearly setting the line of her anger on the matter, right straight to him.

How can he possibly be sure you would never find this matter out when only a slip of a tongue can give her the idea of what transpired some hours ago.

“You know I cannot disrespect Halma-mama’s power when it comes to the women in the inner court.”

As the Grand Royal Dowager Queen holds the highest rank in the inner court, it would only be necessary to say his grandmother ordered the punishment, when in fact it was never her idea to impose a harsh discipline on the concubine. However, the appeal of the elders in the inner court to decide on the fate of her unlawful conceiving resulted in a consensus decision to abort the unborn child. Unless the queen is proven to be sterile, the inner court strictly prohibits the harem to carry a King’s child. 

“She is carrying your child!”

He knows that, very well. But he wished his wife would refrain from carrying the weight of her emotions as it might put a toll on her health and consequently affect their unborn child. “Calm down,” King Namjoon prompted cautiously.

He could never forgive himself for failing to protect his unborn child from being stripped off the chance to live in a world where his/her father rules out a kingdom. Never in this lifetime and in the next would he ever learn to spare himself the forgiveness.

“You know, Lady Li and I are both with child. If I were not your queen, you’d simply allow them to get rid of my child, would you not?”

He reaches out, once more. “No, no. Of course, not. Not under my watch.”

But the queen was quick enough to retract from the close proximity.

Perhaps, he was right. He cannot have the power to overrule the inner court, but why does his words feel insincere? It made her suddenly fear for her own child’s life despite the position she holds. When her mother warned her about the sickening life in the palace and the doctrines in the inner court, she never thought it would come to this extent.

How can she look at his family and pretend everything is alright. One wrong move and might lose her child as well.

All too suddenly, she could feel herself slowly being overwhelmed with disgust, needing the urge to throw up.  

She couldn’t stand being here, to see anyone just yet. She fixes a glare at her attendants, warning them not to follow her. Her eyes lingered on him for a second before she took a swift turn, exiting her way out of the vicinity.

With quick strides, he followed her trail, only to spin back around, skimming through each one of servants in his quarters.

“No one must follow me or the queen,” his eyes particularly burned at his eunuch. “Do you understand?” He glowered, not waiting for them to answer as he too disappeared into the halls of his royal residence.

When you felt their grasp loosening, you began thrashing out as fear dominated your senses. Even with their hand pressed firmly on your mouth, you could hear your own sobs croaking out of your throat. And as if your pellucid fear had triggered them to stiffen, their hold around your waist loosened. But the adrenaline running in your senses all vanished the moment they finally spoke.

“Jagiya.”

Your eyes went round, recognizing the owner of the voice. He lets his hand fall from your mouth. 

”J-Jungkook?” you hesitated. While you remained flushed against his body, you couldn’t be sure of their identity.

Swiftly, he spun you around to confirm your assumption for yourself. The light torches were a little far where you two stood but there was no denying it was him, judging by the little features of his face you could make out through the help of the vibrant moon lighting up in the sky behind him.

Yet, his action had already shaken you up, feeling the loud beating of your heart. All of your emotional baggage rushing all at once, you couldn’t help but lash out to him, seeing his chest as a target to release all your frustrations.

“Why did you do that?! I thought I was being kidnapped,” you anguished, horror remained etched on your face.

He took all your hits without a fight as guilt all too sudden consumed him after realizing the effect of what he had done. “I’m sorry, Jagiya. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmurs, drying the moisture on the corners of your eyes with his thumbs. The moon was like a spotlight focused solely on yours, giving him the clear view of your weary face.

It wasn’t long before you calmed down. Now, all you feel is shame as your anger washes out of your system with every hit of your fist against his chest. Your head bobbed lower, “Just... don’t do that, again.”

Hearing him whisper a promise not to repeat the same mistake, you all but give him a curt nod, allowing the silence to fill in the moment.

Jungkook, once again, made you upset, the second time he had gotten himself close to you after his return to the capital. Must he keep making you in anguish just whenever he’s around you? It was wrong of him to catch your attention the way he had just done when he could’ve simply called you out to do it. But after seeing the queen and her maids passing by the same path you’re about to take, he didn’t want to make an unnecessary sound in case anyone’s lurking around without him seeing through the vicinity covered in almost pitch black.

He wondered why you seemed determined to go on your way despite going on around without a company. 

“Where are you going—”

“What are you doing here—”

You stilled just as he was surprised to hear you spoke the same time he decided to break the silence.

“I saw you going out of your quarters.” He simply answered. It was true. He left the festive banquet at the east to randomly visit your residence. He knew it would be unnecessary to invite himself into the premises so he just stood there, particularly waiting for nothing to kill time before he leaves the palace.

But then he saw the outermost doors of your residence opening, revealing none other than the subject of his thoughts. Then the rest was history.

“W-What? Are you spying on me?”

“Spying?” He chuckles at your choice of your words. He would’ve honestly accepted stalking better. “The banquet’s getting too loud to my liking. I’d rather spend my time with you. Mayhaps, luck is finally on my side when I saw you just in time— going out.”

Hearing his words earned a scoff from you. Wasn't he just with a woman this morning? Not to mention, it was one of the reasons why you randomly sought the need to breathe in some fresh air on a cold, winter night.

“I guess if you’re not distracted with your prince, you would have immediately caught the sound of my footing. Where are you going, anyway? Will you go see him?”

Your mouth parted in disbelief, “You didn’t hear anything from me when you were the one hiding with a woman just this morning.”

Hiding with a woman? For a second, his forehead crumpled in thought, recalling his activities prior to this moment. He couldn’t seem to remember when he actually hid with a woman. He didn’t even talk to any woman earlier in the morning, except for a friend—

“Ahh,” He hums in understanding, “Jagi, I’m not hiding with Mina—”

“Mina?”

He recalls speaking with Mina after the latter who belonged to the group of gisaengs during the banquet who recognized him inside the reception and was only able to catch up after him at the entrance main palace. Mina enthusiastically dragged him behind the closest infrastructure to briefly speak to him in peace without potentially attracting an audience.

“I met her a long time ago. Jagiya—“

“Forget it,” you immediately dismissed, but with him not missing the way color bloomed on your cheeks. “It’s not my business to hold it against you. You’re free to do as you wish.”

Are you being serious? How can you think he can be possibly interested to another woman? 

He tilts your chin up so he can see your pretty eyes, clearly. “What are you saying, Jagiya? I thought we’ve already established that I’m yours. Have I not?”

He heard no answer from you, but didn’t miss the subtle shake of your head.

“No?” He echoes, the frown on his face deepens. Still, you refused to speak nor return the heavy weight of his peer.

“Our lovemaking wasn’t enough, was it?” His sudden brought up to the matter which should never be spoken of made you dart your eyes back up at him. There it was again, the same emotions reflecting in your eyes the morning when you put a cold shoulder at him. He couldn’t quite decipher the signals you were giving him.

“Jungkook, we’re not together anymore.”

“Then would you rather be with the prince over me?”

You look away, even though you really wanted to give an answer. 

“I haven’t seen your beautiful smile since I came back, Jagi. But you were smiling a lot around him. Gods, was I jealous when you showed him of such privilege I was deprived of.” He groans, slowly inching his face closer, as if testing your reaction to his advance.

He took your lack of withdrawal as a sign to keep going. Silently, you gave him the freedom to intrude your personal space.

“You saw us,” you murmur, confirming it to yourself more than throwing it as a question to him.

Your jaw went slack, shamelessly anticipating for his lips to touch yours. Closer. Until your noses bumping, his mouth a breath away from touching your plump lips. It almost happened. Almost. Because just as he shifts his head a centimeter forward, finally capturing your awaiting lips with his, a cry of protest loudly resonated through the air, echoing as the sound bounces back from the empty silence.

“Stop following me!” The voice was undoubtedly owned by a woman.

If Jungkook didn’t recognize  the voice, you certainly did. Her voice was too familiar for you not to identify her as the Queen, forcing you to draw back from the proximity immediately. Once again, panic courses through you, rapidly consuming your senses as fear worsened your capability to think rationally in a situation such as this.

Your wide eyes stared back Jungkook in a silent plea.

It wasn’t clear to you how far she was from both of you, but the nearing claps of footsteps tells you the queen and whoever was following her are passing by behind the greenhouse. If they decided to take a turn right across where you two stood, they will certainly not miss the sight of you seemingly in a rendezvous with Jungkook.

“I said—Jeonha!”

You gasp, slapping a hand to your mouth, utterly stunned at what you just heard. Jeonha? Does that mean she was addressing her order to your brother?

“The K-King is here...” you stammer.

He hushed you, silently telling you to keep still as he cages you against the outer wall of the greenhouse, as if shielding you from any potential eyesight. He was too close as he let his head hang low just beside the shell of your ear. You could hear his heavy breathing, the warmth oozing naturally from his body seemed to calm your nerves in some way, nearly forgetting about the predicament both of you are in, nearly missing the silence lingering in the air.

Are they gone?

Despite your pellucid reaction, Jungkook seems not one bit shaken by the fact you two are a thread away from being seen together in the dark.

Suddenly, he shifted onto your left, breaking his manmade territory around you to move further away from where you two were supposed to be hiding.

“Jungkook!” you desperately called for his attention in a panicked whisper.

Nervously, you watch his back as he extends his neck to peep behind the greenhouse. It didn’t take him long before he whirled back around, and in a flash, grapples your wrist and dragged you into the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

Though Jungkook could hear the agitation in your tone, he ignored your question, averting his focus to hide you and make no sound at all. The couple turned out to be closer than he had guessed them to be.

Just as he stopped in front of the doors of the greenhouse, he heard you argue about his choice of hiding spot, but ignored you for the second time.

In a calculated shuffling on the rusted bar keeping the twin panel of doors closed, he flicked it up, allowing him to push one of the doors open. The firm grip of his fingers on your waist was all you could focus on as he urged you to enter inside the greenhouse. Carefully, he pushed the door back closed, dragging you with it as he pressed your back against the cold surface. His hands on both sides of your head as he rests his forehead against the door, just above your shoulder. You couldn’t see much of the view behind him because of the lack of light inside. But the moonlight seeping through the transparent roofing of the greenhouse was enough to give you the faintest possible light to make out the features of his frame.

“It was too quiet, isn’t it? I thought the queen and king were gone.”

“We were intruding them,” he simply replied.

“W-What?”

He shifted his head to the side and before you knew it, a pair of warm lips touched yours in fervor. Jungkook has never been this bold before to break your personal space nor touches without asking your permission.

Years without seeing him, you understand that he might have grown into a persona different from what you know of him. When you saw him that weary day after four years, you picked up a sense of strangeness in his aura. Perhaps, it is his confidence or the powerful aura he naturally emits that made you speechless.

Groaning as the feel of your mouth accelerated the temperature of his body, Jungkook deepens the kiss with his tongue pushing passed your parted lips.

The way he held you in place, with his hands on your face and his torso locking you firm against the door, you didn’t expect him to withdraw from the kiss so soon which resulted in a soft breathy whine to slip out of your throat.

“Perhaps that answered your question,” he says, picking up the teasing tone in his voice. Jungkook dipped his head lower, burying his head on the crook of your neck to press a warm, wet kiss on the same spot he bruised purple two nights ago.

grand royal dowager queen - spouse of a former king; presently the king’s grandmother Halma-mama - how the royal grandchildren address their grandmother gongju - title of a princess bubuin - title of princess consort (wife of a prince) gisaeng - female entertainer yangban - any nobleman holding a government position dogam - a committee/body authorized to organize a royal event jinchan - other term for royal banquet soban - other term for a traditional table used in joseon era hanji - other term for traditional korean paper Changdeok - East Palace Gyeongbok - Main Palace/main residence of the royal family

note: after posting 4 chapters of the series, im finally opening a tag list skskssksjsj hahaahaha if u lovelies want to be tagged in the future chapters, send me your url here.

mintseesaw © 2020

[morningfears]

Hiking

Rating: PG-13 (Language, mostly)

Summary: College!Luke and hiking for the 10k celebration. 

Word Count: 2.1k (...this was supposed to be a drabble, whoops)

“Tell me why we’re doing this again.”

You listened to the crunch of gravel beneath Luke’s feet, a signal that he was rounding the car to meet you at the trunk, and bit back a laugh as you reached for the extra water bottle you’d packed because you knew that he was going to forget his own. He’d been whining since you picked him up, a pout on his lips and sunglasses perched on his nose, and you knew that he’d stop the moment you truly got annoyed with him.

For now, though, you were enjoying making fun of him just as much as he was whining.

“It was my turn to pick our activity. I like to hike.” You pressed the bottle into his hands, a saccharine smile on your lips, before you closed the trunk and shrugged. “I also like to see you miserable.”

He turned his head toward you, bright blue eyes hidden by the sunglasses he’d snagged from you years ago, and scowled. “You owe me pancakes for this. It’s so early.”

“It’s nearly ten, Luke.” He waved a hand dismissively when you scoffed, unashamed of his status as the late riser in your friendship, and leaned against the car to take a sip of his water. “Don’t drink too much. If you puke on me, I will murder you. No one will find your body up here.”

Luke snorted at that, his hands moving to tighten the cap on his water bottle before he waved them at the nearly full parking area. “There are literally fifty other people on this trail right now. Someone would find me.”

“Shut up and start moving, yeah?”

Luke breathed an exaggerated sigh and made a show of dragging his feet, sending dust and rocks flying in his wake, but followed you toward the trail. He was joking - that much he made clear when he cracked a grin at your laughter - and you knew that he had no intentions of making the hike miserable for either of you. He was annoyed to be awake so early on his only day off but there was no one he’d rather spend the day with.

And, besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d gone hiking with you.

The first time Luke went hiking with you, you were both freshmen in college and equally shy. You were a friend of a friend of a friend - Ashton was dating your roommate’s older sister - and had somehow gotten roped into going hiking with the group of them. It was Ashton’s idea, to drag all of you out to the middle of nowhere right before fall break, and Luke had only tagged along because Calum and Michael dragged him.

While you weren’t exactly the most social of the bunch, it was clear that you and Ashton were the only ones who’d actually hiked before. Whereas everyone else showed up in black, wearing various old band t-shirts and, in Michael’s bad judgement and mildly hungover case, jeans, the two of you wore actual gym gear and appropriate shoes. 

Luke quickly fell to the back of the pack, happy to be away from the chatter and the attention as he struggled up the mountain, and somewhere along the trip, you fell back with him. He knew that you were capable of beating them all up the mountain - and probably back down, if he had to wager a guess - but you kept pace with him and never even made a face at the sweat that made his t-shirt stick to his skin.

You were halfway up the mountain before either of you spoke - to everyone’s surprise, it was him; he complimented the All Time Low sticker on your water bottle - but it seemed as if neither of you knew how to shut up after that moment.

Your friendship formed quickly, bolstered by your commonalities and strengthened by your differences. If you weren’t in class or at work, you were at Luke’s. And if you weren’t there, the pair of you could usually be found elsewhere together.

When he moved into a frat house and you moved into an apartment, nothing changed. The brothers knew you, just as your roommates knew him, but your nearly nightly outings - to diners, to the movies, to the mall, to the park near campus - shifted to once a week activities that you took turns planning once you both delved deeper into your respective majors.

Luke was your best friend, just as you were his, and you were grateful for the strange hike that brought him into your life. That was, however, to everyone’s surprise, all that you were.

You had a small crush on Luke when you met - even drenched in sweat and struggling to keep himself upright, trudging up the side of a mountain he was cute - but the more you got to know him, the greater your crush grew. He was everything you’d always wanted, all wrapped in an adorable package, but you told yourself early on that you weren’t going to push; whatever happened with Luke, happened.

You knew, deep down, that Luke felt the same. You saw the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You saw the way he blushed when you complimented him or the way he grew flustered whenever anyone pointed out how cute the two of you would be together. Neither of you hid your feelings well but you were content to see where things went.

You always said that you’d rather have him in your life as just a friend than not at all.

Your line of thinking had recently undergone a bit of a shift. You were both approaching your senior year; two semesters away from the great unknown. Luke had plans to stay in the city and work for a record company. You were weighing your options to continue your education and considering leaving to give life elsewhere a shot.

It hurt, thinking that you’d be separated from Luke after so long of him being your only constant, but you knew that you either needed to make a move or move on.

“Alright, you haven’t said a word in almost a mile. Stop thinking, start talking.”

Luke’s words, said through huffs of air forced past his lips, broke you from your thoughts and you blinked when you noticed just how far down the trail you’d made it. You were glad you’d chosen one so familiar - the one you hiked the first time you met and found yourself returning to, time and time again - as you’d mostly relied on muscle memory to make it this far.

“Nothing to talk about. Just stressing over that Media Law final. Baker’s a dickhead and is going to make it unnecessarily difficult.” You knew that you should tell Luke the truth, spill your worries as you normally did, but you couldn’t force the words out.

It was easier this way, to continue on as you had for the past few years, and pretend that the heartache blossoming in your chest wasn’t real.

“Bullshit.” Luke stopped, nudged you to the side of the trail to let others pass, and met your eyes to search them. “That was your sad face. Baker gets the mad face. What’s up? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Of course I do, Luke.” The words fell past your lips readily, confident and clear, because you knew that. You knew that you could talk to Luke about absolutely anything and he would be there to listen. You knew that he’d never judge or laugh, not if it was a serious discussion, and that helped calm the raging sea of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

But nothing could quell the ache that settled in your bones when he looked at you the way he was.

He had a habit of looking at you like you were the one who hung the stars and moon. His eyes, usually unfocused as he zoned out, were clear and bright and shining with an admiration that rolled off him in waves. Whenever he looked at you like that, right in the eye, he always had a hand on you in some way. This time, he had one hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek.

“What happens next May?”

Luke blinked, confused by the question. “Next May? After graduation?” When you nodded, your eyes flicking between his own and the sand beneath your feet, he shifted his weight and nodded slowly. “I’m staying here and you… You’re going to do something amazing. You might stay here, you might move to fucking Siberia. But whatever you do, you’re going to do it well because that’s just the kind of person you are, honey. You can’t half-ass anything, even if you try.”

Luke grinned when that got a small laugh but it was quickly replaced with a frown when you shook your head. “That’s not what I meant.” You trailed off, almost embarrassed to ask, before the words escaped your lips in a near whisper. “What happens to us?”

That was a question Luke had long considered. He, too, wondered what would happen to you both as you moved into the working world and farther away from one another. He wondered what would happen if you left the city. He wondered how he would continue on without seeing you every day.

And he realized that he didn’t want that.

“We’ll still be us,” he answered finally, his voice just as quiet as yours had been. “We’ll see each other every minute we can and if you decide to go somewhere else, we’ll FaceTime so much that we might as well just livestream our lives to each other. If you leave, I’ll come visit whenever I can and you know you’ll always have a place to stay with me if you want to come back. Nothing will change for us after graduation because I love you and I won’t let it.”

Before you could speak, before you could ask him if he really believed that was possible, Luke continued speaking.

“You know that I mean that in every sense of the word. You’re my best friend and I love you but you know that I also love you with a  capital ‘L’. Being friends with you is something I’d never change but I don’t want to spend our last guaranteed year together wondering what could be. I don’t want to just dream about kissing you, I want to actually kiss you. I want to wake up to you asking me to go hiking and kiss you to convince you to stay in bed. I want to hold your hand and wake up beside you every morning. I want to be the annoying couple everyone already thinks we are because it’s us. And it always has been.”

It felt as if a weight was lifted from your chest as Luke rambled, words spilling past his lips in a rush. He was passionate, certain, and braver than you ever could be. He took the first step, just when you were beginning to think neither of you would ever make it there, and the only way you could think to respond was with a kiss.

Pressing your lips to Luke’s didn’t send fireworks erupting across the sky nor did it feel as if the earth was going to shatter at your feet. It did, however, feel as if you were exactly where you were meant to be. You were wrapped in his arms, hands tangled in his curls, and nothing had ever felt more right.

You were upset that you’d wasted so much time, waiting for life to just happen. But, as you pulled away and rested your forehead against Luke’s, you decided that nothing else mattered anymore. The future, the one where you and Luke existed and everything else came as it would, was all that mattered.

Luke, with his bright grin and flushed cheeks, grabbed your hand and began tugging you back the way you’d come. With a laugh, you dug your heels into the ground and shook your head. “Nope. Finish hike first. Then, we go to my place and shower.”

“You’re going to make your boyfriend hike two more miles?”

“For every half mile you finish, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Make it every quarter and I get to touch your butt.”

“Shut up and start hiking, Hemmings.”

With another grin in your direction, Luke returned his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and kept his hand in yours as he tugged you along down the path. In the future, there would be more hikes and more kisses.

And neither of you could wait.

___________________________________

Author’s Note: ....there’s not as much hiking in this as I wanted but I got started and it, uh, had a mind of its own. Anyway, two fics in like a week? Who am I?

[eeveevie]

dream theory

From this prompt list: marcid - incredibly exhausted

Thank you, @mizlapes​! That’s what I am all the damn time so I can draw great inspiration for this prompt. May have gone overboard in responding and elaborated far more than I needed to. But I’m also world building a bit, since I decided to go for another story with Rosie and Butch :D 

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2240 words | [read on Ao3]

Rosie knew she was asleep—she always knew when she was asleep—a talent she had discovered in adolescence after reading about lucid dreaming in her father’s science textbooks. Perhaps the reading was advanced for her age, but nonetheless she was able to trick her mind. Ever since, she had been able to control her dreams on most nights. She was typically a heavy sleeper and the combination made her sleep-cycles very intense when things went awry. And lately, her dreams weren’t going the way she wanted them to.

That evening, she had tried to go to sleep at a reasonable time but found her mind was too restless. In an effort to not disturb her housemate, Rosie snuck downstairs and cozied up in the corner of the couch with her journal, carefully detailing the last few days from memory. She glanced back up at the second story rafters, thinking if she focused hard enough she might hear Butch snoring through his closed bedroom door. She had given him the spare room after weeks of him hogging the sofa—he was starting to develop a strain in his neck on account of the fact he was too tall to sleep on it properly. It was still so bizarre to Rosie that this was where her life had led her—kicked out of the vault and shacked up with Butch DeLoria.

It wasn’t all bad though—he pulled his weight (even if she had to encourage him sometimes), could clean and cook and was surprisingly good company. After the prom stunt, Rosie had been walking on eggshells, carefully guarding her emotions as to not accidentally reveal or do something stupid. She didn’t want to jeopardize what was starting to become a good friendship between the two, something they missed out on while growing up in the vault. She was convinced that with a little bit of time and logic her crush would dissipate and that one day she’d laugh about how ridiculous it all was.

Rosie hadn’t realized she’d been dictating some of these sentiments in her notebook and contemplated crossing them out when her eyes became heavy. She shifted, leaning her head against the back of the couch for a moment as she rested her journal against her curled-up knees. Being that it was well past midnight, it couldn’t hurt to rest her eyes for a while and attempt to traverse the dreamscape once more. As the darkness enveloped her, she struggled to maintain focus, trying to craft a pleasant atmosphere for herself. Instead, all she could see was the Capital Wasteland—particularly the Arlington Cemetery.

Her body was moving on its own, soft whispers echoing around her and metal creaking that she wanted to say was just the Megaton home adjusting around her. Frantically she tried to snap open her eyes but found herself paralyzed—a slight panic settled over her and she reminded herself to breathe or it would only be made worse. She floated through the gravesites towards a back plot where a strange man stood with a shovel overlooking a freshly dug grave. He motioned for her to get in, to which she struggled to lean away—something was preventing her.

“Hey,” he spoke. The voice sounded familiar, too quiet to tell. But it didn’t match the unknown, almost faceless man she was staring at. “Come on.”

Rosie couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. Again she resisted when the man reached out for her, this time his hands making contact with her arms—it sent a shockwave through her system in how it felt so real. She twisted her body, struggling to wiggle herself free but ultimately could not.

“Damnit, Rosie.”

How did the man know her name? She supposed it was a dream concocted by her brain, the imaginary assailant should know. He gently shook her, his touch a contrast to what her mind was leading her to believe. She responded by pushing her hands out to grab him by the shoulders, gripping tightly as she willed herself to speak, to scream. She didn’t want to get in the grave, even if she knew it wasn’t real. The man shook her again, repeating her name.

Finally, with a sharp inhale, she snapped open her eyes and found her body reacting to delayed signals. Whomever was hovering over her got the brunt and she gripped their arms tightly, nearly headbutting them in an attempt to leap off the couch.

“Jesus!” Butch yelped, his hands tightening around her shoulders as he set her back on the couch before she could get too far. She stared up at him, a mix of shock and embarrassment—caught in the midst of a nightmare and why was he so damn close? “Holy shit, Stitches! You alright?”

Rosie swallowed hard, flexing her fingers when she realized she still had them wrapped around his biceps in a death-grip. He was wearing his white t-shirt, no leather jacket to cover up the muscles beneath, allowing her to get more than a good feel at his skin. When she felt her ears heating up, she let go, snapping her hands back to her sides. Butch seemed more focused on what had just occurred, assuring she wasn’t going to move before taking a hesitant step back.

“Got up to take a piss and saw you down here in the dark,” he explained with a shrug. “Wondered why you weren’t asleep. Didn’t realize you kinda were,” he scratched at the back of his head, and she noted the way his hair was hanging un-styled in bedhead waves. “Didn’t mean to scare ya’”    

She rolled her eyes at his vulgarity but crossed her arms to rub at her shoulders at the strange, underlying kindness in his words. He could’ve just stayed upstairs and ignored her but there he was, making an effort again and unknowingly chipping away at the defenses around her heart. Butch bent over to scoop up her journal that had dropped from her lap in his attempt to rouse her. At first, Rosie was convinced he would flip through it and see that she had been recently (and not so recently) been writing about him but to her surprise he very quickly handed it back to her with a smirk.

“I ain’t no snoop,” he said proudly.

She’d forgive him for the double-negative—turned out Butch could learn manners, but grammar and speech etiquette would have to come later. He sat down on the sofa next to her, the cushion shifting under his weight. Rosie moved, tucking her legs under herself and wrapping her arms around her knees as she leaned back into the corner—physically blocking him from coming any closer. He mimicked her, resting against the back padding so he could face her—their knees and arms knocked together in the small space.

“What’s got you so startled?” he asked.

She shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. They were too curious, and they were too close for her comfort. She didn’t mean to be evasive in her answer. “I’m not sure.”

“Pfft,” Butch replied, furrowing his brows. The back of his hand lightly smacked against her knee. “Don’t you have an answer for everything, smarty-pants?”

Rosie scrunched up her nose at the nickname, shaking her head. With a sigh, she nuzzled her head into the back-couch cushion. “Not for nightmares. Dream analysis isn’t medical science. That’s phycology, and even then it’s a very specialized form of phycology. Practically a pseudoscience.”

“Again with the big words,” Butch teased, smiling. “You saying you don’t know why you were so scared because of a nightmare? Or that you need to study a nightmare to find out why you were so scared?”

“A little of column a, little of column b,” she responded, hiding her amusement when she noted the confusion in his expression. “My…journal is filled with dream evaluations. I haven’t been sleeping well, which is unusual, and I’ve noted an increase in night-terrors and sleep paralysis.”

“Sleep—wha?” Butch questioned, eyebrows raised.

Rosie shifted uncomfortably. “It typically happens when you are waking up and are aware of your surroundings but are unable to move or speak. You hallucinate things that are not really present, almost like you are trapped between imagination and reality. It can be very frightening.”

He bristled. “Jeeze, Stitches. If you ain’t got enough shit to deal with.”

She tightened the hold around her knees. What she wouldn’t divulge was the guilt she felt surrounding the sudden appearance of said nightmares. For months she had been sleeping blissfully, almost as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Even after her father died and while she grieved, sleep came naturally—it was only very recently that she had become plagued by visions of darkness and death—and she wanted to know why. Why now, and not sooner? Psyche wasn’t a perfect science, but she was determined to narrow down a cause like the pragmatic scientist she was.

“Hey uh,” Butch started, pulling her from her thoughts. His hand was tapping against her knee again, fingers tugging against her cotton sweatpants. “I got a theory.”

Rosie quirked up an eyebrow, wondering if her vocabulary had started to rub off on him after all. He sneered at her for a split second in teasing as if he noticed her subtle shift in expression. “Yeah, so, maybe dreams are just dreams and that’s all that’s to ‘em. Don’t let nothin’ in some fancy textbooks tell you otherwise.”

For once, Butch’s advice was actually good. Maybe Rosie was too much in her head about her own thoughts and dreams. If all she did was obsess over every minute of her sleep-cycle, she’d be playing into the mad-scientist trope he’d been teasing her about for over a decade. Subconsciously, she adjusted her glasses and ran her fingers across her notebook.

“Writing is a good distraction,” she tapped the worn cover.

Butch softly laughed, and she realized his hand had moved to rest against hers. Their knuckles brushed with the contact, the heat of his skin radiating up her arm. Rosie resisted the urge to overreact, steadying herself—she really needed to get a grip of her feelings quickly if they were going to continue living under the same roof, let alone continue to travel together.

“A good distraction is a drink,” he suggested. With his other hand he gutted his thumb over his shoulder. “Moriarty’s is still open. Two of us could get a nightcap in, whadd’ya say?”

For starters, she didn’t drink, and Butch knew that. But that certainly didn’t stop him from persisting on occasion, wondering when she’d drop the goodie-two-shoes act. They weren’t living in the vault anymore and didn’t have to follow some Overseer’s rules about abstaining from alcohol while underage. Matter of fact, they didn’t have to abstain from a lot of things—Rosie decided to not let her mind wander. Secondly, she wondered if he knew the implications or innuendo behind what he said—likely not—she blushed, thinking maybe she had read into his words instead.

“No thank you, Butch,” she declined politely, smiling at his overdramatic pout. “I appreciate the offer, even if you should’ve anticipated my answer.” She made to glance at her wrist for the time when she realized she wasn’t wearing her Pip Boy, the device left on her nightstand. Butch wasn’t wearing his either.

“It’s late,” she continued, guessing it had to be early morning. “A better idea is for you to go to sleep.”

He shook his head, leaning closer. “I ain’t goin’ to sleep unless you are too.”

“You are stubborn,” Rosie sighed, allowing a tiny smile to pull at the corner of her lips.

Butch smirked. “So are you.”

He shifted, pushing himself off the couch to stand before offering his hand to her. She gripped it, allowing him to hoist her upright even though she was perfectly capable of doing so herself. The two stood there for a lingering moment, hands gripped just staring at one another and Rosie thought back to just a few weeks earlier when they had been slow dancing in that very spot—how she had imagined what it would be like if they kissed. She wouldn’t dare to make that kind of bold move and there was no rational part of her mind that convinced her that Butch wanted any such thing—even if he didn’t seem eager to let go of her hand.

He nodded his head towards the stairs, and she followed his lead, glancing down at their clasped hands as they walked. Butch didn’t’ release his grip until they were outside their adjacent doors, turning to face her with a grin.

“Remember what I said,” he gestured to the journal tucked under her arm before moving his hand up to brush against her forehead. It was hard to tell if it was affectionate or playful. “Try not to worry that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

Rosie felt her cheeks go warm, and desperately tried to think of a witty comeback but the silence had stretched on for too long. She was destined to always be the quiet, fumbling nerd. Except now it was made much worse with her seemingly unrequited crush. She offered a tiny smile. “Goodnight, Butch.”

He returned the expression in kind, leaning against his doorway as he watched her shut herself away behind the closed door. “Goodnight, Rosie.”

[araminia16]

Not An Illness After All (Third Trimester)

XxOxX

After the third bathroom trip in what seemed to be only a few minutes Rayla glared down at the bump which housed her growing child. She could no longer see her feet. As far as she knew they didn’t exist except when they ached in time with her back and the struggle when she put footwear on and off.

Almost as if in response she received a strong kick to her rib. “Cheeky thing.” She huffed then glanced upward to find a servant across the hall from where she stood at the doorway to her room. “What are you looking at then?”

The servant quickly scurried away from her wrath and she began to walk through the castle. The training ground. That’s where she could just relax and not worry about Callum and his attentive anxious aura or Claudia’s gaze or the glare from other Moonshadow elves as they took in her state and the reason for it.

Claudia ended up on the convoy to the Moonshadow elf capital and once they arrived she had hardly been seen since in the open but Rayla knew the corners from which she hid herself.

She and Callum were ambassadors and as such received lavish accommodations though she tried to ignore the way the other elves whispered and looked her way. At this stage there was nothing to hide. None of her old clothes fit anymore and her once slim musculature of her abdomen devolved into this ball shaped mass. Her center of gravity changed with each day and the things she had been able to do in the stage before she was unable to now. Her tree travel ended up with a rolled ankle and a trip to the healer here in Xadia with a frantic Callum at her back. There was no way she wanted to have a repeat of such an embarrassment. So now her feet remained firmly on the ground though they did not remain idle as she still jogged at least a mile a day and practiced her sword forms as well as balance exercises to keep her body in shape. The head healer here Terlynna told her exercise would be good for her child as well as herself to prepare her for the arduous task of childbirth. At least Callum had embraced what she said with vigor not that she would ever be truly lazy regardless.

The training yard was much like the one in Katolis and much like the one she had trained on as she grew with Runaan. Her new shoes allowed her to feel much of the earth beneath her and she rolled her toes before she started up her jog. It was strange to feel all the weight of the child and fluids within her belly with each measured movement of her body. The support sash given to her by Terlynna helped immensely with the back pain as well. As the jog ended she went directly to the sword post and drew a practice blade or tried to when a younger male stopped her. “Shouldn’t you be in your rooms knitting or something?”

“What does it matter to ya?” She fired back and pulled the wooden blade from the rack.

“I don’t even know why they let you come back. You failed in killing the king and his son then you brought a human into Xadia to steal our magic. You should be locked up as a traitor, not married to their royalty. Or was that your plan all along?”

“Why don’t ya mind your own business before ya get hurt.” Her hiss took the male aback and for a moment she thought her threat would leave her in peace but nothing ever went as planned.

“Even that thing in your belly isn’t natural. It will probably die after birth anyway so I don’t know why you would go through all this trouble for it.”

Rayla knew she didn’t have much in the way of experience when it came to mothers. She often had doubts about what sort of mother she would make but she couldn't’ stop her hand from it’s path with the wooden sword as it hit solid flesh with a satisfying crack. The sound of his pain as he fell back and hit the ground with a thud was like music to her ears as she stood over him with menace. “I gave ya a chance didn’t I? Then you had to say something about my baby. Listen here, boy. If you so much as look my way again while I’m here I will break so many bones you won’t be able to carry a weapon much less talk again. Do ya understand me?”

The boy nodded and held his bloody nose as some other younger trainees hauled him up.

“Anyone else have a problem with me or my baby?” When no one else answered, “Good. Let’s keep it that way then.” It wasn’t until later in the safety of her room and Callum’s arms she cried.

The next day there were so many apologies from the Consul’s staff she thought she might vomit or thwack them upside the head too while she nearly had to chase Callum away from her. He actually wanted to go back to the boy who accosted her and throw him around with his power a bit. Though it would have made her happy she told him it would be a bad idea for a human to do such things to an elf with their peace so new still.

In the end he agreed grumpily and rubbed her back and feet properly as she lounged and gorged herself on Moonberries.

It was in the garden where Claudia found her of all places. A moment of peace secluded in the trees of her homeland. “Hello, Rayla.”

“Claudia.” Came the guarded reply.

“I heard about the thing in the yard.”

“It seems like everyone has. What do ya want?” Straight to the point there was no sense in making small talk as far as Rayla was concerned.

“I just wanted to talk to you. Maybe get to know you a little bit since you married Callum and all.”

“That was a role you expected to take, right?” Rayla didn’t bother to hide much of the bite of jealousy from her tone.

“I know you have a lot of really good reasons to be on your guard but please don’t do that.” Claudia came around to sit on the bench across from her.

Rayla put hand atop her belly to comfort the suddenly active child within. “Do what?”

“Attack me. It’s not fair and you know it. That stuff has been in the past for a long time now and I would rather not bring it up. Though if you want to know Callum had always been my friend and I knew he liked me but I also knew that we probably wouldn’t last as a couple. Not with his disdain for Dark Magic and I think you two are actually a really good match. You compliment each other way better than he and I could have. It was just a crush. Mostly one sided but I wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t been. He’s got a thing for the unattainable I think.”

Claudia looked so sincere that Rayla loosened up at little bit, “Well I also have other reasons ta not like you much. With the whole trying to kill me thing...quite a few times actually.” Rayla had been about to count on her hand but decided against it. There were too many. She would have to include toes too.

“Yeah. I’m really sorry about all that too. I just feel so out of place in Katolis and here but that’s because there’s elves everywhere. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore, you know. I grew up there my whole life and I feel like it’s all gone now.”

Strangely Rayla knew exactly what she meant, “Yeah. I’m back in Xadia but since I married Callum and ‘betrayed’ everyone I feel like everyone’s judging me. Especially with this little wee thing in me. They keep thinking it’s some kind of monster but I can tell it’s only got two legs and two arms and probably a head in there somewhere. But I can’t help but wonder if they’re right. What if it can’t live?” Why she confessed such things to the women in front of her she didn’t know but the way Claudia looked at her only made her feel more vulnerable.

“I didn’t know that.” She uttered quietly though her look now pensive as she offered Rayla a small smile, “I’m sure everything will be fine. Does it move a lot?”

“Constantly especially while I’m trying to sleep. It likes it when I run and move sort of like i’m rocking it to sleep.”

“Is it moving now?”

“A bit.” Rayla paused, “I suppose you want ta feel it then?”

Claudia looked guilty but put her hands up, “Well I do but I wasn’t going to ask you. That’s really personal and I don’t know if we could even be that personal anyway.” She had started to ramble a little after that when Rayla sighed. The elf reached over and sntached the wrist of the other girl in hand to place it atop her belly.

It warmed her heart when she felt her child kick against Claudia's palm. Claudia jerked a little and looked in open mouthed shock at the place where her hand rested. There was a quiet wonder in bright eyes as it happened again and this time she smiled and Rayla heard a quiet giggle. “Holy cow. It kicks really hard. Do you know what it is? Well of course you don’t. It’s not here yet. Do you think you know what it is? What do you want?” The questions were rapid fire as Rayla released Claudia’s hand and the other woman sat back in anticipation of the answers. It reminded her a little of Callum.

“I haven't thought much about it. I just hope it’s healthy. Callum thinks it’s a boy. I’m not sure if that’s because men have an obsession with a carrying on the bloodline or something ridiculous.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty dumb honestly. But I think you have a preference. You just don’t want to jinx it.”

Rayla felt her child kick but didn’t answer the question, “What about you? Do ya have any men in mind?”

Claudia gave a slow, sly smile, “Maybe.”

Rayla leaned back to listen. Maybe Claudia wasn’t quiet so bad after all.

$#$#$#

Callum sighed as he felt the steady thump of their child’s feet on his back. It amazed him how hard such a little thing could kick and from the even breaths on the nape of his neck he knew she slept deeply now even if his abuser didn’t. Callum managed to wiggle away from Rayla without her awakening and he silently congratulated himself even though he was sure she was just exhausted and sore from her continued punishment on her body.

There was nothing he could say to make her slow down but she wouldn’t be Rayla if she did.

He scooted down the bed until he lay face to rounded belly. The loose shirt she wore to bed had ridden up to expose round purple flesh  and half of her belly button. He could see the bulge just under her skin and muscle where he rested. Or she. He would secretly call the baby ‘he’ until they knew for sure. Right now he lay on the bed where his mother positioned herself and each kick shifted the shirt a minute amount but he could see where her skin poked out and it fascinated him. One time when they lay in bed he watched as his son rolled from one side of Rayla’s belly to the other with fascinated horror and an exclamation to match. To Rayla it was business as usual and so she laughed at his utter shock of something actually being alive in there. Something alive that moved constantly from the way she talked about it. It would be so interested to be pregnant but he didn’t have any wish to be in her shoes.

Elven pregnancies, he learned were shorter than human ones at thirty four- thirty six weeks where humans usually lasted longer. Maybe it was the less fingers but he had to hide from a projectile when she learned she might actually have to be pregnant longer than she thought with a half human child. Right now she was thirty two weeks along and he thought she looked better than she ever had. It was a testosterone thing but he didn’t care.

“Hey.” He whispered to his child. “Could you take it easy on your mom and me? She’s pretty tired and grumpy and you have a crazy hard kick. I think I might actually have a bruise or something tomorrow. I bet you’ll be just like your mom. Kicking serious butt all the time or maybe like me because I can’t even lift a sword properly. Or you might not be like either of us but whatever you do just know we will always love you and be so proud of you. But for right now you should get some sleep. You have some more growing to do before we get to meet you for real.”

“Who are ya talking to you loon?” Rayla mumbled sleepily from above as she shifted and sat up on her elbow to stare at him through bleary eyes.

“Your child was kicking me in the back.”

“Welcome to my life. It’s always kicking me somewhere. Speaking of I think I need some help. I feel like a whale and I probably look like one too.”

“You look beautiful.” His response was automatic, “Trust me.” He moved up and over her legs to help her sit then stand up.

“Yeah well you are the one who got us in this mess to begin with.”

“It takes two you know.”

“Shut it.” She meandered over to the door.

“That’s the hallway.” He called out just before she turned the knob and he could hear her sigh of irritation as she turned and went to the other door.

Callum smiled as he leaned over to his side of the bed and pulled out his sketchbook. Rayla trudged back to lay on her side and pulled the covers over her before she drifted back to sleep.

It was a while before he went to bed. He just had to draw her again. Had to capture this moment forever onto paper though with his memory he would likely remember it for as long as he wanted. Soon he might not have the time to do much of anything from what the other older parents told them. Soon two would become three.

$#$#$#

Rayla shifted on her knees uncomfortably, “Would you hurry up?”

Callum shifted behind her, “I have a feeling you don’t want to do this.”

“Noooo. Ya don’t say? This is what the healer told me we should do to get this little beast out of me faster. It’s been thirty six weeks. I want ta be done already.” She whined.

“I don’t think I want to do this if you don’t want it.”

“Just do it already. I’ll be fine.” Even with the pillows bunched as a cocoon under her substantial belly her back was already sore. She shifted on hands. “Now.”

“I’m...I’m not feeling it.”

“Do ya need me ta serenade ya with a sweet melody and hold ya close before ya get into the mood then? I swear I ask my husband to lie with me and he acts as if it is a burden.”

“I--.” He started then gave up. “You aren’t even ready.” For emphasis he stroked fingers through her warmth and she knew he was right. This would be painful and so close to delivery injury to her nethers was hardly a good idea.

“I want to try this. I’ve done just about everything else.” And she had. She tried to walk and eat spicy foods, tried to bounce on a large spongy ball, but not the castor oil the healer recommended. She wanted to do this first. “Ya know how to prepare me. So do it.”

Callum sighed, “It will be harder in this position. You’ll have to get on your side for me.”

She complied and soon his mouth had her well and ready for whatever he wanted to do for her as he rolled her onto her knees again. It was still a snug fit even with preparation but he went so slow she growled with impatience and in return he gave her a swat on her backside.

At first she felt as if everything was too deep. This position didn’t usually do much for her but it was the only one she could manage without too much trouble. Being flat on her back made her breathless and if she tried to sit astride she would have to do all the work and she was too heavy for that. They had tried on their sides a few times but they couldn’t get the angle right.

Rayla’s arms wobbled with sudden weakness and she dropped to her forearms to wait Callum out. The movement arched her back and sudden on his next pass he brushed against something strange but good.

He paused as he felt her reaction and passed over the same spot slowly and she reacted again with a short exhale. Callum gave a small noise of triumph and though the angle brought something in his back taut and sore he hit the same spot with slow regularity. She shifted and moaned softly as he sped up. Soon enough her cries grew needy and Callum’s brow moist with the effort of trying to keep his release in check as she shuddered and whined. It wasn’t enough.

Though it messed with his rhythm he reached around to the front and found the other place he knew she loved and timed each thrust with a motion of his hand.

There it was. Within a few more strokes he had her keen her release as he groaned and let himself be carried away with her until they were both sated and spent.

“I hope that was enough.”

“Me too.” Callum pulled back and grimaced as his back spasmed uncomfortably while he stood. “Not that I don’t really enjoy doing this together.”

“Quiet, you.” Rayla sighed and shifted to lie on her side. “How am I so tired all the time?”

Callum smiled and leaned over to kiss her, “It probably won’t get any better. At least that’s what they tell me.”

“Comforting.” She grumbled.

Several hours later in the dead of night Rayla stirred but didn’t understand why. Eyes open she surveyed the room and found no sound or strange shadow in the room. She felt the heat of Callum’s hand atop her belly and just as she started to drift off to sleep she felt a pain tighten in her belly. It rose slowly and peaked uncomfortably before it fell again to disappear. Now she was awake. It happened two more times in sporadic intervals before she decided to wake him, “Callum. Wake up.”

When he only muttered and shifted sleepily she sighed, “Callum.” Louder now. “I think it’s time.”

“Time?” The sleepy murmur sounded adorably confused until he shot up as she shifted to sit up herself. “Time? As in ‘the time’?” He scrambled out of bed and with very little grace he shot across the room to unlock the door and flung it open.

He was halfway out the door, “Callum.” Rayla called out, “You might want to get some proper clothes on before we find the healer.” She felt far calmer than she ought to as another pain began.

Callum scrambled back to her and hovered anxiously, “What can I do?”

“Get clothes on. And find some for me too.”

He did as he was bid while the pain passed and soon she had a proper dress thrown over her head and Callum had some semblance of proper clothing on as they made their way down to the healing ward, “Shouldn’t we go faster?”

“I don’t think it’s just going ta fall out of me, Callum. There’s some work to it. My work.”

When they reached the hall the pains continued for a while but after the healer checked her over she had told the two expectant parents, “You’re child isn’t on the way just yet. These are practice contractions.”

“Practice? They bloody well hurt ta be practice.”

“Labor is no easy thing. As with your weapons your body needs to train to be able to do its job.”

“This is all your fault.” She huffed at Callum who merely sighed in disappointment.

“Well I think we should go back to our room and get some rest.”

After a heated discussion between the two parties Rayla’s contractions had faded into the day and they trudged back to their room exhausted and discouraged. The healer had told them the baby was low and in position but was in no hurry to leave it’s current residence.

He left her for the day in their rooms for her to rest with a kiss to her head near her horns and a rub to her back, “Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine. He’s just being stubborn. You rest and maybe today will be better.”

Rayla nodded off to sleep after she had gone to the bathroom again. For the millionth time today.

It was three more nights in the past five days where they made their way down to the healer ward to be told there were only practice contractions. By the last they didn’t even bother to get dressed properly as they made their way down the halls.

With little to no sign that her child would make an appearance any time soon Callum arranged for their departure to Katolis with Claudia in tow. A healer had offered to make the journey with them just in case they had need of one.

Rayla, now a week overdue by her standards, sat in the carriage as now she felt too large to ride comfortably on horseback in a sullen mood.

Claudia offered to sit with her a while on the road back to the new bridge built to cross from Xadia into the human kingdoms.

“It can’t be that bad can it?”

“What?” Rayla shifted as her back spasm and ached uncomfortably. The pain radiated around her sides and faded after she moved.

“I mean at least you get to be more prepared for it. It gives you more time to just be the two of you. Because from now on it’s going to be the three of you. No more couple time.”

“We have had plenty of ‘couple time’. I just want to stop aching and be able to sleep and eat without having to pee every two minutes.” She paused and growled, “Stop. I need ta take a break.” She called out of the window and the two women felt the carriage stop. The door opened and Callum appeared to help Rayla down the step and watched as she trudged into the foliage to take care of things.

“So you and Rayla are friends now?”

“Maybe. I’m not really sure. We talk but I would call us more friendly acquaintances than friends. It’s hard to be the only girl in a group of guys.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Callum agreed and spied Rayla on her way back. “Thanks for being there for her. I really appreciate it.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we, Callum? At least I hope we still are.”

Callum nodded as he helped Rayla back up who now winded settled into the carriage as the door closed and they started to move again. She sighed and leaned back as another shot of pain started at her back and rolled around to the front.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“No. Not at the moment, thank you.” Rayla sighed and rubbed at her belly. “There feels as if there’s a large fruit in between my thighs and I cannot move without looking foolish.”

The pains continued with increased regularity and intensity but Rayla paid them little mind and contributed them to the less than perfectly comfortable carriage but Claudia kept time on each wince on Rayla’s face in time to notice a pattern.

She was about to bring it up when Rayla’s expression changed and the sound of water colliding with wood filled the space as Claudia looked down at the mess of liquid on the floor and her shoes. Rayla froze as Claudia opened up the door and leaned out, “Callum! I think Rayla’s water just broke."

XxOxX

Sorry it’s a bit late. Work sucks. The wee babe is coming! And the next chapter should be out sometime next week! Have a good weekend!

[fierypen37]

First Line Game

Tagged by @thescarletgarden1990 and @drakhus​. While I’ve written for more fandoms, I’ll stick with my Jonerys fics.

1. Held Captive

“’As King in the North, I accept your terms, but I have conditions of my own,” he said, every inch the stern, moral man her Hand spoke of. Daenerys leaned forward in her silver’s saddle, faintly amused. Here, outside The Twins, began the meeting of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, the first in a generation. The sky was overcast, a few flurries of snow hinting at the late season. Behind her, stood rank upon rank of Unsullied, back further still, there was the hordes of Dothraki under the command of her bloodrider Rakharo. Her dragons were nowhere in sight, but their shadows had darkened the North since her landing a fortnight since.”

2. The Oasis

“‘The Oasis’ was a rather pretentious name for a glorified hole-in-the wall, she thought. Then again, as one of the most recognizable faces in the known world, such places could be counted upon for their discretion. Crammed between a seedy tavern and an even seedier lawyer’s office, The Oasis sat in a neglected shopping district on Visenya’s Hill. A perfect place to escape her life. The pressures of running her own law practice in addition to her family’s billion-crown conglomerate, her fiancé Daario, her miserable brother Viserys . . . Pain throbbed between her shoulder blades and at the base of her skull, urging her beyond her prevaricating. Missy would help. Missy always helped.” 

3. Virtue a Veil, Vice a Mask

“The whole thing was the Lord Hand’s idea. Liven up these drab noblemen’s lives. Have a bit of fun, for gods’ sake! Humor was not something that came naturally to him, but he couldn’t resist Tyrion Lannister’s ribald, acerbic humor. A pair of outcasts, the two of them. Tyrion for his size, and Jon for his unlucky birth.

“A masque, my lord father? And . . . all of us are invited?” Jon said, looking up Tyrion’s scroll. King Rhaegar Targaryen’s hard violet eyes flicked over Jon, and in them Jon saw what he always did: disappointment tinged with sadness. Rhaegar strummed the strings of his lyre, the music soft and sobbing.

“Yes, Jon. All. You might enjoy yourself. There is a certain freedom in not knowing partner’s face when you dance,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes. And that had been that.”

4. Stormborn

“At birth, she had been given a name. Stormborn. At the time of her birth, with her mother bleeding her life away in childbed, a fierce storm rolled over Dragonstone. Ships shattered in the bay, thunder snapped the sky in twain, lightning burst across the sky in white hot fingers of light. The wind screamed through the keep, rain and hail battered at the castle until it felt as if the gods themselves had cursed the island to sink into the sea. With such a picturesque name—and the dearth of such things in a warmer, more temperate Essos—Daenerys was fascinated by thunderstorms.” 

5. Temptation

“Jon scowled down at the plate set before him. It smelled inoffensive enough: buttery and rich with a faint tang of a spice he couldn’t name, but Jon remained dubious. Jon poked it with the tine of his fork, it felt firm and crisp.

“You needn’t worry, my love. It’s quite dead. It won’t bite you back,” Daenerys said, smothering a grin. Daenerys plucked a fried locust from her plate and dipped it in spiced honey. She took a bite with evident relish, and as lovely a picture his wife made, the sight made his stomach turn. It was the insect’s tiny legs and glazed eyes staring at him that he found unpalatable. Jon set down his fork, leaning back onto the plush silken cushions, a cloud of floral perfume wafting up. 

“I think I’ll manage without,” Jon said.”

6. Your Tears Burn Like Fire

“A gentle breeze teased the gauzy curtains of the queen’s bedchamber as night settled over King’s Landing. Crushed flower petals danced in the wind beneath lattice-covered windows. The teasing breeze brought her the freshness of spring and sea, blowing away the lingering fetor of King’s Landing. Daenerys removed the crown and tossed it on the table. It was a dreadful heavy thing, made of barbarous black iron spikes twined with blue roses of hammered silver leaf.”

7. Kindling Fire

“After dying, Jon thought things would get easier to manage. After the emptiness, the skin-crawling stillness of being dead, everything else seemed trivial—until a raven arrived bearing a royal invitation. Jon squinted into the spray as their longboat cut smoothly through the surf. There was a sharp freshness to the air, smelling of salt and wet rock. Behind him, Davos muttered in his thick brogue about ‘swaggerin’ up plain as day.’ Smuggler habits were hard to break, he supposed.”

8. The Birth of a Star (Held Captive ficlet)

“Coronation day dawned under the enameled blue of a cloudless sky. Golden sunlight crept across the tiles and caught the gauzy white canopy overhead, creating a soft halo of honeyed light. Daenerys floundered from silken sheets and the soft weight of the featherbed to stretch. The air still held the cold bite of winter, cool and sweet against her naked skin, but the sun lingered longer each day. A pleasant lassitude filled her, both from a long night’s sleep and Jon’s loving. He delighted in the changes pregnancy had wrought and spent considerable time showing her so. It gave him a certain piquant delight to mar her skin with love bites before their coronation. Jon had absconded from their bed in the grey predawn hours, saying with a grin it would be bad luck to stay.”

9. Good-Sister (Held Captive ficlet)

“’Hmm?” Daenerys said, rousing from a thin drowsing to the roughened burr of Jon’s voice. Mmm, she loved the cadence and timbre of it, a medley designed to soothe and rouse her.

“I said: ‘Don’t doze off in the bath, love,’” Jon said with some amusement, the press of his hard body in the water a thrilling counterpoint. Through silken hot water, wreathed in a cocoon of steam and silence, she floated in his lap. Their voices echoed along with the water’s hollow drip. After a half hour washing and scrubbing, combing and trimming and oiling, the last of the Battle for King’s Landing ebbed away. For another half hour, they drowsed in the peace of it. The bathhouse of the Red Keep was surely a wonder of the world. Blisteringly hot water piped from a furnace to fill a bath large enough for half a dozen to swim in. Mosaics depicted underwater scenes, patterned in deep navy blue.

Daenerys opened her eyes, struck again by the beauty of his face above her, softened with a gentle smile. Sunlight trickled in from shuttered windows after their first night in the capital. Clean and relaxed from a long night’s sleep and the water’s blistering persuasion, Jon looked like epitome of male beauty. Sable eyes and sooty lashes, the handsome crinkle at the corners as he smiled. White even teeth, the supple flex of his lips . . .”

10. Oh Ye of So Little Faith (Modern Westeros AU WIP featuring Cop!Jon and wealthy Criminal!Dany)

“Dragons swept through his dreams on powerful wings. One rose like a god, black as sin, muscular and breathing black fire, another swooped in, glittering green with bronze eyes, a third shining cream darting sleek and agile. He remembered that last one, sinuous and sleek, soaring frozen in ink, gold and white on the canvas of a perfect female back. The dragon’s head lay curled on one shoulder, wings and body angled in a sinuous curve down the left side, the tail curled over the spine. All underneath that thick spill of silver blond hair . . .”

Patterns? I like starting with establishing action and scenery. A bit description heavy, maybe? I’ve never been concise. lol And I might need to work on my hooks. This is fun!

Tagging: @xxthewolvenstormxx @ashleyfanfic @frostbitepandaaaaa @meisiesmut 

[franciscretarola]

Amatrice: how the L’Aquila earthquake predicts its future

(Poggio Picenze, near L’Aquila... all photos by Francis Cretarola) (from 2017) The day after the August 24th central Italy earthquake, we received numerous messages from Le Virtù customers, friends from all over North America, and friends in Italy. People on this side wanted to know how to help and those in Italy, especially those around L'Aquila, Abruzzo - which is very close to Amatrice and knows more than it cares to about this type of event - were telling us that, this time, they were okay. As we started to put together our relief efforts, we wondered if Amatrice, Accumoli, the villages in Marchè along the Tronto river, and the other badly damaged towns would ever be rebuilt, if life in them would ever be the same. Our knowledge of L'Aquila and the aftermath of its 2009 earthquake didn't make us very sanguine about the future. 

But on the second day after the quake, I saw a Facebook post made from Amatrice by a friend of ours from Paganica (a small village just outside of L'Aquila). She was in Amatrice volunteering to help the victims. And seeing the post made me think about the last time we'd seen her. It was last summer, in her home village. She had wanted us to see how things were, many years post-earthquake, in Paganica. 

What follows is reconstructed from my notes from and photos of that visit. 

__________

Cathy and I park beneath the church of Santa Maria Assunta, in Piazza della Concezione, just off the main road that snakes through Paganica, a satellite town of L'Aquila. Like many of the villages around Abruzzo's capital city,  Paganica suffered terrible damage during the April 2009 earthquake. It was at the epicenter of the event. Across the road from us, the baroque facade of Santa Maria della Concezione is scarred by fractures. Directly in front of our car, Paganica's monument to "ai caduti," those fallen in Italy's two world wars (a squat, massive rectangle of stone inscribed with the names of the dead), is rotated about 10 degrees counterclockwise on its base. The shaking had been fierce. 

It's July of 2015 - six years after the quake - and our friend Germana Rossi, a native of Paganica, has promised to take us inside the zona rossa, the forbidden "red zone" protected by chain-link fence that's deemed too dangerous for habitation or visit.  

In 2001, we lived up the road in the village of Assergi, also part of the extended city of L'Aquila.  On days when we didn't want to drive the twenty minutes into the city to shop its daily market, we did our food shopping at a little mom-and-pop store in Paganica. We ate often just up the road at the Villa Dragonetti, a fresco-covered, 16th-century palace where the cuisine was as simply elegant as the hospitality was easy and warm. We met Germana later, in 2006 in Philadelphia, when she came over as part of the Abruzzese folk group DisCanto. We gave the group the keys to our row home in South Philly during their stay (and we crashed down the street on my brother's floor). In 2007, Germana returned the favor and offered us the use of her late grandmother's home in the oldest section of Paganica, the part of town now locked behind the fence. 

Few people walk the piazza. The faces of those we do see seem preoccupied and drawn. And a little suspicious of us. In the weeks and months immediately following the quake, L'Aquila and its surrounding areas became destinations for "disaster tourism." Though we know this place well and are here by invitation, it's hard not to feel awkward and inappropriate. 

After a short, uncomfortable wait, Germana arrives. She wears a brightly colored summer dress and greets us happily. Everyone in Paganica knows her and the other Rossi family members,  which puts me at ease. 

Germana wastes no time and we move toward the old town, the entrance to which is blocked by the fence. As though swinging open a garden gate, Germana moves part of the fence and enters the zona rossa. We follow closely behind her.  

We walk up into the oldest part of the town along alley-like medieval streets. Many buildings are braced with wood or steel supports. Cracks web across facades; some interiors are exposed and visible from the street; the early evening sun shines through gaping holes in roofs. Germana points out - almost dispassionately - damaged architectural treasures, broken monuments of the town's ancient culture and history. And I am reminded of the tour she gave us in 2007, when she proudly pointed out some of these same details, the elements that gave Paganica part of its character and specific beauty. Nature has invaded the streets. Weeds rise chest-high, grass bursts from the cobblestones. At one tiny square, a man - also defying the authorities - appears from nowhere. Germana smiles and they exchange brief but warm greetings, speaking in a shorthand understood only by terremotati (earthquake survivors). She introduces us to him. He smiles wanly, but then walks over to a slim fig tree which has taken root in the street in the six years since the quake, plucks two pieces of fruit and gives them to Cathy and me.    

We arrive at Germana's home. She pushes open the narrow wooden door and we enter. I remember the space well, even through its debris-covered chaos. All around us, the broken and dust-covered relics of a family history lie waiting to be reclaimed. We climb the steps to her parents' room. Their bed is exactly as it was immediately after the earthquake. Large chunks of masonry, which at 3:32 in the morning fell onto the sleeping couple, still cover it. It's terrifying. Nothing has been done since the quake. The Rossi family was allowed to return to take whatever articles they could, but no restoration has been attempted. The government has not acted and it will not allow the family to begin its own work.  

It's tough to know what to say. Nothing comes to mind that wouldn't be said merely because I feel like I should say something, anything. Cathy and I returned here shortly after the quake in 2009. We visited all we could of L'Aquila, most of which was and remains cordoned off behind fencing, and met with Germana.  Her parents, who were living in one of the many tent cities inhabited by the survivors, came to meet us at the Villa Dragonetti, which had miraculously escaped severe damage. They sat at our table and apologized for being disheveled, for not being better able to welcome us. The father's face was still scarred from the fallen masonry. We've come back to L'Aquila every year since, but this is our first time behind Paganica’s fencing.  

Germana leads us back to the car and asks us to follow her to Poggio Picenze, another village inside the so-called "L'Aquila crater." It was also terribly hit. Her friend, Stefania Pace, wants to show us her home.  

We pull over at a bar outside Poggio Picenze's fenced-off old town to meet Stefania. She's a blond woman in her mid-forties. It doesn't take long to understand that she's possessed of a strong wit and spirit. She's sad, as Germana’s sad, but not broken. Banked anger flashes in her eyes as she and Germana explain the bureaucracy that prevents action and the corruption and waste that informed then-Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi's original reconstruction efforts.  Berlusconi had treated the earthquake as an opportunity to salvage his scandal-damaged reputation and to funnel money to his supporters. In the mountains around L'Aquila, "new towns," characterless, (as it turns out) often poorly built warrens blight the landscape. Some are positioned in such a way that their inhabitants can stare down into the fenced-off ancient villages to watch centuries of history, tradition and culture slowly rot under the weight of the seasons. The psychological effect on the population, especially the elderly, is profound. Many, like Stefania, are still living in what was supposed to be temporary housing. 

Again, we walk past the fence - no one is guarding any of these places - and into the old town. The devastation is terrible, and the place, centuries old as it is, looks more like an ancient abandoned ruin than a 21st-century town. Only a car, its roof crushed by fallen masonry, reminds of the present day. Stefania's husband Mariano has joined us and leads us to their former home. Stefania can't bear to enter, but we walk in. Part of the house is fairly intact, and he points out many of the improvements he'd made shortly before the quake, restoration projects designed to highlight the home's original rustic character.  He laughs grimly while recounting the plans he'd had for the space. The property immediately next to the theirs has been obliterated. A second-story door opens on a room and floor that no longer exist.  

Everything is overrun by insurgent grass, weeds, and saplings. Mariano bounds up the hill to a small tree, another fig, picks some fruit, and brings it back to Stefania.

When we received word of the L'Aquila earthquake, it was just after 9:30 pm in Philly and we were winding down a pleasant Sunday dinner service at Le Virtù. We spent the next six hours calling friends and relatives in the region. It wasn't until the next day that the scope of the disaster became clear. Much of the city, particularly its medieval center, was destroyed. And some of the towns around L'Aquila - Paganica, Camarda, Fossa, Onna - had fared worse.

It was a gut punch. But our loss had been relative. All our friends and family had survived, though some had lost their homes. In the days that followed, standing in Le Virtù, our paean to Abruzzo decorated in photos, ceramics, and artifacts collected during our travels in the region, suddenly felt absurd and robbed of meaning. The restaurant was dedicated to the entirety of the region, but it simply would never have existed if not for our time spent living in L'Aquila. In a way that we acknowledge to be unearned and shallow, we considered L'Aquila our second home. 

It was surreal also to see and hear L'Aquila and Abruzzo, overlooked places well off Italy's touristed path, be for a time a topic for the local, national, and international press. A place that we'd tried to promote - at Le Virtù, with culinary tours, by producing TV shows for Comcast and PBS, by bringing musicians to the U.S.- was suddenly, albeit briefly, in the public eye. But for all the wrong reasons. Journalists flocked to the city and its environs without knowing anything of what these places had been like before the event, what had been lost, or what was at risk.  And for as long as there was spectacle to report - bodies and survivors pulled from the debris, images of pain and devastation, the occasional uplifting story about the courage of first responders and defiant civilians who'd thrown in immediately following the event - L'Aquila was news. And then, as invariably happens, the world moved on.

But the losses continue and the risk - to a centuries-old culture, ancient ways of life, unheralded architectural and artistic treasures, intrinsic things without calculable price - remain. Things that are soul-nurturing, essential, that have sustained a people and could offer much to the 21st century but have gone largely unnoticed by the rest of the world, struggle to survive and, in places, diminish. The area around L'Aquila, like much of Abruzzo, contains precious but  undiscovered things: stunning parkland where sheep and goat herding continue, cattle forages free-range, and wolves and bear roam wooded solitudes; small farms producing heirloom vegetables and fruits, ancient grains, the finest saffron in Europe; artisanal cheese and salumi makers; tiny medieval villages with singular culinary customs and vernacular architecture; ancient religious rites that predate the Romans; jewelry making, stone- and wood-carving, and other craft traditions; and obscure artistic masterworks. The culture of shepherds and farmers persists and informs daily life. Most of the world is blithely unaware of what's at stake. 

Le Virtù exists solely because the Abruzzo in its entirety had so inspired and moved us. When we opened, we were true neophytes with no real restaurant experience, ignorant in ways that now seem ridiculous and frightening. But we believed that the region had something important to offer, not only to Philadelphia's culinary discussion, but also - if we honored Abruzzese values of generosity, quality, and humility, and fostered a convivial environment - to the local community. If we've succeeded, it's owed to our commitment to Abruzzo's culture, not to our unique creativity and invention. It's painful to see our roots in L'Aquila in peril.

________

The earthquake that struck Amatrice and surrounding towns (in Lazio, Umbria, Marchè, and Abruzzo) had eerie similarities to the L'Aquila event. It occurred at 3:36 am (L'Aquila shook at 3:32 am), and we again learned of it towards the end of dinner service at Le Virtù. Amatrice was part of Abruzzo until 1927, when Mussolini redefined the region's boundaries with Lazio. It's a mountain village with a pastoral tradition and culture that would be very familiar to anyone who has traveled Abruzzo. It’s best known, however, as the birthplace of spaghetti all'amatriciana, its namesake pasta dish of tomatoes and guanciale (cured pig's cheek). Most people experience that dish in Rome, however, and all'amatriciana is usually lumped in with the capital city's cuisine. It shares this misidentification with pasta alla griscia (from the village of Grisciano, also near Amatrice) and carbonara (most likely from eastern Lazio and western Abruzzo, or possibly Napoli). Amatriciana was also popular in nearby L'Aquila. 

Reports on the earthquake often made reference to the pasta dish or discussed the town as a summertime getaway for Romans. Most of the reporters going to Amatrice and the other affected towns were seeing them for the first time, and had no idea of what they'd been like before the quake. It was understandably hard for them to provide context or even understand the profundity of the event. Amatrice had only just been added to the Borghi Piu Belli d'Italia, a loose association of "the most beautiful villages in Italy." And now much of it was rubble. 

Recent history tells us that the world will probably move on pretty quickly from this disaster, if it hasn't done so already. And, if history stereotypically repeats itself, it will do so without assuring that Amatrice or the other towns are restored to their former state and that their ways of life and culture can survive. In fact, it will probably do the bottom-line calculus and decide that rebuilding isn't a worthwhile use of resources, that there'll be too little return. It did this in the Irpinia region of Campania in 1980 (after a quake which also impacted Molise). And it seems to be doing this in L'Aquila. I fear that they'll be a new "Amatrice," a conglomeration of modern housing with designated shopping malls that doesn't foster community or acknowledge the ancient culture: an Amatrice amputated from its soul.  

But there are some who refuse to accept this. 

When Germana awoke the morning after the Amatrice quake, she drove from her Paganica home (a converted garage) to Amatrice to help with the relief efforts. She came home, slept for four hours, had a shower and drove back. She repeated this for several days. Her ancestral home is still behind chain-link fence. She fights a daily battle against bureaucracy, apathy, resignation, and indifference. And she continues to remind us of what's at stake, what truly matters. 

In the days after the quake, she made many posts from and about Amatrice. The most moving for me was a film of street musicians made before the quake. Young and old musicians play a salterello, an Abruzzese form of dance music similar to a tarantella. The music is played on bagpipes and tambourine. A crowd has gathered around the musicians. One player passes the tambourine to an older man in the crowd who without pause perfectly continues the traditional rhythm.  

It seems unreasonable to me that we would ever allow this music to be silenced.

[buttersbots]

Honeymoon: Touchdown

Fluff! I’m tired! Here’s some fluff! Enjoy! Nos-4-a2 and Two’s first moments on Earth together.

deviantART | Archive of Our Own | FanFiction.net

“We’re cleared. Touchdown in five minutes,” Lightyear announced as he walked onto the main deck...

...It looked especially small with all of Team Lightyear sitting around the long table and Nos-4-a2 and Two pressed against the window, ogling the planet below. The couple had been drawn into the presence of the rangers by the violent shaking of the ship as it entered the atmosphere. “Finally!” XR threw his cards on the table and hopped out of his seat, treading to where Nos and Two stood at the window. Booster put his hand down as well to look at the approaching surface of Earth. Two was beside herself, wringing Nos’s hand in both of hers. It had been years since she’d seen her home planet, though she wasn’t quite going home yet ‒ first came the honeymoon. Nos gazed down at what would be his home for the rest of his days, then at his wife. He smiled and tried to squeeze her hands back, though she was crushing his fingers so hard he could hardly move them. “You have all your things?” he asked. “They’re in our room. I’ll go get them!” she replied, relinquishing his hand and bouncing to their sleeping quarters. He watched her go with a soft look in his optics before turning back to the window. “Wow, this place looks just like a dirty Capital Planet,” Mira muttered. The atmosphere was dusty and cluttered despite the clean-up parties that had been working on clearing the debris, and the land only had patches of green where the Humans were settled. “They make up for it with their sweet robotics,” XR smirked, “I can’t wait to meet the locals!” Nos did his best to swallow a distasteful scowl, privately willing that anyone the little robot approached would shoot him down. “Hey, look at all that green!” Booster pointed out to the west at a patch of jungle on the growing coastline. It was just south of the equator, a blob of verdant land glittering with civilization. “That’s where the resort is, out there by the water. The town is a little farther inland,” Buzz announced while reading something off his wrist communicator. Nos-4-a2 turned and bent down to inspect his bag one last time before touchdown. He had a few clokes, a digital card that held their funds, and the few personal items he’d collected (a.k.a. the few things he hadn’t stolen) over the years. Two had an entire storage container full of her personal belongings in Axiom, and when Nos thought about it, he realized that all he had was the ship and its contents, which was practically bare after gutting it of all his old villain tech. A small voice in the depths of his thought processors reminded him that he was originally villain tech himself, but he pushed it away. “Get ready for landing,” the Captain warned everyone as they began to descend. Nos took his bag and put it down by the hatch of the ship, ready to get away from their escort team. “Eve, do you need any help?” he called out in the direction of their room. “No,” her muffled voice replied, “Be there in a minute!” Anticipation surged through the Energy Vampire’s circuits. This was it. The ship landed with hardly a bump, and as the hatch hissed open, he looked out at the place where his new life was beginning. The flood of light was enough to make him squint, scattered amongst all the dust the landing had stirred into the air. As the engines went quiet, a symphony of natural sounds filled the air. Wind rustled leaves, some unseen water source babbled cheerily to itself, and a menagerie completely unfamiliar to him chattered, sang, and whooped. The foliage in their immediate surroundings sported vibrant green leaves and a whole spectrum of flowers, and the snatches of sky that appeared through the dirty clouds were a clear blue. Nos-4-a2 felt completely out of place. Suddenly, a blue streak barreled past that sent the Energy Vampire reeling. He saw his wife’s bag tumbling down the ramp, and right in front of him, her cerulean cloak fluttered down to Earth. Gaping, Nos watched as Two’s aerodynamic frame shot into the sky. She made a wide loop before dipping down, picking up enough speed to break the sound barrier and shooting into the cloud layer. Nos, who was supporting himself against the hatchway, could just barely hear a cry of sheer joy. “What was that?” Lightyear exclaimed in alarm, the rest of his team following as he ran outside. They all traced Nos-4-a2’s line of sight to the sky, where Two’s pearly metal glittered in the sunlight whenever she dipped into view, streaming dusty clouds behind her. “I believe Eve just went supersonic,” Nos mumbled. They all watched her for a while as she twirled and dove and had an all around wonderful time. Her clear, bright laugh occasionally drifted to where they all stood. The estranged feeling that had gripped Nos-4-a2 shifted to the back of his mind at the sight of Two, finally free. Free... he’d done it. Mission accomplished. Everything he’d worked for in the last year had completely fallen apart, but by some crazy fluke, it had all worked out. Two was safe... and, though he couldn’t quite comprehend it, he was too. Nos was brought out of his thoughts when XR wheeled into his line of sight, picking up Two’s cape. “Talk about ‘flying free.’” Snatching the clothing from the ranger’s grasp, Nos snapped, “She knows that her cloak would cause too much drag for her to hit those speeds.” “What’s she doing up there, anyway?” Booster asked, warily eyeing the two robots. Nos turned his attention back to the sky. Two was spinning so fast that her arms appeared to be a propeller. “I have no idea,” he hummed. Until the ecstatic probe returned, Nos decided to get their bags ready for when the shuttle came. A great rumbling filled the air as the Star Command space cruiser escorting their ship landed at a loading area not far from theirs. He took their bags to the mouth of the road and started straightening out Two’s cape, beating of the dust out of it and folding it over his arm. “This is quite an odd planet,” Lightyear commented conversationally to Nos. This prompted Nos to observe an exercise he’d had to do many times over the past week. He didn’t know why Lightyear was so determined to make conversation. Being around the rangers at all, regardless of the circumstances, was nothing less than uncomfortable, and small talk did anything but improve the situation. In order to put on a good face, Nos worked a deep breath through his ventilation system and repeated a mantra in his head: Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours until you never have to see him again, you’ll be alone with Eve for the rest of your life, you can stand humoring him for just a few more hours. Nos pretended to be interested. “Out of all the planets in the galaxy, this one is odd?” Dammit. He still sounded condescending. “Well, sure, there are weirder places around, but that whole deal with the seven hundred year gap in their history is something else.” “Hm. I suppose you’re referring to the gap in the Humans’ history.” “...What else?” the ranger asked. Nos looked to the sky again, catching a glimpse of Two before she passed out of sight. “The Humans might have been halted in their evolution, but their robots had all those centuries to learn on their own. Now they’re working together to make up for the lost time, even after the war,” Nos-4-a2 explained, thinking back to all the late nights Two had spent talking about her home. Just as the ranger opened his mouth to respond, a small metal creature, her speed decreased to considerably less than that of sound, slammed into Nos-4-a2’s side and knocked her cape to the ground again. Her arms clamped around his waist in a crushing hug, her head only coming up to the center of his chest. Two’s sleek metal was dappled with moisture from the clouds and warm with the recent release of energy and exposure to sunlight. “Good heavens, Eve!” Nos laughed. Lightyear smirked and skirted away, having no quarrels with dropping their conversation. The rest of the rangers regrouped back near the ship. Nos-4-a2 returned Two’s embrace and twirled her around. She was smiling so hard that her blue eyeforms practically disappeared into the blackness of her visor. Anyone else would say she was laughing, but Nos knew better: despite her lack of ability to produce tears, she was crying with joy. “Nossy, Nossy, we’re home!” she sobbed. A smile crept onto the Energy Vampire’s face. “We’re home,” he echoed. He lifted her up and pressed his forehead against hers, everything else falling away. She shook in a crazy combination of crying and laughter that reverberated through his frame. He could get used to this. The sense of belonging he felt with Two was almost more than he could handle, so he closed his optic and soaked her in, overwhelmed by the sheer elation pouring from her processors. She held him so tight, he felt like he was floating away, higher and higher... and higher? Nos opened his optic to see the ground falling away below him. He looked down at Two to meet a giddy smile. She was supporting his entire weight at this point as he hung limp in shock. “Eve ‒ Eve, wait, we can’t ‒ we can’t leave the rangers yet, we haven’t ‒ !” “Who cares?” she sang, “Fly with me! Fly with me, we’re free!” She loosened her grip enough that he began to slip, causing his wings to reflexively spring out, crackling with amber light. Her hands slipped to his wrists before he could react, dragging him into a spin. They were hundreds of feet above the ground, the horizon glittering blue to the west, a silvery building standing at the end of the road beneath them, and the jungle sprawling away wild and green. Wind buffeted them from every side as Two let go, spinning around him faster than he could follow. Nos couldn’t help himself. He let go, feeling the rush of the wind against his metal and an unsuppressable laugh rising in his speakers. When was the last time he took a joy flight? Had he ever even felt joy before Two? She spun around and reached under his wings to lift him by his underarms, kissing the back of his neck before looping around over his head and falling toward the ground, her arms spread wide. Nos followed suit, grinning like an idiot, catching Two whenever he could. She never stopped singing, we’re free, we’re home, we’re free, we’re home... The weight of the universe lifted from his shoulders. He’d never had a home before.

[khemi]

Losing Count

@ghostpressure asked:  on this day of days im gonna be cliche and ask for jaderose maybe?? of the first kiss variety??

How could I ever say no to some sweet jaderose content? Lil non-Sburb AU, Rose POV!

Send me 413 Drabble Requests!

You lose count of all the ways Jade Harley is perfect every time you sit and try to name them.

You start with the single bit of hair that falls out of place no matter how many times she tucks it behind her ear, carry on past the way she plucks the bands on her fingers in a way you’re sure echoes some song played on a bass, and around the time you’re settling on the way she smiles with full lips and a fuller heart that shows in the dimples in her cheeks and the shine in her eye, there’s far too many things to keep hold of and they all escape in a dreamy sigh.

She is far too lovely for this world. Were you a traditional romantic you might call her an angel, or a flower in bloom. As it is, your diary is full of neatly transcribed descriptions of the finest of Lythalia’s daughters, wound in vines and tempting you with every look that lures you closer to her, yet able to crush you easily with a single dismissal if she desired. You describe yourself in less glowing terms in such entries, the groveling spawn of Th'rygh, a thing of ugly flesh and dirt not worth being the ground she walks on.

(When marking your diary, Mother gave you a high mark for dramatics, but a low mark for rationale. You’ll take what you can get from the privacy invading witch.)

Still, somehow Jade has not grown tired of your company, and allowed you to continue basking in her glow, which you do without even a modicum of restraint. She foolishly inquired about your home and you responded as if you hadn’t had a handwritten invitation to afternoon tea sitting in your purse for weeks, slightly dog-eared from all the times you’d hesitantly grasped it with intent to present it and then rapidly changed your mind. But no- she asked, and how could you not respond to such an earnest request, such bright eyes and such a broad smile and such glowing cheeks and such a melodious voice and-

You lost count of the ways she’s perfect, and gave her the invitation, and now here you are in your own bedroom, diary kicked firmly under your bed and Jade sitting opposite you in the most garishly beautiful combination of a neon green summer dress and yellow tracksuit pants. She’s folded her long legs into a knot and clasped her hands around her bare ankles, watching with open interest as you carefully mix a pot of tea with little preserved rosebuds all held in an octopus strainer.

“Those are so pretty,” she hums, rocking forward to peer at them closer, eyes blown up big and vibrant through her oversized glasses.

So are you, you think in a swift cliche, before battering it down with a metaphorical broom and smiling shyly instead. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I do! I’ve never had flower tea before... I’ve had normal tea, and green tea, and even a purple tea once... Will this one be pink?” Jade gasps, her rainbow tinted mental voyage leading her to a place that makes her whole face light up and leaves your heart aflutter. “Do you think we could make a whole tea spectrum? That would be so cool...”

“I can’t promise you a spectrum, but this will indeed be rosé.” You’ll leave it to brew a little longer than intended, just to make sure.

Jade giggles, bouncing herself closer across the bed, the only person in the world who can make the gesture graceful. “Do you drink this a lot?”

“Not often, no. Now and then, when the mood takes me. Special occasions.” Your cheeks are racing the tea for pinkness, and you bite back an explanation that you bought it especially for her. “It feels like it should be treasured, doesn’t it?”

“All roses should be treasured,” Jade replies solemnly, and your thoughts hitch on if a capital could possibly be applied, fingers lurching on their way to the honey. You cover it with a cough, poorly, a scoop up the dipper with a delicate twirl to catch some amber across it. She’s watching you, just as closely, and your face has now surpassed the entire pink family and entered into the nether-realms of red. “You know... it’s funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Did you miss a joke? Some ironic twist of fate? Please just be about Rose drinking rose tea, how amusing, not some greater embarrassment you’ll have to live with the burden of for all eternity.

“Well.” Jade twiddles her thumbs against each other, rubbing them over the skin of her leg. “I was hoping for flowers, but I didn’t think you’d make me drink them!”

Your mind does what your brother would call the one record scratch sound thats in everything rose come on you know the one its like the wilhelm scream of oh shit waddup moments and if you pretend you dont know it im calling bullshit just like the time you said you didnt know what a flashback was looking youre having one right the fuck now while potential macking material is next to you will you get off this train of thought and get on that.

You get off that train of thought.

“You were hoping for flowers?”

“Maybe.” Jade’s confidence gutters and she stares at her feet, wiggling her exposed toes. “I sort of thought- You know! With how things are, I thought maybe if I asked to come over it’d be like...”

“Like what.” Your mind appears to have ceased functioning.

“Like a date, oh my God! You’re worse than John!” She puffs up her cheeks behind a pout. “What are you gonna wear, Jade, are you going to do your makeup Jade, do you have any idea how gay this is Jade, maybe you should take her flowers and be the one who makes all the ladies swoon Jade.”

The only thing you can actively draw from anything she just said is that she does an impeccable impression of John.

Jade’s eyes flick up to you, back to the tea, and then with a fresh wave of resolve fix on your face with adamantine strength, narrowing behind her glasses to a determined edge.

“Is this a date?” She asks it with each syllable crisp and clear, her teeth leaving marks in her lip with how hard she bites it after. The words finally break through to you, fire behind the already intense burn in your cheeks, and you expect you’re red enough to live up to your namesake.

“It...” Oh dear. You hadn’t prepared for the scenario in which there was any actual interest, as ridiculous a prospect as it had always seemed. “It...” Your gears are caught and grinding, hitched in place, and you swallow hard to dampen your tongue so you can wet your lips before managing to finish- “It could be?”

Somewhere, your Mother is likely laughing at you.

Here and now, Jade’s eyes go big, and then bigger, and her lip pops out from beneath her front teeth with such speed it makes a sound.

“It could be?” She slams her hands to the bed between you and makes you jump, heart already pounding. “That’s not a no!”

“It’s... It’s not.” What’s happening and how do you get off this ride before it starts to plummet.

“That’s not a no!” She repeats it gleefully, smile returning as she reaches out a hand to pat hopefully at your knee. “So- So, maybe it could be a yes?”

You have lost control of your life, and the tea is likely so strong by now you may as well have shoved a whole flower in your mouth.

“It- I suppose it-” You can hear how flustered you are, and do your best to exert some kind of damage control that just makes you feel more ridiculous. “Are you- Are you asking me for it to be?”

“Duh,” Jade huffs like it’s obvious, which is terribly presumptuous of her, given the current disarray you find your mind in. “So what do you say? What... do you say?”

And once more, the sweet flower wilts beneath the pressure of self-doubt, and your hands move without informing your brain of their decision, finding her fingers and tangling with them in a silent but informative gesture that’s pulling more conversational weight than your entire vocal system.

Jade stares at your fingers for a moment, and this time the light that spreads through her is a sunrise, slow and creeping and inescapable, blinding to watch too closely but something you find difficult to tear your gaze from. It illuminates her moles and freckles, the way her muscles move as she tightens her grip on yours, the fabric of her dress shivering with her excited breaths and splaying perfectly over her pants.

You lose count of the ways she’s perfect even as her joy runs like molten gold between each one and highlights it for you so brightly you can’t possibly miss it.

It occurs to you, as a very distant dream, surreal and hardly possible in this reality, that you are apparently on a date with Jade Harley.

Jade seems more settled into the concept, hurriedly closing the gap between your legs with a few more bounces so your linked hands sit on the boundary between laps, crossing the great divide with a bridge that feels sturdy enough to weather many storms. She wiggles, a tremble of her shoulders that washes all the way down to her waist, and then leans towards you, slowly, a falling tree you should run from but find yourself watching and waiting for the impact instead.

Her lips purse, then pucker, and you realise what’s going to happen with just enough time left for klaxons to start blaring in your mind at the fact you’ve clearly lost all grip on the realms of the possible and in some kind of fantasy from which you’ll wake the moment you let yourself believe in it.

And yet.

Jade kisses you like snow melting on a fingertip, light and fleeting and possibly imagined were it not for the ghost it leaves behind. She stays close, eyelids fluttering in nervous blinks, and you have a moment in which you can reclaim your rational mind and pull away, a moment to possibly escape the fairy-tale you are about to leap into and pray it won’t be Grimm.

Instead you press forward, too fast, bump your mouths together in a way that isn’t so much romantic as it is slapstick, and Jade giggles and leans back enough to rub her lips and cover up a bashful smile.

She tries again, before you have time to admonish yourself, tipping her head and letting her lips meet yours all silk to skin and lingering, pressure and warmth and stillness that’s somehow still overwhelming despite how slowly it arrives.

You have found another way she’s perfect. The soft fragrance of grass and perfume on her skin when she’s so close, the gentleness with which she kisses you despite how strong you know her to be.

Limitless perfections, even in such a small action, and no hope of counting even one when all your thoughts are consumed by the fact her lips are on yours.

When Jade does pull back, it’s slowly, careful, hands still locked and her face still close and red and beautiful. You have many things you could say, about finally, or why, or beauty and perfection and so many emotions beating frantic in your chest.

You chase her, and kiss her again, and hold her hands tighter, and you hope that in the taste of your lips she finds everything you’ve never been able to say.

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – ON TWO FRONTS

Above the still burning camp just outside the limits of Chidulas, the short swords of a former Imperial Guard commander crashed against the large shield of a scheming bandit. Ori relied on her years of training to subdue the annoyance boiling up inside her as Xylo’s laugh flitted through the air like notes from a broken violin. Focus was absolutely essential to anyone fighting in midair, and Ori would not allow her opponent to rob her of it.

For most, combat is an affair where strategy and position are primarily two dimensional. As many Insicai were capable of sustained flight, the training to become a member of the Imperial Guard taught you to forget everything you’d ever known about flying. Fighting in midair went against everything fresh recruits ever learned naturally, their own bodies refused to behave in a way conducive to it. So it was that many would leave the training grounds with considerable wounds and damaged wings, never to return.

Ori refused to be one of them.

Every move was a plan in three dimensions. Maintaining momentum after every strike, assuring your wings never faced your enemy, being ever mindful of the ground below you, and how much longer you’d be able to stay airborne. As they flittered and clashed in the sky above the chaotic camp, she knew that while she might have speed on her side, Xylo had maneuverability. Ori’s smaller opponent could turn in the air at angles she could barely anticipate, her superior speed keeping her safe against the striking edge of the mercenary’s shield. If she was going to defeat her opponent, she’d have to find some way around her airborne agility.

Below them, a deadly whirling dervish pursued a nimble red panda. Rozzi could feel flecks of dry earth bounce off the back of her neck and cheeks, and hear the air behind her being sliced apart. She knew if she was going to fight back, she’d have to put a comfortable distance between them. That shield was resilient enough to easily block one of her stronger offensive spells, so now she sought a means to play this defensively.

Directly ahead of her were the scattered remnants of armor, exploded across the desolate terrain by her earlier cannon firing spree. With a mind for mayhem, she put on speed and built up mystic energy in her palms, sweeping both ahead of her to kick up a burst of wind, creating a cascade of ruined metal in her wake.

Vylo drove the edge of her shield hard into the ground, rolling in a tight circle to deflect the oncoming shrapnel, giving Rozzi time to put more distance between them and formulate a quick plan. Now standing in the small round trench she’d dug out with her centrifugal showcase, the violet bee laughed joyously. “Are you not in awe, awe, awe of the great Vylo’s skills? I am as untouchable as I am beautiful!”

Rozzi resisted the desire to roll her eyes as she reached a spot that suited her needs. She finally turned to face her pursuer, her back to the still smoldering pyre that was once a campsite, sickle held at the ready.

“Oh, so that was your plan, plan, plan this whole time? A mad, mad, mad hope that you’d dodge my attack at the last second and I’d crash into the fire behind you? How pitiful! How cowardly! How naive! I can’t expect ignorant trash, trash, trash like you to ever understand how truly graceful and nimble the Great Vylo is!”

Rozzi’s expression was one of absolute and stern focus, her stance lowered and ready to move.

“You can’t even bluff, bluff, bluff me properly! Look, look, look at your ridiculous tail, thrashing about, you’re terrified!”

There was no retort, no change in her stance.

“Really, has the Flarebearer surrounded himself with such cowardly fighters? Does he have that much compassion for the weak, weak, weak? But then, I suppose such a tiny, tiny, tiny fluff ball would love making himself feel stronger by surrounding himself with rubbish.”

She may as well have been made of stone.

“Terrified into silence… Well fear, fear, fear no longer, for let it not be said the Glorious Vylo is not without mercy. Your life will end far too quickly for you to dread what comes next!” Vylo hefted her shield once more and set to spinning with it above her head. As she built up speed, she began to notice the air now swirling around her was hotter than before and getting hotter by the second.

What she hadn’t noticed, the entire time she was berating Rozzi, were the flames behind her slowly dying down.

Now, when you think about a circus, certain images come to mind. Visions of a dexterous performer juggling something either odd or numerous, fantastic beast trained to prance or perform on cue, and disguised comedians set upon delighting with pratfalls and surprise. But above all, there’s always a showstopper. Some grand feat that leaves the departing audience with a permanent memory of the greatest show they’d ever seen. In almost every case, this is accomplished with a fine application of skill, and a dangerous amount of fire.

Rozzi couldn’t remember how many flaming hoops she’d leapt through in her time. She could however remember all the time she’d spent learning about how fire behaves. To the point she could safely play with it, and put smiles on the faces of countless children. That’s how she knew the smoke from a burning flame could be made to catch fire once more, it just needed some encouragement.

Magic channeled through her tail had slyly robbed the burning tents of their heat and set the smoke to dance just out of sight. And now, her spinning top of an enemy raced forward into a smoky net just waiting to explode once more. The words came into her mind like a beloved melody from childhood, “CINDER DRAUGHT!”

With a snap of her fingers the smoke tainted air spontaneously combusted in a brilliant back draft. Vylo screamed as she instantly caught fire and careened wildly off course, crashing into the depths of the ruinous campsite. A few still standing tents were knocked over and set ablaze by her impact.

“Rozzi!”

She turned to see Wally rushing toward her, his armor scuffed and dinged, with a hastily replaced, mismatched bracer on his right arm. But all together he seemed none the worse for wear, much to her relief.

“Was that a back draft? How on Mondia did you manage to do that?”

She smiled slyly, “What, you jealous?” She followed it with a coy wink and a turn toward the sound of clashing armor and weapons. “C’mon, let’s see if we can’t close this one off quick.”

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Primus Vikkin shouted above the rattling din of armor. “RALLY, SOLDIERS OF INSICAI! FORM ON ME! WE WILL CRUSH THESE INVADERS IF WE ACT AS ONE!”

Polly suddenly appeared in front of him, her arm up in a ridiculous angle with two fingers pressed to her right temple in mock salute. “Aye aye sir!”

Vikkin scrambled to get a proper grip on his halberd, and strike at the suddenly appearing girl when she held her palm out toward him and produced a brilliant and blinding flash of light. He cried out and brought his hands up to shield his eyes, thrown entirely off balance. With a spin, Polly brought her tail flush against his legs and easily toppled the primus.

Several more soldiers soon approached, attempting to encircle her. She bowed to them gracefully as small but brilliant bubbles of colorful light arose from her outstretched arms, drifting freely in the air. The wary members of the Imperial Guard stood their ground and avoided the slow moving showcase, an act Polly made them regret. She shouted, “SHININ’ CARNIVAL” and with a clap of her hands each of the tiny dots of shimmering light exploded. The miniature shockwaves and cascade of colors proved to be a dizzying affair, allowing Polly to rush up to the nearest of their number and handily strike him down with a well placed strike to the jaw.

As another tried to blindly charge her, she threw her knife into a gap in his armor, causing him to misstep and topple to her side. She hopped onto his chest, retrieved her knife, and punctuated the act with a kick to his exposed chin before hopping off and running toward another of the guards.

He brought his halberd down in an overhead strike that she easily dodged with a spin toward his side where she plunged her dagger twice beneath his extended arm.  Finally she kicked out the knee holding most of his weight to send him crashing to the ground.

The other guards to have rallied to Vikkin’s cry stood stock still, the shock of the sight keeping their feet rooted. In a smattering of seconds one Icthyite girl had disabled their commanding officer and several of their fellow soldiers. One of them shouted, “COME ON! SHE CAN’T STOP US ALL!” The other guards replied with a war cry and, weapons readied, charged toward Polly. It’s possible that they might have been enough to defeat her, sadly they’ll never know. Because just as their plan was set it motion, it was shattered by fierce gales and exploding flames from Wally and Rozzi.

“Awww, I had a thing all ready to go n’ everythin’! Now I’m never gonna get to use it.” Polly huffed childishly.

“Cheer up dearie,” Rozzi replied playfully. “Who knows what the capital’s like right now with Hector and the rest thereabouts. Maybe you’ll get to use it then.”

“I certainly hope we can make it in time,” Wally added.

Nearby, something landed hard and grunted from the impact. As the dust began to clear the three of them could see Ori, panting in exhaustion, eyes focused skyward. When they started moving toward her she held up a hand to stop them. Above they could hear the noisy wings of Xylo fast approaching, clearly aiming to crush Ori under the bulk of her heavy shield. With a single deep breath to steady herself, and the shimmer of the orange plate on her forehead, her body moved with impossible speed, hooking her swords over the shield and taking control of Xylo’s momentum, dashing her against the ground hard.

There were several ugly buzzing noises as Xylo bounced to a halt, her shield clattering off into the distance. She did her best to shake off the impact and scramble back to her feet, pulling four daggers from behind her back.

Ori stood before her with rigid calm. “Do you know why, why, why you were rejected from the Imperial Guard?”

Xylo growled, her wings a dizzying flutter as she raced toward Ori. The hornet’s twin short swords clashed loudly against the rain of dagger strikes. “It wasn’t your pride,” she continued. “It wasn’t your drive.”

With incredible precision, a single strike from Ori caught the guard of a dagger and sent it flying out of one of Xylo’s hands, a second following soon after. “You could have been one of the greatest of our number with either.”

“THEN WHY?!” Xylo shouted as she thrust her remaining daggers forward with all her might and speed, only to have her wrist snatched by Ori’s free hands, stopping her short of doing any damage.

“Because you could only ever see what was right in front of you.” Ori said as she struck the top of Xylo’s head with the pommels of both her swords, letting the bee drop to the ground unconscious.

Elsewhere, amidst jagged shards of ice, craters, and shallow mud puddles, two mighty titans battle for all they’re worth. The great captain does his best to steady his breathing and listen for his opponent. Suddenly there’s a surge in his inner sea that tell him to duck, just dodging Orgo Blatt as he exploded from the ground nearby and soared past where Blackeye’s head would’ve been. The enormous iron ball weapons on each of Blatt’s hands drizzled disturbed earth onto him as they passed over. Blatt bashed one into the approaching ground and set to burrowing once again.

“YER FIGHTIN’ A LOSIN’ BATTLE HERE YA OVERDONE CRUSTACEAN! THINKIN’ YA CAN HIDE FROM ME IN THE DIRT!” shouted Blackeye.

The captain used his harpoon to vault away from where he stood just as a sinkhole began to open, a straight line of pressured water firing off from the tip of it into the hole once he landed, striking nothing vital. He set to running off to the left, just barely hearing the terrain being beaten away nearby. With a loud grunt of effort and a powerful hurl, Blackeye sent his Harpoon sailing ahead of him, piercing deep into the ground. The top shook as something bulky bashed against the buried half, the captain diving to take hold of the still exposed handle.

“Hang on tight y’ miserable sod,” Blackeye chortled.

There followed a roar of noise below him that spread over the ruined battlefield. All around Blackeye, sudden geysers exploded up from the ground, creating a cool cascade in the night air that made it feel like rain. Atop the largest of the handmade spouts arose the tumbling and shouting form of Orgo Blatt.

“HAHA! GOTCHA NOW!” Not bothering to pull his harpoon out of the ground, Blackeye sprang to his feet and dashed over, bringing his left arm back for a massive straight hit to the struggling roach, knocking him clean out of the rushing waters.

He rolled for a ways when he landed but found his center easily, shaking off the blow and pieces of dislodged armor as he rose to his feet to face Blackeye. There was an undeniable grin on Blatt’s face as he dropped the iron balls.

The captain laughed, “Straight forward! That’s the way I like it!”

As Wally and the others finally approached the soggy mess that was their battlefield, they could only watch with an odd sense of awe as the two mighty brawlers readily took turns to bash each other in the face as hard as they possibly could. These immense blows shook their bodies and cracked the air as they landed, and neither one could possibly have looked happier about it. Wally looked to Rozzi to see if they should intercede, she could only shake her head. Polly began to cheer her heart out for her grandfather with an infectious enthusiasm that overtook them all soon enough. The fighters grew sluggish. Their breathing labored. Exhaustion began to set in hard for both of them before finally, with one last surge of pride and adrenaline, Captain Blackeye landed a blow that would’ve toppled most iron walls. Blatt staggered backward, struggling to stay upright and keep his fist high. Finally, after letting out a quiet chuckle, his fists dropped and he fell hard onto his back, unconscious.

Polly never cheered louder in all her life.

The captain staggered over as casually as one could after being in a prolonged street fight, which is to say not casually at all. He spit out a tooth before approaching the others and used his tail to keep himself upright. “Well… That was… Hardly a chore.”

He started to falter and Wally quickly moved to catch him.

“Damn…” Blackeye rested as much of his weight as he could on Wally’s shoulders. “Guess I am gettin’ old… Thanks, Mister Walter.”

“No problem, captain.”

“You’re a fine lad, y’know. Wouldn’t mind terribly if ya wanted to be my successor. Course, that’s if y’ also don’t mind takin’ care of me Polly.”

“Grandpa!” Polly shouted indignantly.

Wally shook his head with a wry chuckle. “I’ll go right ahead and chalk that up to a concussion and the tooth you just lost.”

“Oh please, I’ve lost more teeth eatin’ lunch! ‘Sides, they grow back easy even for ol’ sharks like me.” He laughed softly. “Ah… But the Fortune’s in pieces out there in the salt… Guess I’ll have to find something else to hand down to ya, sunshine.”

Polly shook her head. “It can wait, grandpa. You just take your time, y’hear?”

Blackeye nodded and took several small vials from his vest; Wally recognized them as tinctures of Runner’s Grass solution. “Now, I done went and thought ahead on this one, crew. No sense us chargin’ toward another fight without a lil’ pick me up. Sorry Miss Han, only enough for the four of us to run on.”

Ori shook her head. “No worries, I’ll simply move, move, move to secure everything here, I trust you can find your way back, back, back to the tunnel that leads to Insicai without me.”

After drinking down the solution, which made Wally and Rozzi’s tongue feel like they’d been squeezed in a heated vice, the freshly reinvigorated group raced to the hidden hatch and onward toward Insicai.

---

As the Battle for Chidulas raged on, the rallied Insicai of the capital city had gathered in the street, bringing out any makeshift weapons they could to ready for the march on Mount Anago. Argus turned to Hector as he tried to bang a dent or two out of his armor using the pommel of his sword.

“Don’t suppose you’ve any experience leading and army, Sir Hector.”

He shook his head. “Most I’ve lead is a small sortie to guard some ambassadors or nobles. But really there’s no time for plans or strategy, we have to hope moving in on them with unexpected numbers is enough.”

Argus sighed. “We may be a clever breed, but you’re right, teaching them military tactics would take far too much time. I just wish there was more I could do.”

“Just do what I do in this kind of situation.”

“And that is…”

“Stand in front of them so you get hit instead.”

“… Bold strategy.” Argus replied sarcastically.

“Hasn’t failed me yet,” Hector snapped his armor back on, silently grateful to Wally’s father for the ease of his hinge design. “Hyla, any sign of the others?”

Hyla turned from her work of helping to assemble weapons and shook her head. “They aren’t close enough for me to sense them yet.”

“We’ll just have to hope they catch up in time.” Hector turned to the gathered citizens numbering now in the hundreds. “ALRIGHT PEOPLE! THERE’S NO TELLING HOW MANY SOLDIERS WE’RE TO FACE, BUT I’VE NO DOUBT WE HAVE THE NUMBERS TO MAKE THEM THINK TWICE! IF YOU SEE SOMEONE STRUGGLING, GET TWO MORE TO HELP YOU SAVE THEM, GOING OFF ALONE IS NOT AN OPTION. IF THERE ARE ANY WHO DO NOT WISH TO FIGHT, NOW’S THE TIME TO TURN AROUND, I KNOW NONE WILL THINK LESS OF YOU!”

The feeling of resolve was almost palpable as all the armed citizenry stood ready to go.

“They’re brave; I’ll give them that… ALRIGHT! LET’S MOVE!”

The mob moved quickly through the city’s avenues, several guard towers spotting the masses, but not a one signaled any alarm. It wasn’t long until they reached the expansive metal structure, Thermop Square. An artistic instillation built ages ago that took advantage of one of the many underground rivers beneath the nation that happened to flow under the brightstone trove. Here, the heated water would spray on a regular basis, bathing anyone on the Grand Geyser Walkway in vapor said to alleviate sickness and pain. Just past it, a large structure had been built into the base of Mount Anago. To Hector, it looked every bit like a military fortress, despite being made of steel.

Several patrolling guards ran back toward this building, shouting something that could barely be heard. The building opened massive sliding doors on clockwork hinges revealing a sizable number of guards and two bombardier dynas.

Argus leveled the Thunderhead against his shoulder and expanded the spyglass on its top, zeroing in on one of the dangerous beast. As a single shot cleared the space and froze one dynas, the second fired a volley that arched through the air and threatened the citizen army.

“GREY SIANA!” A large evergreen tree sprouted in the path of the blistering ball launched by the dynas, quickly drinking the boiling liquid before vanishing at the behest of its creator, Wistea.

Argus watched the display of forest magic with barely masked childlike glee as he switched the barrel on the Thunderhead, firing an emerald burst across the square that exploded into large springy mushrooms beneath the feet of several soldiers, sending them flying with the added benefit of tilting the other dynas helplessly onto its back.

With the initial ranged attack disabled and the amassed guards dispersed, it was now or never. Hector raised his sword high and was about to issue the order for a charge when a massive shadow raced across the square.

The Insicai all froze and looked skyward.

“Argus?” Hector shook his shoulder, but received no reply. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“She’s here,” replied Argus through clenched teeth, his voice a blend of fear and anger.

The Great Geyser Walkway arched over the center of Thermop Square and made the perfect perch for an enormous winged figure. The long and thin body of a female butterfly Insicai, somewhere between ten to twelve feet in height, was framed by wings easily twice that, each deep brown with ornate yellow patterns along their edges. Her expression was one of true serenity, and her clothes showed undeniable regality with their fine crimson fabric and jeweled accessories.  Most notable of all however, was the shimmering crown atop her head.

“My people,” her voice was like a heavenly symphony, soothing, calm, and almost otherworldly. “Such anger is unbecoming of you all. Are you truly so displeased with the state of the empire? Have you not everything you need or desire?”

Hector, Hyla and Wistea watched as many in the crowd looked away or grew despondent.

“KEEP YOUR HONEYED WORDS, ANANI!” shouted Argus angrily. “THERE IS A WAR BEING WAGED AND YOU WILLINGLY MARCH US ALL TOWARD IT! A PACT WITH THE WITCH? A FLYING WARSHIP BUILT BY OUR HANDS? YOU ARE WILLINGLY TURNING US INTO KOTA’S WAR FOUNDRY!”

She shook her head slowly and sighed quite deeply. “Oh Scholar Argus, for all your brilliance and cunning, you’ve always allowed emotion to overtake logic. The rest of this world is without hope, Kota and her army shall sweep the planet clean and usher forth a new age. I shall lead my people forward in that new world, freed from chaos and disorder.”

Argus cocked his head to the side curiously, noticing something strange he couldn’t immediately put his antenna on. “I’m sorry,” He called out. “Could you repeat that?”

“The empire will endure in the new era, Argus. With or without you.”

“There it is again…” Argus turned to face the crowd. “YOU’VE ALL NOTICED HAVEN’T YOU?! HER INFLECTION, HER SPEECH! IT’S ALL WRONG! THAT THING UP THERE IS AN IMPOSTER!”

He spun around as fast as he could, readying the Thunderhead just as the empress flapped her wings. This singular yet mighty motion created a typhoon worthy gust of wind that caught those who stood before it entirely unaware. Bodies tumbled like leaves, knocking over those that hadn’t fallen, and sending others crashing into nearby buildings.

“Very well,” Anani’s voice lost all pretenses toward serenity and rose to an angered octave. “If you will not bow, you shall be made to KNEEL!”

<[Chapter 24]–[Index]–[Chapter 26]>

[prettycanarybird]

Heir-Apparent: Chapter One

Chapter One

I can only recall walking down the Marble Avenue exactly one other time in my life. The first flakes of snow had begun to fall, catching in my father’s dark curls. They looked like diamonds glittering in the early morning sunrise, which peeked out beneath the fluffy clouds, casting a golden glow low over everything. 

I remember my mother crying.

I didn’t understand why we were awake so early in the morning, and why my mother and not my nurse had dressed me, hastily, roughly, not even bothering to comb out my unruly black ringlets. She had thrown some of my things into a trunk, stuffing clothing, my beloved stuffed horse, Brownie, and whatever jewels a small child like me could have possibly possessed, which was quite a lot given my heir-apparent status. My feet, crammed in last year’s snow boots and pinching, barely touched the ground as she dragged me from the room.

The halls, all the paintings of old family members that terrified me as they stared down with judging eyes, were still dark. As my mother pulled me along, everything blurred together. I don’t remember if I protested, or if I was too shocked and too scared by this sudden departure to utter a sound. 

We rushed out of the Capital and stumbled down the grey stone steps, carrying our lives with us. My father’s jaw was sharp, and his eyes never looked down at me. I think he might have been ashamed, but I was too young to know what that sort of thing looked like then.

When we reached the bottom of the steps, we stopped. My father looked behind us, then scooped me up, pulling me away from my mother. He jabbed a finger at the Capital building. “Remember, my sweet Jade, this is where you will always belong.” His voice had wavered, holding back tears, but I did as he told me, looked and remembered.

I always remembered.

Now, instead of being rushed down the Marble Avenue, sneaking away in the dawn, I was sitting atop my proud, feisty mare. We were both decorated in silver plated armor and delicate white wildflowers. I had specifically asked for wild flowers and nothing more pretentious like a rose. Other conquerors would have chosen roses or something expensive. The people, who lined the avenue, needed to see the wildflowers; that I wasn’t some conqueror, but the rightful heir who was raised among them. I was one of them.

I wished my father could have been riding beside me. To have been able to bring him home would have been my greatest joy. But war has its costs, and my father had paid the price early on. He had paid it so that I could ride up to the Capital with my armor, my army, and my mother at my side.

She was beautiful: mother. Grey streaking her hair, which she braided delicately around her head. Around her neck, on a silver chain, she wore my father’s wedding band, and had since the day they had returned his body to us. It was the only piece of jewelry she had chosen to wear, a small restraint at my own request. Though, she had managed to commission a new gown of lavender silk, embroidered in gold instead of the silver I was trying to brand everything with in my new world. She was a good woman, but not once had she lost her regal-ness. 

All around me, I could hear the snap of the velvet standard flags, a rearing stallion emblazoned in silver on each one, my personal crest. I had created it in the fading embers of a battle fire when I was just sixteen, a slice across my chin, the scar of which I still carried, and watched as the flames flickered into the shape. I knew then what my destiny was, and what we needed to do. Win back the Capital and win back my home. I lifted that scarred chin just a bit.

I scanned the crowd. They crushed together, a mix of the lower working and merchant classes. If the wealthy were there, they weren’t making themselves visible, and a part of me didn’t rightly care. They would either accept the change or not, but the people who mattered to me were here to watch me re-enter my home. That was all that mattered to me today.

My eyes settled on a small boy sitting on the shoulders of his father. He waved a dirty hand at me, the sort of dirty only a small child could acquire. A smile slid over my face and I raised an equally dirty and worn glove to wave back. He beamed, and bounced, and almost threw his father backward with the effort. I held back a laugh, and adjusted a scratched piece of the armor on my elbow.

General Merien had begged me to commission new armor before entering the city. His intentions had only ever been for my good. He had wanted me to look the part, and I supposed there was some value in that; certainly my father would have heeded his advice. I wasn’t my father, however, I was my own woman. Several months past my twenty first birthday and now empress. I would enter the city as myself: a battle worn knight with a scar on my chin, bad hearing in my left ear from a blow to the head at one point, and dirty leather gloves. I would not be some sparkling goddess who was untouchable.

“Really, Jade.” My mother kept the polite, regal smile on her face, back rigid in her seat. I braced myself but did not even shift my eyes in her direction. “You could have at least let me do up your hair. Something with ribbons, perhaps.”

It took a considerable amount of through to keep my face even. “Ribbons? I haven’t worn ribbons since I was a child.”

I didn’t have to look to know that she sagged a little bit. “Just would have been a nice touch.”

We were nearing the base of the stairs, when I would dismount my dear mare and climb the steps to a new future, which seemed altogether daunting. I chewed my bottom lip, a horrible habit, and finally glanced over at her. “Maybe,” then I held up a finger when she turned to me hopefully, “maybe you can braid my hair for the coronation.”

She smiled, and when she smiled, she was truly beautiful. My mother was the type of beauty that could be wearing burlap and still make knights fall at her feet. I was never quite sure if she knew that or not. “Just a few, I promise.” It would be more than a few, but I smiled back at her as the whole procession halted at the base of the tall tower of stairs. She reached out of me, her slender hand callused the way no Empress-consort ever should be, and I reached out and took her hand with my dirty glove. Her hand might have been small, but it was strong. She squeezed through the leather, holding mine tight for a long moment. There were tears in her green eyes, though I knew she’d never let them fall in the presence of so many people.

“Empress.”

Slowly, I turned in my seat to see General Merien at my other side, his hand outstretched. I hadn’t needed help dismounting a horse since I was five years old and could find a way to tumble out of the saddle on my own. A part of me wanted to swat it away, but the general wasn’t doing it because he thought I really needed assistance; it was a show, a sign of respect. It was something I was going to have to get used to, or so he had told me time and time again over the last two weeks as we made preparations for this moment.

I took a deep breath, my chest pushing against the metal of my armor. This was it. The moment my father had told me to remember all my life. A chill slithered down my spine, and the weight settled onto my shoulders. No longer “Sir Jade” or “General” but Empress. 

I extended my hand down to the general and deftly dropped to the ground. Brownie, my mare, tossed her head, and I gave her nose a gentle nuzzle. She would behave, I knew that, and she knew that, but she just wanted to remind me that it was her choice and not mine. Fine. I could live with that little bit. I couldn’t wait to see how she bossed her way around the stable horses here.

My feet stopped at the base of the stairs. There were two rises of stairs. In the middle where it hauled its steep incline for just a few feet, little children sat holding bouquets of flowers, probably ready to give them to me. I gave Merien a look.

“It wasn’t my suggestion. The Capital House-Mistress insisted.” Merien was hiding a smile, I could tell by the pull in the corner of his eyes.

“I didn’t practice holding all of those.”

The general shifted a shoulder ever so gently, “just pretend they are a bunch of swords, Empress.”

“Not helpful.”

He snorted, but then his face turned serious, and he grabbed my other hand, holding both of them. It was an oddly tender gesture for a man who had helped teach me how to shoot an arrow between someone’s eyes. “I have never been so proud. And I know he would have been too.”

I swallowed hard. I had not inherited my mother’s ability to keep a stoic face but I would not cry. While not a particularly vain person, I knew that I did not want to reach the top of the stairs splotchy and tear stained. “Thank you. Merien.”

The general gave me a deep brow before releasing my hands. There was no more stalling. The only thing left was to make the climb, and face the crowds. Those daunting crowds. Leading troops into battle and making battlefield speeches was easy. I’d been doing it all my life. What I was embarking on was a whole other matter.

“Right. Here we go.” I tossed the ridiculous cape they had all forced me to wear, and took the first step. Then another, and another until I was properly scaling the steps. With each step, I was further and further from the general and my mother, from the troops that felt like home. It was like I was ascending into the clouds and I wasn’t sure my wings were going to hold me up. Even the crowds were hushing, and I desperately wished they wouldn’t. 

I reached the plateau, and a woman in a navy silk dress and a sheer headdress waved the children forward. All four of them rushed up with bouquets of blue and white flowers, most of which I couldn’t identify. Their little faces were innocent, scrubbed clean, and eager to please. It was hard not to smile at them, though it was harder still to be graceful and take each bundle of flowers from bouncing, tiny arms. 

We managed it, though a flower dropped down to my feet. One little girl picked it up and offered it to me. “No, no. Why don’t you keep it safe for me?” Her face lit up, and she clutched the poor flower to her chest. The poor plant wasn’t going to make it crushed to her like that.

I walked up to the next set of stairs, the last set and paused next to the House-Mistress. “You know, I didn’t really need these.” I shifted the flowers a bit.

“You don’t, Empress,” her voice was low but soothing, “but they do.” She jutted her chin toward the crowds behind me. I refused to turn around. “You’ll have to excuse some ceremony. You’re not on a battlefield anymore.”

I gave her a look.

“Pardon my tongue.”

“Never pardon your tongue around me, House-Mistress. The day that happens, I expect you to give me a hard slap across my cheek.” And I meant it.

“The day that happens, Empress, you will have more to worry about than a slap from me.”

I liked her already. “I like you, House-Mistress.”

“And I like you, Empress. Now climb those stairs before you make a mess of these flowers.” She stepped away from me. My mother was going to adore her. Good. She needed a friend who wasn’t coated in mud, horse sweat, and stinking of camp fires.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my calves were burning, and I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck. It was near noon, the sun beating down on all of us, when I turned to face the quiet crowd. My arms were laden with flowers, and the cape was pulling at the attachments in the merciful breeze. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do now that I was there. I had prepared a couple of speeches, but looking over everyone, they seemed so ordinary. 

A servant, a small woman, slipped up besides me, her head down, and slowly took the bundle of flowers from my arms. Before I could even thank her, she was gone, and I was left standing there awkwardly, the crowd waiting for me. My tongue was lead, my throat dry, until I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. One of my standards. I nodded to myself, perfect.

In two swift steps, I strode over to the flag and snatched it out of its stand. With the wind picking up, lifting the heavy fabric into the air, I made my way back to the center. Once there, I took a moment. I looked over the masses, then down at my troops, at General Merien, and finally my mother. I held her gaze as I lifted the standard high above my head.

I said nothing, but the crowd roared.

I sat in the window bench in one of the central bedchambers. It wasn’t the “emperor's” room, that was I giving to my mother since she had shared it with my father and I thought she might like it, but it was the best of the guest chambers. The room would suit my purpose, looking out over the inner courtyard which would need some updating from its pretentious flowers that both my mother and I wrinkled our noses at when the fragrance had hit our noses.

My mother sat behind me, her slender fingers weaving my black curls into an elaborate plaited design. Playing with my hair was so soothing after the morning events, that I wasn’t even protesting whatever design she had settled upon. No doubt it would be far too fancy for my tastes, with one too many jeweled pins stuffed in it, but as the House-Mistress had told me, a little ceremony had to be excused. I could go back to my tunics and trousers tomorrow.

She hummed a little tune as she worked, the same one she used to sing to me when I was just a child, and father was on one of his campaigns. I closed my eyes until she patted my shoulders. “There. Fit for an empress.”

I glanced in the window, just making out my reflection. I sighed.

“I know,” Her face appeared next to mine, “but humor me for today, my little wildflower.”

Gently, I moved away from her and got up to pace about the room. It was filled with floral brocades and gold trimmed furniture. Everything would need to go. Except the bed. I had already tested the bed with a good leap, and it could stay. The final verdict would be tonight after I slept on it, but for now, I was pretty sure it would stay. 

“Only for today.” I dropped down onto the heavy wooden trunk of my things I had brought in, sitting at the foot of the bed. Behind me, a silk gown was laid out, a deep v cut into the neckline, and obnoxious long, draped sleeves. How I was to eat without dragging food about the table, I wasn’t sure. 

“And your wedding day.” My mother turned to face me, but didn’t leave the window. I glared. “Don’t look at me like that, wildflower. It’s not going to be your choice. You’re an empress now and a union will need to be made, for the safety of the Empire.”

I chewed my lower lip. At this rate, my lip would be raw before I could toast at the feast tonight. “Not for some time.”

“Sooner than later. You know this.”

I did. She was right. All the generals had hinted at it over the past few weeks. I was young, but in their minds, I also put myself in danger more than they’d like, and a marriage would add some stability. I hated the thought, quite liking my freedoms, but I supposed, just like ceremony, there were things the people needed that I would not like. Marriage being one of them. I shuddered at the thought of sharing a bed with some nameless man picked out by a committee. 

Seeing my discomfort, my mother rounded the bed, nudged me a little to give her space, and sat on the trunk beside me. “Your father and I were arranged. Carefully. We’ll just be more careful with your match, but know, you can only stall so long.”

I gave her a look and she chuckled. “Don’t underestimate my powers to stall. I am Empress now.”

“Yes,” she patted my knee and stood, “an empress who needs to change out of her riding leathers and prepare to put a crown on this head.”

I swiveled to look at the gown. How revealing it would be, even in yards of silk. No armor, or leather, or loose linen to hide in. “Must I?”

“Don’t be a child, Jade.” She scolded. I groaned, very child-like.

Before she could scold me more, a knock on the door interrupted her. I raised my hand vaguely. “Come in.”

The House-Mistress entered, same dress, but a more elaborately embroidered headdress. She bowed and stayed just inside the door. People standing so far away from me would be the first thing to go. I didn’t need the distance for protection; I could certainly protect myself. Nor did I care much about it from a respect level. The generals and I had shared small tents for headquarters for years.

“I’ve come to introduce you to your maid, Empress. So you may be on time for your coronation.” There was a subtle jab there. I bit back a snort of approval.

“A maid?” I frowned. My mother shot me a look of disapproval. “Right. Send her in.”

“Good.” The House-Mistress waved a hand and a young woman, probably three or four years my junior slipped in. 

She was a slight thing with a dress too large on her, but made of fine linen. Mousy brown hair peeked out from beneath her headdress that when the sun caught it, almost looked like gold. Her face was warm, full cheeked and though she kept her eyes down, I liked them. She looked trusting, like a sister or a distant cousin might.

“This is Amalthea. She’s a good girl, and the third daughter of one of your wealthiest lords, Lord Burley.” 

Ah, that explained the fine linen. 

“Well, a pleasure to meet you, Amalthea.” My mother, ever the diplomat, went over and took the small girl around the shoulders, leading her in. With a nod, she dismissed the House-Mistress as only a former empress-consort could. “Why don’t you and I both help the Empress today. She’s in a mood.”

I huffed. “I am not. I’m in a mood not to wear a dress that will catch on a random corner and drag me to the ground.”

Amalthea’s lips twitched toward a smile. Good. She had spirit, and mother seemed to like her already. No doubt Amalthea would be the daughter she never had in me. That would suit me just fine. Maybe she could focus her braiding on her in the future.

An hour of fussing later from both my mother and Amalthea, and I was standing facing the closed doors to the Grand Hall. As a child, I had never been invited into this space of the Capital. The ceilings floated into the sky in beautiful interlocking arches with paintings depicting the history of our empire. The doors were heavy, dark wood, carved with flowers and vines and stags. I was memorizing the little imperfections in the hand carving of one elaborate rose bloom when I heard trumpets on the other side of the door. 

My heart stopped.

I looked over at General Merien at my side, a stand-in from what should have been my father’s place. He gave me a comforting nodd, but I found little comfort in it. I was too bare. The dress hugged too many curves and exposed too much skin at my throat. I wanted my armor. Where was my armor?

The doors swung open and a long line of the most ridiculously dressed individuals in my Empire crowded before me. Their heads swiveled almost comically, jewels and chains jingling. I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the sight of it. All the wealth in the room, so much gold and velvet, even in the late summer heat, and outside these walls my people adorned themselves in linens and common stones. The latter was far more beautiful than the people before me. They were a stain, one I had plans to remove. The overdressed people before me would have to either adapt or leave. 

Their judgement flooded me in waves, raking down my athletic form, less voluptuous than most of the ladies, noting the calluses and scars, and deciding they found me wanting. I lifted my chin at them. What they found wanting, I was proud to flaunt. I hadn’t just waltzed into the Capital, but fought and bled for it. 

My mother was already waiting at the end of the long line of courtiers, and it was her soothing presence that drew me forward down the row. Slowly, step by step, I walked past them, refusing to even glance at their faces. There were quiet whispers from those furthest from me, but the clang of the armored men, some of my most trusted knights, drowned them out. I hadn’t lived twenty one years as a woman amongst men to be bothered by whispers. 

As I came to the steps that led up to the small platform where the throne sat, my mother stepped back, leaving the space open for me. Ceremony, I had to give them their ceremony. Well, a little bit of ceremony. I had no intention of putting on a coronation that would take more than an hour, as the holy men had dictated to me. When they had told me, I laughed in their faces. I was not going to kneel and stand and repeat pointless speeches. I told them I would repeat one oath and be crowned. This was a new empire and I did not have patience for the old.

The holy man I had selected, a sweet faced elder named Horrick, took my mother’s place near the edge of the top step. In his hands was a simple circlet, a hereditary crown from the time the Empire began, roughly forged with set rubies and emeralds. The first real thing about the whole day that felt authentic. I had already set about ensuring that my own personal circlet looked very similar.

As he stepped forward, the room fell still. This was it. Nothing would be the same again. He drew a breath. “From the First Age our emperors have been crowned with this circlet, forged by the first blacksmiths to signify the never ending, and unwavering leadership of our emperors. Many have fought for it, many more have died for it, and should it continue, many more will live to see it sit upon the head of our emperors to come. Today, we come to sit it upon a new emperor in a new age. We come together to forge a new promise that this great empire will remain strong and true. It is our promise from our emperor to us, just as it is our promise to do our part and pledge our duty to the crown.  

“Sir Jade Gwenyth Bertha Virillia, first of her name, the Silver Winged, General of the Twin Armies and Empress of our golden Empire, do you swear by the blood in your veins to hold true to your people. Protect them. Guide them. Love them as if they were all your own children, until the last breath has been uttered from your lips?”

I let the last echo of his voice die out, to make sure they were listening. With the glare of the sun in my eyes as I knelt before the holy man and dipped my head for him to better seat the circlet, I made my promise. “I, Sir Jade Gwenyth Bertha Virillia, first of my name, the Silver Winged, General of the Twin armies, promise by the blood in my veins to protect, guide, love, and above all, give my life for the people of our golden Empire until the day my last breath has left me.”

“Then by the power given to me by the Great God Above, I place this treasured crown upon your head. From this day forward you shall be Empress Sir Jade Gwenyth Bertha Virillia, first of her name, the Silver Winged, General of the Twin Armies. May your reign be long.”

The audience echoed, “May your reign be long.”

Gently, the holy man set the heavy silver circlet onto my head of braids, and I found myself thankful for all the plaiting my mother had done to protect my skull from the weight. I stayed kneeling there for a long moment, even after sweet Horrick had stepped back. Slowly, I lifted a hand to kiss my fingertips, then leaned forward to touch those same fingertips to the marble platform just before me. My own solemn promise to never let the weight of the crown distort my soul as it had so many other emperors before me.

I climbed to my feet, overly careful of the hem of my ridiculous dress and took the final steps to the dark wood throne waiting for me. Turning, I looked back over the crowd, their upturned faces and glittering jewels. I began to chew my bottom lip and abruptly told myself to stop. Instead of worrying it, I swept my arms wide, the draped fabric flying out of the way of the armrests as I took my seat.

“Hail Empress.” And the crowd knelt in a ripple.

I locked eyes with General Merien as he knelt. Nothing would be the same. I had the distinct feeling that I was locking myself into a cage of my own making. My life was not my own anymore. While I was proud to fulfil my father’s dream, I found myself mourning. Mourning for myself and the knighthood I had so long enjoyed.